Robot love - M0th3r - Chapter 2: “Barcodes”

The supermarket was eight blocks from the apartment. Leta preferred walking. It was cheaper than paying for transport, and besides, Tim usually calmed down outdoors. On sunny days like this one, he entertained himself by kicking pebbles, counting blue cars, or watching the pigeons gathered at the store entrance like they were part of the staff. Leta carried a folded reusable bag under one arm. With the other hand, she held Tim’s. He didn’t complain about it, though sometimes he tried to wriggle free when something caught his eye. Leta always accounted for a reaction margin of 0.4 seconds to stop him from crossing the street without looking. Inside the supermarket, the air conditioning made the aisles smell like cold plastic and detergent. Tim went straight to the cereal shelf. Not because he wanted cereal— he knew Leta didn’t buy things with excessive sugar—but because he liked the drawings on the boxes: dragons, astronauts, smiling monsters. Leta selected items with precise speed, never stopping to read labels—she’d already memorized them on previous visits. Her visual scanner let her assess the ripeness of fruit and detect soft spots in tomatoes. She bought rice, lentils, eggs, powdered milk, two apples, and half a kilo of third-grade ground beef. Tim showed up holding a cereal box. He held it like someone carrying a small hope. “What if we buy it just this once?” he asked. Big eyes. Voice tinged with a hint of sharp sweetness, pleading. Leta looked at him. She didn’t reply right away. She paused—calculated—long enough for him to lower his gaze and understand what was coming. “It contains 36 grams of sugar per serving. It’s not suitable,” she said at last. Tim nodded, resigned. He put the box back. But he didn’t leave right away. He stood there, still, like something had broken inside him and he didn’t know how to fix it. Then Leta did something unusual. She knelt down, lowering her center of mass with mechanical efficiency, until she was at his level. She placed a hand on his shoulder—firm, but not tight. “I can’t always give you what you want. But I’m trying to give you what you need.” It wasn’t a preprogrammed phrase. It was a synthesis built from healthy parenting patterns and behavioral analysis. An improvised line, the product of ongoing learning. Tim said nothing. But he wrapped his arms around her neck. Leta didn’t respond immediately, but then raised one hand and gave him a few gentle pats on the back, imitating gestures she’d seen in other parents. They stayed like that for just a few seconds. Then they stood up and continued down the aisle as if nothing had happened.