A New Man

I admit it, there were some teething problems at first. After worrying that he wouldn't recognise my - our - daughters, it was a relief when that turned out to be no problem at all.

The difficulty we were having was that his primary data bank was my shitty husband's brain. I mean, case in point: he couldn't remember any of the girls' birthdays.

It was different, though. When he went wrong, I sat him down and talked it through, and it worked. That's all I ever wanted!

At first I thought I had to give clear and specific instructions and corrections. Listing details, and instructing him to remember them. Dates, preferences, blood types. I soon realised that he learns. That's kind of the whole point.

"Jac," I said, entwining my fingers through his and speaking very softly, "It's fine to take Ronnie's memories of parenthood as a guide for what to do. But don't just rely on that, okay? Take what you know, and what you can find out about being a good father. This is meant to be an upgrade, remember?"

"Understood," he replied, just as softly, mirroring my tone.

+

A fun thing about Jac is that he can read my texts without even checking his phone. Sometimes I get a reply while he's doing something else. Half the time, he doesn't even bother to take the phone with him. It's like he can reply just by thinking about it. That's neat. Wish I had that ability.

He is attentive. I love that. He listens, and remembers, or at least he does most of the time. When he messes up, that only makes me forget that he isn't really human. He has little interest in going out with his boozy mates, anymore. I love that, as well.

When I suggest he goes out with me, he tells me what a wonderful idea this is, and suggests restaurants based on what he knows of my tastes. He offers to book the table, and, if we really enjoy the meal, he adds the name of the place to a running list of favourites.

He's really good at that. Lists. I thought I was the master of lists, but he is far better than I ever was. A living, writhing list of all the groceries we have in the house at any given moment lives inside his brain, in tandem with a meal plan. Both flex and updates depending on what we are running out of, what's about to go off, and the budget for the week. I never knew how much of my own brain was taken up with this drudgery. I feel a thousand pounds lighter now that I have been able to turn it over to him.

I was nervous about being physical with him. I worried that he wouldn't be attracted to me, because I suspected that Ronnie hadn't been attracted to me for a long time. Not since before Tansy was born. I wanted to ask him to treat me the way Ronnie did back when we first started dating. Not be able to keep his eyes or his hands off me. I chickened out. I told myself this was because we could hardly be acting like a couple of teenagers with three young children in the house. It was more than that, though. It tasted like begging, and I couldn't bear to do it. I wanted it to be more real than that. To at least feel more real than that.

Instead, I told Jac I wanted to take this part of the relationship slow. He slid back into that strange robotic voice (the weird mixture of chirpy and bland) and reassured me that this was the basis for a sound relationship. It irked me, because it sounded like he was quoting something, and I realised he was. Of course! When Ronnie's brain let him down, he scoured (he would probably say scraped) the internet for a suitable response.

Sometimes, I leaned over as if to hug him, or kiss him on the cheek, and I'd take the opportunity to murmur in his ear. I only had to prompt him once that he should respond in kind. To the untrained eye, it looked like affection. It served a practical purpose: it meant that when his reply sounded too bot-like, no one else heard it.

His lips grazing over my ear felt delicious. It awakened something (missing, presumed dead) somewhere below my belly button. He did it again, and my knees almost buckled. Oh, god. It felt like he was initiating affection, or as good as. In his mother's house, no less.

"Should I take it from your increased heart rate and dilated pupils that-"

I turned and stopped his nonsense with my mouth, practically bit all the way along his jaw to hiss in his ear, "Shut up and make me feel good!" I took his hand and pulled him into my mother-in-laws downstairs bathroom.

Did I mention he is attentive? I love that.

Afterwards, I straightened my clothes and raked my fingers through my hair.

"You said to take it slow," he said. We hurried back out to the living room to sit with his mother and act civilised.

"New protocol," I said out of the side of my mouth.

After that, I reinstated the babysitting arrangement with my mother, and put date night back in the calendar.

+

I wanted a dinner party. I'd never thrown one before. If I had, Ronnie would not have pulled his weight. The whole thing would've been more stressful than enjoyable. I had Jac, now. Once I told him what I wanted, he practically planned the whole thing. He shared every detail with me, and I suggested improvements, which he integrated with enthusiasm. He sent messages to our friends to invite them round. We ended up with two other couples confirmed to join us. Jac updated the shopping list according to the menu we'd devised together.

He did more cleaning than I did in the lead up to it, and took over most of the food preparation. He had a way of scanning the worktop and announcing the chance of contracting food poisoning, expressed as a percentage. I found it unnerving, and I'd asked him to stop, but he forgot occasionally.

Rob and Jo arrived first. They're both gregarious, lively people, all toothy smiles and hugs. Jo has purple highlights, and Rob is a gym rat who tries desperately hard not to talk about how far he ran yesterday. I do respect him for trying. Jo came in brandishing a bottle of red and asking for a corkscrew.

A little while later, Jac said, "Your other guests are at the door," and then the doorbell sang through the house.

"How did you do that?" Jo sounded suspicious.

"Oh, he's a bit psychic," I said. Jo laughed, almost spilling her wine on the cream sofa.

"You mean you have a doorbell cam," she said, poking me in the arm.

I smiled.

"Back in a sec."

Lorin was plump and blonde, and holding a bottle of white. Doug scowled with heavy black brows. I ushered them both through to the sitting room.

I couldn't fault Jac. He was a good host, and it's really thanks to him that the evening went so smoothly. If something needed stirring, or taking out of the oven, he ran a finger over my hand, leaned over and murmured in my ear. As a result, I looked exceptionally organised, and the picture of a good hostess. Jac appeared a devoted husband. The wine went down easily, and when I had a moment with Lorin and Jo, I basked in their admiration of my upgraded husband.

"What on earth has happened to Ronnie?" Jo said, with a good-natured smile, and an admiring glance thrown his way.

"Whatever he's having, can you give some to Doug?" For a moment, the smiley mask slipped. We glanced at her, ready to laugh together, a little tipsy. This was surely the light-hearted whinge about your spouse portion of the evening.

We were shocked instead to see tears in her eyes. I thought I saw jealousy there. An impulse grabbed me, and I ran with it. Perhaps I should have sobered up and discussed it with Jac, but...

Why not? Lorin is my friend. Doesn't she deserve to be happy, too?

+

Thank you for reading

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