Emmy and Anon Buy a Tree

Emmy and Anon Buy a Tree

	“Emmy, we’re going to get a tree!”
	“Coming, sir,” the nandroid called back. Her new master was... strange. She couldn’t remember any previous owner but the concept of being invited out with her master was alien in a way she couldn’t describe, even without any of her logic or emotion processors inhibited (another modification of his). As she made her way to the car, the man half-standing in the driver side waved energetically, calling her to the car. As she opened the passenger door she straightened her new clothing, another change of his. The concept of having her own clothes that she could choose from was just another thing that made this gentle, caring man seem so infinitely alien. She had chosen not to stray too far from what was familiar to her in clothing, opting for deep, striking blues and tranquil whites, culminating in the deep blue wool coat she was wearing, accompanied by snow white stockings and a blue-white flannel scarf. She ducked her head into the passenger seat to see a smiling gentleman, himself gussied up in his Winter best and his cheeks flushed from the cold air.
	“Ready to go Emmy,” he asked.
	“Y-Yes, sir,” she responded, her cheeks already aglow as she turned her eyes out the window. She couldn’t bear to look at him! To look was to invite conversation, and she wasn’t ready for that… not yet at least. He switched on the radio as her thoughts raced around his paternal face, a face equally soft and kind but stern, fatherly; businessman through and through. Christmas music drifted into the silence between them, the warm air swirling in the car as the pair sped along the highway to the small lot the man had singled out.
	“Any, uh, any kind of tree you’d like, Emmy?” The man cleared his throat nervously, the tension between them, and the idea of a man taking his housedroid out for what very well could be called a date, dense and suffocating.
	“Oh! Uh, something short? So I… so I can reach,” Emmy squeaked.
	“Short, yeah. That’s nice. Short and thin?”
	“Short and thin seems… cool,” she trailed off. “Very agreeable.” She twiddled her thumbs and looked back out the window, thin drifts of snow on the narrowing road, the dense city left far behind now.
	Another half hour of weighted silence hung between them, Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole tolling the magic of Christmas and firelight and Winter love into the tenuous atmosphere of the car.
	“We’re here,” the man said, turning onto a gravel road leading deep into a pine forest, itself leading to an open clearing with a small tent and rows of juvenile trees laid in neat, ordered rows. Each stood at attention, waiting for the scrutinous eyes of prospective owners and awed children. The awed child in this case, however, would be Emmy, her petite frame dwarfed by near all of the trees. She looked over to the small tent where a large, gruff man, the idealistic embodiment of the Canadian masculine form, stood speaking to her owner. She saw her owner say a few words before the tree peddler clamped one hand on his right shoulder and, using his massive finger, pointed to the far corner of the lot.
	“Hey Emmy! We got one,” he shot over to her, his face beaming. The nandroid, who had been up until then watching her owner speak with the man, froze with surprise.
	“Coming, sir!” Scurrying up to his side she glanced up to the mighty lumberjack whose tight lips revealed a soft smile before he nodded his head at the pair. The two walked over into the far corner of the lot, the numbers of other visitors thinning out and the trees becoming less boisterous, less vigorous.
	“He said this is where the ‘runts’ are… maybe we can find an Emmy-sized tree?” Emmy shrunk at this, her cheeks brightening a few lumens before she spotted it. The perfect tree.
	“That one!” The probability circuit in her brain had put her idealized tree’s chance of appearing as near impossible, and the reality of ‘it’ appearing had tripped the surprise and excitement in her mind. She dashed over, scarf flailing in the wind, an equally surprised man in tow.
	“Yes, yes, yes! This one,” she exclaimed. Before the two was a tree just a smidgen taller than Emmy’s owner, just topping six feet. “It’s perfect.”
	“Yes I think so,” the man said. He flourished his hand at his side and looked over at Emmy, who was still enraptured with the tree. His hand fidgeted at his side, twisting anxiously next to the pale, almost porcelain hand of Emmy besides him, before arresting it into his pocket. “Let’s go and pay for it then.”
	Having paid for the tree and, with the help of the hulking lumberjack, affixed it to the top of the car, the man gave the lumberjack a firm handshake and returned to the car, where Emmy was waiting, leaning on the car door, head down. She had a lot to think about, about this strange man in such a strange world, a world where she was nothing and he was everything. The aching in her core was unclassifiable, no level of robotic logic or emotional sub-processes could explain it to her what she now felt.
	“Ready to go Emmy? Emmy,” he questioned. She perked up and stared, mouth just ajar, into his eyes, seeing something entirely new there that she had never seen before. His eyes were aflame in the light of Winter dusk, the lights strung above the rows now casting a yellow glow onto him and beaming out of his eyes. The looming shadows of the adult trees around the small clearing shrouded the place in obscure darkness, in which only he was aglow with warm energy. Her eyes darted across his face before looking back to her shoes. It began to snow.
	“I-I’m ready to go, sir.”
	“Are you alright, Emmy?”
	“Y-Yes! I’m fine sir! Just excited to decorate…”
	“Then let’s waste no time,” he said, slapping the side of the car. “This tree won’t set itself up, and I need a little helper.” The wink he threw in caused Emmy to scream internally, her core temperature rising as her motherboard began panic and overheat. She froze mid-expression before burying her face briefly in the snow, steam billowing upwards, her cheeks glowing red hot. Pulling her face out of the snow she let out a relaxed sigh, the imminent danger of her wiring melting averted, but not the hour-long car ride with her owner.
	“Are you sure you’re okay,” he said, moving a hand to cup her cheek.
	“Fine, really!” She lunged and grabbed his hand before it could reach her face, saving her master a nasty scalding. “Just a little overheating!”
	“Here, let me take your coat then,” he said, freeing his hand and gingerly pulling the coat from Emmy’s shoulders, revealing the loose green and white striped sweater which hung low past her waist and just overlapped the skirt beneath it.
	“Th-Thank you, sir.”
	“Of course, Emmy. It wouldn’t be Christmas without my little helper, would it? Now, let’s pile in. It’s a long drive home and we don’t want the roads to slick up too much.”
	“Of course sir,” she replied, meekly. She slid into the passenger seat once again and nestled into the soft leather seat, her coat draped over her lap. The man got in too after checking the security of the tree, and flicked the radio on once more. Emmy watched him push the dial to another station, the voice of George Michael giving way to the gentle swaying of an orchestra playing a soft Christmas hymn. The melody filled Emmy’s ears as she, once again, turned out the window and avoided her owner, for fear of burning the leather seats or the whole car. Maybe, she thought, maybe some other time.