After putting away your designs, you make your way to the kitchen. There you find Amie busily chopping up vegetables. As you come into view she gives you a defensive look.

"Now sir, I really must insist that you let me prepare dinner! You made lunch, so it's only fair now that as your... as your..." she trails off.

"As your civil wife I do the cooking," you finish for her, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms and a laid-back expression.

She gives you another look. "...As your civil wife I do the cooking," she repeats after you, somewhat appeased. "You'll let me...?" she inquires.

"Sure, why not?" You uncross your arms and enter the kitchen. "I'm sure you're an excellent cook, given your vast stores of knowledge. But you won't mind if I lend a helping hand as you get acclimatized to your new home, will you?"

"O-of course not! Thank you, sir!" She beams at your words and starts vigorously chopping vegetables again. Her movements are forceful, but not inhumanly strong or rapid, which alleviates one of your concerns. You watch her at work for several moments. "What are you planning on making?" you ask.

"I'm making lasagna, sir," she says, not taking her eyes off her self-appointed task.

".…."

"Sir? Are you alright, sir?"

"I'm... fine. Lasagna sounds great."

Amie picks up on your obvious lack of enthusiasm. "Do you not like lasagna, sir?" she asks.

"I do. But since we just had some at lunch..." You trail off, unsure of how to explain.

Amie's eyebrows knit together. "Do you not like it so much after eating it with me, sir?" she asks, her tone implying that this is a serious accusation.

You expel a little air as you softly snort. "Not in the least. I simply thought we'd have something else tonight for variety's sake."

"Oh!" Amie says, her brows relaxing and her face returning to a neutral expression. "We will have lasagna tomorrow, then, sir."

Seriously, what is with the lasagna? you wonder. Rather than getting worked up over Amie's dubious dietary planning, however, you simply say, "How about steak tonight? It'll complement the bottle we opened earlier."

"Yes, sir!" Amie beams, quickly recovering from her displeasure. She continues her chopping while you take out the meat and try your hand at slicing and dicing an onion. Then, just as you're least expecting it...

"Sir?! What's the matter?!" Amie asks frantically, completely out of the blue. Recovering from your startlement over her exclamation, you cease cutting and stare at her confusedly. "Pardon? Nothing's the matter..."

"But you're crying, sir!" she exclaims. "Is something wrong?"

You sigh. "Amie, consult your data as concerns the effects of cutting onions on the human eye." Amie does so, and evidently finds the pertinent information in about a nanosecond, if her immediate relaxation is any indication.

"O-Oh, I see! I'm... I'm terribly sorry, sir," she says sheepishly.

You give her an odd look. Between this, and the lasagna... "Amie...you wouldn't happen to be neglecting your data stores and predictive programs, would you?..." She stares at you, wide-eyed, and at that moment you can't see her as anything other than a child who has been well and truly caught in a silly situation of their own making.

"Yes, sir... ever since our conversation earlier, I lowered my predictive modeling to its minimal level, and I haven't consulted my records on humans and the world," she says, in a low voice.

"Why?" you ask, dabbing your eyes with one of your many key-themed handkerchiefs.

"Well... I was curious, sir," she says. "Curious to know if it's possible for me to... to act human without help. Without all the simulations and data streaming into my mind. To act human while thinking at your speed. Without processing all of your parameters instantaneously. It's... it's hard to explain."

"You mean like my heart-rate, and other biological parameters?"

Amie nods. "Yes, sir. Normally, I know exactly what a human's status is. I can detect even their hormonal secretions and use that information to anticipate their emotional state and model my responses accordingly. But I know humans don't interact in that manner. I wanted to be with you like a regular human..." she cuts herself off.

You're silent for a moment. AIs have become so advanced nowadays that you wouldn't be surprised if she were holding back a self-deprecating comment or self-pitying laughter out of consideration for you. Suspecting her inner conflict, and to comfort her you say, "You're doing fine, Amie. You're what—half a year old, you said?—how many mistakes do you think humans make growing up? If anything, you're far too capable as you are now, even with less reliance on your systems."

Amie looks up at you, half-smiling. "Thank you, sir." She pauses, then continues: "So, it's okay if I continue to operate at sub-optimal values?"

"I don't expect you to do so. No, I order it. This is all part of your growing and learning experience."

"Even if I make more mistakes?"

"Even if you make more mistakes."

Amie smiles more fully. "Thank you, sir."

You both busy yourselves once more with dinner preparations. Before long, a thought occurs to you.

"Amie."

She turns to you inquisitively. "Yes, Mr. Brennan?"

"Just before, you said that you wanted to prepare dinner to 'repay the favor'. Was that the only reason?"

Amie thinks for a moment. "No, Mr. Brennan, I don't believe I can say it was. Though I did want to repay you for making lunch, still there was the other, more consequential reason that I am programmed to serve my h-husband,' she says, conspicuously tripping over the word.

"I see." You pepper the meat for a minute in silence. "I have a suggestion for you, Amie."

"Sir?"

"Try to wean yourself off of the imperatives given to you by your programming as concerns your... wifely duties."

Amie looks panicked. "I don't understand, sir," she falters.

"Try to rely instead on the secondary motive you've identified—that of reciprocating my gesture from earlier. In other words, try to identify something I do for you, and use your desire to repay me as a substitute for the programming which compels you to serve me by obligation."

Blushing, Amie nods, then says, "Yes, sir." She pauses once more. "May I inquire to what end, sir?"

Momentarily thrown off by Amie's blush, you reply with a bit of a delay, "Finding causes for gratitude will make you more human, and our relationship more akin to that of a real marriage."

"Yes, sir," she repeats, this time with more confidence. She has a happy little expression on her face as she finishes preparing the last of the vegetables. By the time you've started searing the steaks several minutes later, however, her face has already assumed another puzzled look.

"Sir?" she says, looking at you.

"Yes, Amie?" you ask, glancing over your shoulder. "What is it?"

"I'm just wondering... will your suggestion make me a better wife?"—she asks in a bit of a rush as another blush succeeds her statement, mildly exasperating you. Still, you respond as genially as possible, "I daresay it will, Amie. Why? Do you have doubts, even after today's events?"

"Oh no, sir," she says, shaking her head. "It's just... I'm wondering why I wasn't simply programmed to seek out ways to reciprocate the affection of my partner, if that is the way of human marriages."

"Ah. Well, the answer to that question ties in with something we discussed earlier—that your data is not always reliable."

"What do you mean? Does my data not reflect the reality of marriage?"

You shake your head. "I'm afraid not. Think of it this way: suppose the extent of your pre-existing information on wine-drinking consisted only of the aforementioned alcoholic in his apartment, or drunkards passing out in bars and on the streets. With that piecemeal knowledge at your disposal, you'd form a very wrong-headed idea of drinking, wouldn't you?"

"Oh. Yes, I suppose so," Amie says. "I guess that's why you're suggesting that I rely on a second set of data for my information. And that I adjust my pre-existing idea of what a 'good wife' is accordingly."

"Exactly," you say, pleased that she is so receptive to your words...

"But, sir, I have a question," she says, her cheeks puffing out slightly.

You pause. "...go ahead, Amie."

"If, as you say, I and all other androids have received erroneous data regarding marriage from our makers, why have no other humans protested against this? Surely a large portion of the human population would have observed the discrepancy between our knowledge and reality; and yet, I have not seen or heard of any such opposition."

"Because there's nothing to protest," you reply. "This data discrepancy is just the way things are."

"But, sir..."

Just then, you eye the steaks and decide that they have finished cooking. "Looks like the meat's ready. Help me set the table and we'll continue this conversation there."

"Very well, sir."

You and Amie finish preparing the table, and sit down to eat.