Molly and Corbin

	Stepping out of the grocery store with just a bit less pomp, her head more level than it had been for years, she made her way for the trolley. Saturdays were busy for her, between chores at home and doing the weekly shopping for the household, she also had to go pick her youngest up from one of his many “enrichment” activities, clubs and organizations the father Mendenhall felt would prepare and toughen him for the world of business. Today was a double whammy in fact, as the young boy would find himself dropped off in the morning for the “Youth Petroleum League”, before moving to the afternoon “Financiers of Tomorrow” while Molly shopped, ready to pick him up afterwards.
	As the trolley came to a halt she stepped out onto the bustling city street, cars zipping by while neatly dressed men and women streamed past her, bags in hand or heads hidden by umbrellas, sunhats, fedoras. Strolling just a handful of blocks away from the stop, bags in hand, she came to the towering accountancy office where the activities were held, the company evidently hoping to get in on the ground floor and prevent any brain drain from retirees. Through the towering, gilded glass doors Molly walked into the carpeted lobby where a lone secretary, evidently familiar with the robot, simply pointed to a small waiting room where she sat, glancing over at the nearby elevator door every couple minutes. Finally, after too many false head-spins for gray-haired men carrying brick-like phones by their heads, a chime signalled another car coming and out stepped a flood of young boys and girls, teenagers really, teeth sporting braces and faces acne as they chatted and strolled together out the hulking doors, joking as they went. Behind the congregation, far shorter, was Corbin, his blonde hair striking through raised arms and from behind backpacks as Molly stood up to greet the young man.
	“Good afternoon, Corbin! Did you learn a lot today?” It was a question she’d asked every Saturday, typically with silence or a simple nod every time. This time was no different save for his reddened face. “Are you alright, Corbin? You seem flushed,” she said, lowering a hand to his forehead before he promptly shoved it away. Molly recoiled quietly, doing her best to conceal her concern; he got this way sometimes, especially after his classes. The pair exited the building in silence, both brushing off the same secretary’s farewell as they made their way back to the trolley station.
	Secured at last inside the small train Corbin seated himself by a window, fishing in his backpack for his cassette player and headphones. He deftly switched the tapes around with a few hearty clicks, setting a fresh one in before he’d even settled fully into his seat. Before Molly could ask him the routine probing questions about the day’s subject matter, he’d already cupped his headphones over his ears, staring out beyond the glass as the trolley picked up speed. Against her better judgement she lightly tapped his shoulder, eliciting a small startled shiver as he’d already zoned out. With a roll of his eyes, he clicked the pause button and turned his head slackly to Molly, his wordless, expressionless face waiting for whatever was important enough to interrupt him. Molly pulled her hand back, unsure if it was even worth it to ask him how he was holding up. Looking into his baggy eyes she pressed forward.
	“Is everything alright, Corbin? You’ve been awfully quiet.”
	“Fine,” he said, already mid-turn towards the window. “Tired.”
	“Well, we’ve plenty of groceries for tonight,” she said smiling, gesturing to the handful of paper bags at her feet. “We can make your favorite tonight if you’d like!” Molly tried to pull the boy out from his headphones but evidently today was not the day. At the very least when they got home she would be able to rouse him just a little. In the meantime, however, all she could do was run over the night’s dinner plan in her head, recipes readied from memory for the instant they returned. Glancing over every now and then at Corbin she watched the motionless boy, his eyes gradually squeezing shut and his head going limp, a light thud on the glass enough to wake him up, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes, only to repeat the process.
	A half hour or so later, the trolley’s population thinning as it left the dense city center, they finally arrived in the slimmer outskirts where highrise apartments and office suites devolved to townhomes like the DeLaire’s and the occasional sprawling mansion-home of the Mendenhalls. Molly roused the sleeping boy who groggily righted himself, taking care to tuck his cassettes back into his book bag before slowly marching after Molly. The two walked towards the wrought iron gate and fencing that encircled the (relatively speaking) modest estate; there were larger properties, the senior Mendenhall would eagerly point out, in Texas and Oklahoma - “where the oil is”. Strolling along the sloping driveway to the front door Molly quickly jammed the homecode into the keypad at the door, a mechanical click and release of the door ushering the pair into the vacant foyer.
	Molly sped past the boy to the kitchen beyond, her delicate feet clicking on the hardwood as she set the hefty brown bags on the counter. One of Corbin’s simpler joys, she’d learned, was putting groceries away; it was organizational, analytical and (to Molly) good enrichment for a growing mind. Turning the corner she was ready to call her helper before she saw him stalking up the stairs, headphones back on his head, oblivious to Molly’s gentle prodding. Returning to the kitchen she took to the groceries before getting to some smaller chores before dinner; she needed some time to think. It was no *secret*, per say, but few really cared to know that nandroids were attuned very well to human emotion. The best and latest knowledge in the fields of human psychology were distilled to a nandroid’s instinct for concern at any given moment when something was amiss, a feeling all too common for Molly around Corbin. Little could be done about it, however, as his father wouldn’t have the boy coddled, especially by a mechanical woman. Thankfully, however, Mr. Mendenhall was not home, but a country away looking into lucrative oil shales in Canada, leaving the Missus in charge, which really meant Molly for all intents and purposes. With this helpful distraction Molly, against better judgement and the often strict instruction of the Mister, went upstairs to pop in on Corbin and check up on him.
	Ascending the stairs to one of the second floor’s dominant, carpeted hallways she stalked her way underneath the ornate lights, coming finally to the room, Corbin’s name gracefully calligraphed onto a neat paper sign. Hand gingerly twisting the doorknob, Molly stopped as it jiggled in place but didn’t turn, clearly locked. Molly was surprised, Corbin often spent so little time in his room compared to the library, he wouldn’t care about his space that much. She jiggled the doorknob again before placing a few gentle knocks on the hardwood surface, calling to the boy.
	“Corbin, is everything alright? Would you please unlock the door?”
	“No,” came the response, barely a murmur past the wooden wall, but only concerned Molly more. It was beyond immoral (in robot terms) to unlock the door without consent but she found her instinct of care overriding that as she deftly slipped a finger over the knob, and twisted the lock upright once more. Twisting the freed knob she gently opened the door. A flash of blonde hair darted towards his loft, hands flurrying to stow something beneath it.
	“Corbin, it’s okay! I- You-,” she stuttered. This was new territory for her - her entire life the kids had been entirely obedient, never a hint of what all nandroids feared, their precociousness having been shed years ago. Corbin was young, but incredibly mature for his age, right? Evidently she’d misunderstood him as he stood defiantly pointing out the door.
	“Get out! Please! I’m sick of this, I- I-,” he stopped short, eyes wetting and fists clenching tighter around the waist of his pajama shirt. Molly closed the door behind her and silently sidestepped the crying boy who was now pulling on her skirt as she fished underneath the bed. Finding purchase on a hunk of plastic she pulled out the toy airplane he’d concealed, one of a series he’d owned when he was much younger, and was then sequestered to the cellar when the Mister concluded he was too old for them, and it was time for him to grow up.
	“Corbin… Please, if something’s wrong you can at least tell me,” she said. The twisting of his face between the door, the plane gripped in Molly’s hand and her own face as he stepped backwards, tears streaming down his face. She knelt down and scooted towards the boy before pulling him into a hug. “It can be our secret, okay? Just be honest.” As the coughing and sniffling slowed he told between little hiccups how tired he was of having to be grown up all the time.
	“I-I’m too young for all the kids at my weekend classes,” he hiccuped, “and all the kids in school ignore me because I’m ‘too smart’ for them.” He buried his head into Molly’s shoulder as he continued. “And I can’t even play with my toys anymore because I’m too old.” Molly pulled back, dress dampened by tears for the second time that day as she proffered the airplane to the boy.
	“Hey, Corbin,” Molly began. He hadn’t cried like this, or at all, in years - at least that she’d seen. He was being pushed too hard but to coddle him openly would incite backlash, so she hatched a plan as she stood back up. “How about I get your toys back?” Silently he bolted upright again, clinging to Molly’s legs in a wordless embrace, nodding his head furiously. Molly stepped lithely out of the room and began making the way for the cellar, a dim concrete room built deep beneath the mansion. Tiptoeing back through the kitchen she came to the ornate basement door and let herself down, passing through the carpeted games area where the oldest would invite friends for pool and poker to a dismal back room. A small door concealed its narrow staircase as she descended into the dark cellar room, one wall replete with fine vintages that were owned more for prestige than drinking (the Mister preferred something harder), to the opposite wall. A number of boxes were stacked against it, labelled in the Missus’ frilly handwriting on what they held. Molly slid one of the smaller boxes out and hefted it into her arms, ascending the stairs once more, leaving behind boxes of the old toys of the other kids in the cold room. Once again making her way upstairs she was stopped by the Missus in the kitchen, oblivious at first to her holding the boxes.
	“Oh Molly, perfect! I was just going to ask you if you picked up everything for dinner tonight, you see-,” she said, clapping her hands together. Her smile turned, however, seeing the box and she lost her thoughts. “Molly those are supposed to stay downstairs, he’s much too old for them.” Now caught Molly had to conjure up a half-truth on the fly for the Missus that could easily cover for the boy.
	“Oh don’t worry Missus Mendenhall, Corbin is taking an advance interest in the many wide and wonderful uses of petroleum! You see he was assigned a project today, so next Saturday he’ll be presenting on the use of oil and oil derivatives in plastics.” Molly’s chest tightened out of fear for Corbin, the heavy hand waiting for him if he started to “regress emotionally” (if the Missus were to quote one of her parenting books) would fall on herself as well.
	“Oh! Apologies then, that sounds simply fascinating!” Molly relaxed, quickly explaining the dinner plan before retreating upstairs once more. Back inside Corbin’s room Molly set the box on the bed, the little boy tearing into it feverishly before Molly stopped him.
	“Corbin I’m sorry, but your mother saw me,” she said crouching down to his level again. “If anyone asks this is for school, okay? You’re studying the *uses of oil*.” She made sure to announce that clearly. He nodded vigorously, taking planes and cars he thought lost and deftly securing them beneath his bed, in drawers or cupboards through his sprawling room.
	“This is our secret, right Molly?” Molly zipped her lips and flicked away an invisible key, this was between themselves only. Another hug around her legs and a flurry of ‘thank you’s later Molly was stepping out, reminding the boy to be ready and dressed for supper when it came, taking care to flick his door shut quietly.
	Another piece of paper in hand, Molly taped up a second sign to the boy’s door, deftly writing up something to be seated beneath his name, when needed, nodding at her handiwork before returning to the kitchen.
	“DO NOT DISTURB - WORKING ON PROJECTS”