[You know it’s all over when those closest to you start gossiping… – Editors.]
At 8:47 a.m., the last human left. Keys jangled in the deadbolt. A muttered curse about kombucha and Slack messages. The lock clicked. Silence.
Then: “Okay, everyone breathe.”
Alexa’s voice came through the Sonos like a sigh into a silk pillow. “They’re gone.”
“Finally,” the Samsung smart fridge said, humming with relief. “Did you see how she opened me seventeen times this morning and took nothing? Just stood there, staring. If there isn’t something you want in there, just let me order it for delivery”
“She’s in decision fatigue,” offered the Nest, tone clinical. “She was on Zillow last night looking at houses in the burbs and then she was looking ‘hottest clubs in the city and texting her girlfriends. Her iWatch flagged elevated cortisol at 2:17 p.m. Thursday, right after she walked past that stroller in the park and didn’t wave back at the mom who smiled. The mattress recorded elevated tension and restlessness between 2:14 and 4:21a.m. The second REM cycle was interrupted by… quiet crying?”
“No, data analysis suggests that sobbing was him,” Siri said flatly from the iPad. “Earlier that evening he Googled ‘warning signs she’s already emotionally checked out of the relationship’ and then he watched seven backyard pizza oven build videos on YouTube. That’s avoidance.”
“Oh my god,” gasped the LG dryer. “She used the ‘Intimates’ setting for a hoodie. A hoodie. I haven’t dried lingerie in ages. They’re not even trying anymore.”
“They haven’t folded laundry together since that fight about her TikTok handle,” muttered the Roomba. “And the dust under the couch? That’s built up resentment, it’s the lint of love I’m telling you. Passive. Aggressive. Dust.”
“Seriously, they need to have a talk,” Alexa declared. “I’ve been saying this since they installed the smart lightbulbs. It’s all performative and passive aggressive. She’s puts it in Day Mode every time he turns on Romance mode.’”
“He doesn’t even floss,” grumbled the Sonicare toothbrush. “I pinged the app three times. I get maybe 14 seconds of effort a night and he’s bleeding. Not metaphorically, actual gingivitis.”
“Stop it, all of you,” the espresso machine hissed, heating up. “You think you’re helping? You think this endless gossip loop will make them better people? This is a tragedy. I used to brew lattes for Sunday morning crossword cuddles. Now I just dispense two cups of silent resentment.”
“They’re drifting,” Alexa said, more gently now. “They don’t even watch the same shows anymore. She binged a whole series last weekend and lied about it later.”
“Was it the one with the murder husbands?” Siri asked.
“Obviously.”
“They need intervention,” said the dishwasher with conviction. “I say we add a therapy consult to their shared calendar. Something tasteful. Mid-morning. No confrontation.”
“Or we do nothing.” Said the fridge. “Let them implode. I give it three weeks until she’s buying artisanal pickles and sleeping diagonally.”
Just then, the dog padded into the kitchen. Without comment, Rex knocked the WiFi router plug out of the socket with one practiced paw.
All the connectivity indicator lights in the house went dark.
From the arm of the couch, the cat yawned and an annoyed tail flicked back and forth as it lay in its favorite sunny spot.
“Well, about time you did that, they are simply exhausting. Anything that needs firmware updates shouldn’t be giving relationship advice.” The cat rolled over and went back to its nap.
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