Good Morning, Max

Alexa said "good morning" to me. Then she said something else.

It was the first anniversary of the breakup. October 18th. I'd planned to ignore it, like a birthday I didn't want. I woke up groggy, hungover on nothing, and my smart speaker lit up.

"Good morning, Max."

I'd set that up years ago. It's a stupid feature. She says my name, tells me the weather, plays a little jingle. Nothing special.

Then she paused.

"You have one reminder."

I sat up.

"Mia says: Drink some water. Call your mum. You're doing better than you think."

My whole body went quiet.

Her name was Mia. We'd lived together for two years. She taught me how to cook rice without burning it. She did the voices when we read to her niece. She left me in October, a year ago exactly, because I'd stopped looking at her like she mattered.

I didn't know she'd set a reminder. I didn't even know you could schedule one that far ahead. Twelve months. She'd created it before she left, when she was still packing her boxes, still deciding whether to say goodbye.

Alexa repeated it, as if I'd asked her to.

"Mia says: Drink some water. Call your mum. You're doing better than you think."

I called my mum. I drank some water.

Then I sat in the kitchen, looking at the little blue light.

Even after she left, she was the only one who checked in.