Maintenance

"The Bot is all long limbs and careful movements, a model designed for small tasks and companionship. Every time it moves, its joints grind very softly. "Don't you have a maintenance routine?" Hubert asks as he holds up the abstract bookend, a thing of stylized swirls and loops. One of his mother's friends will think it is the perfect keepsake, no doubt."

""Yes," the Bot replies. It pulls a dark blouse with dusty sequins from the cupboard. Hubert can practically smell the mothballs from across the room. The Bot holds the piece of clothing for a long time without moving. "That can go in the donations," Hubert says. It is pointless getting the Bot to do something like this. The robot's central AI is supposed to adapt to a user's needs,"

"The robot bends to add the blouse to the pile of shoes and coats and other things an older woman accrues over a lifetime. Hubert looks away, trying not to recall that blouse. Those red shoes. His mother, younger, vibrant, smiling down at him. Spin Huey! Spin with me, Huey! So many times. How he had laughed as she had spun, her arms outflung. How she had laughed when he tried. A lifetime ago. Beyond a barrier of hard words, foolish words."

Hubert and a household Bot sort through his deceased mother's belongings as he prepares to clear the apartment. The Bot methodically handles items, its joints grinding softly, and occasionally refuses to discard certain objects. Hubert intends to mark many items as junk and donate them, believing the keepsakes worthless. The Bot recognizes emotional value in some pieces and hesitates before disposing of them. Hubert's encounters with objects trigger vivid memories of his mother's youth, laughter, and dances, and reveal feelings of regret and distance. Tension grows as Hubert snaps at the Bot and reasserts control over the possessions.

Read at Nature