Before this moment, there had been no mention between them of what tomorrow might bring. Dex added nothing further to their comment, and Mosscap merely nodded as though this had always been the plan. An agreement was reached, without any of it being discussed.
Once the fire had caught, Dex brought over the skewers of vegetables and some of the grass-hen sausages their mom had made. They taught Mosscap how to roast these without a grill, and savored both portions as the stars came out.
No turtles made an appearance. Neither Mosscap nor Dex minded in the slightest.
The next day, Dex went for a swim. Mosscap took to the water as well, sitting on the sandy seafloor a good ten feet down so that it might spend some quality time with the stingrays and the crabs. Dex baked in the sun afterward, drifting in and out of consciousness without much preference for one state or the other. They didn’t know where Mosscap went as they dozed, but it returned by evening to build another fire and roast more sausages and poke at embers until they went black.
The third day, Dex remembered they owned a kite. It was shoved into the depths of one of their many cupboards, obtained on a whim one year and forgotten in a matter of days. They showed Mosscap how to fly it, and together they figured out where the invisible currents flowed above them. The steady wind trickled into a useless breeze by midafternoon, at which point they went tide-pooling instead, marveling at sea slugs and letting anemones hug their respective fingers.
The fourth day, Mosscap repeatedly guffawed at a book it was reading, and Dex asked what was so funny enough times that Mosscap just started over and read the whole thing aloud by Dex’s side as they walked or sat or lay in the sand. Satire wasn’t usually Dex’s thing, but they laughed, too, and enjoyed the story very much by the end.
At the end of the day, Mosscap built another fire. “This is the last of the wood,” it said.
Dex paused at this, their knife hovering above a half-chopped carrot. “Oh,” they said. “Right.”
Neither spoke after that. They set their chairs by the fire and cooked the food as the conversation neither wanted to have dangled over them. Dex ate, and Mosscap sat, and they watched the sun begin to set. There was nothing else to be done.
“Do you wanna go first?” Dex asked.
Mosscap said nothing for a while. “Why did you lie to your father?” it said at last.
Dex shut their eyes and let out every breath they’d taken that day. “I don’t see how that’s what we should talk about right now.”
“It’s what I want to talk about, and you asked.”
“I did.” In truth, Dex was surprised Mosscap hadn’t raised the question sooner. “I … I didn’t want him—or any of them—to worry about me.”
“Why would they worry?” Mosscap said. “They can see you’re safe now, so why worry about something that has already passed?”
“They would worry if I told them why I was out there.” Dex shifted uncomfortably. “Some things are private,” they said.
“Yes, but…” Mosscap’s head whirred. “You tell me things that trouble you, and I’ve only known you a few months. You’re of a social species, and this is your family group. I understand such dynamics can be complicated, but there doesn’t seem to be any animosity between you and them. They talk about their problems with you; why don’t you do the same?”
“I just…” Dex sighed. “They worry enough—about me traveling alone, about everything that goes on at home. You saw how it is there; there’s always something going on. If I’m an element of their lives that they can just feel good about, without any complicated bullshit attached, I’d like to keep it that way.”
“But then what are they to you?” Mosscap said. “That doesn’t strike me as reciprocal.” The robot shook its head. “I’m not saying you have to confide in these people, specifically, but I haven’t seen anyone that you do open up to, other than me.”
“I’m open when I make tea,” Dex said. “If people talk to me about their stuff, I might share some of my stuff. That way they know we’re not so different.”
“That’s not the same at all. That’s still under the guise of you providing something for them.”
“Yes, but I get something out of it too. Tea service is really intimate. It wouldn’t be the same if I was just mixing up blends at home and mailing them off. Seeing people, talking with them, feeling that give-and-take—that’s important to me. It really is.”