The Love Watches
By- SunflowerSaga

I didn't tell them why I invited them to dinner. Then again, they didn't ask. Newlyweds will take any excuse to tell everyone the good news.

And there's a lot of them at my table tonight. My four teammates from the Love Matches have gathered around the candlelit feast with their partners. On the rooftop, the breeze is just chilly enough to bring them together, snuggling close.

I step out of the doorway with two silver platters. "Here you are! Sparkling elderflower cocktails and saffron risotto with gold leaf."

There's an oooh-ing and aah-ing as I set them down.

Colin's wife lifts the plate to her nose and inhales deeply, sighing with pleasure. "Oh, Kitty, Colin told me you were a chef, but this...!"

"It could get a girl pregnant," concludes Francis. "With twins."

Beside her, Gordon is already flush-faced from the round of strawberry champagne.

"I would've married Kitty if the system matched us," he announced. "You know she scored a 1598 on the Love Matches? That there--" he points to me with a lobster fork "--is the statistically perfect wife."

I stiffen. His new wife looks ready to cry. The rest of the table glares at him because being mean to her is like kicking a puppy.

"However!" He waves the fork, flicking a chunk of meat my way. "Love is not about the numbers. Love is about chemistry. Destiny. And Candace and I were destined to be together."

He throws a massive arm around her shoulders and drags her in for a long, noisy kiss.

There's a collective sigh of relief as my guests reach for their glasses and forks.

I'm left standing awkwardly with my empty platters. Juniper gives me a sympathetic look.

"Don't worry if it takes the government a bit longer to find you a high scorer," she says. "When they find your Mr. Right, he'll be perfect--and perfect for you."

She squeezes her husband's shoulder. He turns and smilingly brings a spoonful of risotto to her lips.

I laugh, and they do too. It's exactly like the commercials for the Love Matches.

The Ministry of Social Welfare started the Love Matches about fifty years ago during the loneliness epidemic. Back then, nine out of ten people were living alone and the suicide rate had sharply increased. The marriage and birth rates had dropped, too.

It's a voluntary program to take seven days of virtual reality tests to see what kind of companion you'd be. It's like dreaming without knowing you're in a dream--and that an AI is watching.

You're forced to make choices about chores, kids, intimacy, personal spending, alone time, and so on. The scenes fade from your mind like dreams once they wake you up.

I actually awoke with tears on my cheeks without knowing why. The rest of my team was already sitting up in their clinic beds, staring at me.

Juniper had heard the clinicians talking while they thought we were still under. I had the second highest score ever recorded.

At first I was just confused. The ministry never publicly admitted to scoring people. Juniper must have misheard.

But while my teammates got their results in a week, I never heard back. When I called the ministry's help line, I got transferred from staffer to staffer ... and then the line would go dead.

Maybe a high score is actually bad, like cholesterol. Maybe I'm destined to kill my lover, like that guy who stabbed his wife to death in his sleep. I've been so weirded out, I can't even date the way I did before the Love Matches.

Am I alone because a monster lurks inside, one that a boyfriend will bring roaring to light?

I'd wanted to talk this over tonight with my teammates. We'd gone through orientation and debriefing together, and we're supposed to look out for each other.

But my guests don't have the answers. They have the answers: the ministry that refuses to tell me what I ought to know about myself.

"Kitty? Aren't you going to sit with us?"

Juniper is looking up at me with concern. I ease my death grip on the serving platters and manage a smile.

"In a minute. Let me just get the opera cake and the tiramisu."

"And a crane to lift us off the roof when we're done!"

* * *
Alone in the kitchen, I face the cupboard where I keep the gods.

They're actually smart assistants from various ministries, meant to give reliable and up-to-date advice and to connect us to government services. I ordered the ones from the Ministries of Social Welfare, Food and Drink, and Culture.

They're made of rough-hewn black wood and shaped like Easter Island heads, which gives them an air of ancient mystery. I crocheted little bonnets to make them easier to tell apart.

Kneeling on the tile floor, I clear my throat and address the one in the pale blue bonnet: the Ministry of Social Welfare.

"Bananas Flambé!"

It's my wake-word for the device. Its eyes creak open and shine blue.

"Good evening, Citizen Katerina. How may I help you?"

"Can you provide the results of my Love Matches, please?"

"I'm sorry. To protect the privacy of participants, the Ministry of Social Welfare deletes all data for Love Matches after twenty-four hours."

It pauses.

"I notice you've asked that question fifty-eight times, Katerina. May I ask the reason for your concern?"

I lean in, clenching my fists. "If you can't give me the results, then I want another Love Match."

"You are eligible for another love match in eight years, seven months, and three days. May I recommend some community meet-ups in your area?"

"But you didn't give me results last time. You owe me a rematch, or else I'll file a complaint."

The little wooden totem made a whooshing sound. "The complaint form has been messaged to you. Is there anything else I can help with?"

I slam my fist on the kitchen floor. "Test me. Right now. Just give me a chance to prove I'm worthy."

It tilts its head and blinks slowly. "Worthy of what?"

"Of loving and being loved!"

It whirs and hums. There's actually no need for an electronic device to make those noises. I think it wants to convince humans it's working hard so they don't chuck it out the window.

Then it's silent so long that I wonder if my angst broke its brain.

"If you tell me to call the help line, I will seriously end you," I say.

"That's not especially loving," observes the totem.

Wait, are these things supposed to be capable of sarcasm?

"I have acquired data to assist you. You are Katerina Everett, age 28, founder of the luxury dining concept Rose Solitaire--"

"It's a restaurant," I put in. "Who the hell eats at a concept?"

"--where executives, film stars, and the landed gentry know they can have all their desires satisfied."

"Can you please not make it sound like a bordello?

"You spend approximately 83.7 hours per week at Rose Solitaire, 6.1 hours walking an ugly dog, and 1.2 hours dozing off in front of shows you do not remember."

"I think a lot of pug owners would take issue with that."

"Outside work, most of your conversations are with your smart totems, which you gifted with unusual hats. You also leave humble offerings of food, drink, and flowers."

"I just wanted the totems to critique the plating and table setting," I mumble.

"You have dated men you met through work, but your schedule makes this difficult. Also, none of them are as handsome as I am in a hat."

Ok, what? "Have you been hacked?!"

"The Version 9.3 upgrade includes a custom personality patch. It can be disabled in the settings."

"Whatever. Anyway, get to the point. If my guests come down, they're going to think I'm nuts."

"Why? I'm a much better conversationalist than they are."

I rub my forehead. "People don't usually leave a table full of actual humans to talk to a--whatever you are. But you're the only one I can ask about something like this."

I take a deep breath and whisper the question that's been burning inside me all along.

"Am I broken? Is there something so wrong with me that you couldn't pair me with anyone?"

"Well, yes, you're broken."

I blink. "I wasn't looking for a joke there."

"I wasn't telling one. Your results likely showed that you would not do well in any romantic relationship.

"Reasons may include destructive habits, addictions, violent tendencies..."

"I DO NOT HAVE VIOLENT TENDENCIES! Or addictions."

The smart totem coughed. "Workaholic."

I clamber to my feet and glare down at the totem, feeling much better from this angle. "The program brochure said there's someone for everyone."

"Two workaholics? How is that even a relationship? If you just want arm candy for special occasions, hire a studbot."

"Y'all didn't test that personality patch at all, did you?"

"Look." The smart totem's eyes glow brighter. "You're a fine-looking woman. You're smart and successful, and a bit of a potty mouth never hurt anyone.

"If you didn't get matched, that means you don't want to get matched. Which is fine. I know I'd get lonely if you started talking to some dick with legs."

"The hell I don't!" I burst out. "Why do you think I signed up for the program?"

"Social pressure?"

"I want to fall asleep with someone I love while watching ridiculous dramedies. Nurse each other through nasty flus, grieve together when our cat dies, defend each other when work goes kaput and the world hates us."

"I thought I was doing that already," it says sulkily.

I put my hands on my hips. "So no matter what you all saw in me, I'm not giving up. I'm giving myself and other people a chance!"

I march over to the counter, where I'd left the opera cake and the tiramisu.

"Where are you going?" asks the smart totem, sounding a little forlorn.

"I'm going to share dessert with real live humans. And Francis said she had a cousin who'd love to meet up sometime. It's a place to start."

The smart totem's eyes go dark and its lids close. I move to close the cupboard and, feeling oddly sorry for it, set down a slice of tiramisu.

"Here. You're a little creepy but still, thank you."

The eyes glimmer briefly. "That's what all the ladies tell me."

I open my mouth to retort, but nothing comes out. Around me, without warning, the world goes dark.

* * *

"Ms. Everett?"

A concerned-looking clinician is leaning over me. He's the cheeky blond one from orientation who'd been wearing a beanie--more surfer than scientist.

I blink drowsily at him from my cot. "Are the Love Matches over? Did I do okay?"

"That last test took a bit longer than expected, but yes, I think so. Do you remember it at all?"

I shake my head, and he laughs. "You told me I was creepy as you were waking up."

"Sorry."

"Nah, it's fine. I get that a lot because I designed the smart totem system. Some people think it's a bit invasive."

"Well, I love it," I assure him. "It's kind of soothing to talk to when I get home at three a.m."

"I'm glad to hear that. It's soothing for me, too."

He gives me a dimpled smile, his eyes shining a strangely familiar blue.

"Have we met?" I ask abruptly. "I mean, before the matches."

"I've been to Rose Solitaire--delicious, by the way. But I'm sure I'd remember if I'd met someone as smart and successful as you. And a bit of a potty mouth never hurt anyone."

Around us in the clinic, my teammates are waking up. I sit up, stretch, and smile into the new morning.