“What about you and my Dad?” my brother asks. He loves to rile her up.
For a moment she says nothing. Then, “James, your father and I fell in love the moment we saw each other in the freshman homeroom. We were 14 and I was pregnant by the time we were 18. Unfortunately, we were too young and naive for it to work.”
James and I exchange a look. Mom rarely talks about her first marriage and I never imagine her as someone who believes in love at first sight. I guess sometimes you don’t know everything about your parents.
An alert sounds on my phone. I left it on a side table, and James reaches over to grab it since his long arm can reach. He glances down as he’s handing it over to me and his eyes go wide.
“PerfectMatch.com?” he asks in disbelief.
Oh, no. My face heats up as I snatch the phone away and flip it upside down on the table. I do not want to have this conversation right now. Or ever.
Silence.
I glance up and they’re both staring at me, waiting for an answer.
I groan. “Laurel made me do it. Trust me, I didn’t want to, but she practically forced me.”
“Leigh, let’s face it, no one can make you do anything you don’t want to do.”
She’s right. If I really didn’t want to make that profile, nothing would’ve convinced me. I let out a sigh. “It’s not a big deal and I’m sure nothing will come of it.”
“Well, it looks like you got a message so somebody’s interested,” James teases.
“Shut up,” I tell him.
“I think this could be interesting,” my Mom says. “I thought about joining a 50’s+ dating site, but I’m not very good at all that texting and emailing nonsense. Too high tech for me.”
“I could help you, Mom,” James offers with a charming smile. “I don’t know if you forgot, but I do run a tech company.”
“No,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Call me old-fashioned, but I like to have that first look across the room experience.”
I know exactly what she means. My phone beeps again and I almost choke on the food in my mouth. Was it another message from PerfectMatch?
“Aren’t you going to check?” my brother asks, a gleam in his seafoam eyes.
I take a sip of my water and then casually flip my phone over. Yep, another message from PerfectMatch.com. I slide my ringer off so they can’t hear if I get any more alerts.
My brother laughs when I don’t say anything. “Another one! Ash, you’re gonna have a ton of dates.”
I give a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe. Who knows? I might not be interested in any of them.”
“Yeah, they could be a bunch of weirdos living in their parents’ basement.”
“James!” Oh, geez, I never really thought about that. My eyes get big as another thought hits me. “Or, a crazy serial killer.” Ugh, why do I listen to Laurel?
“I doubt that,” my Mom says. “Just a lot of lonely and desperate people out there.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say and roll my eyes.
“I don’t mean you, honey.”
I lift a finger and whirl it around, motioning to the whole table. “You know what? Everyone at this table is single so I don’t want to hear another word from either of you, thank you very much.”
Later that night, after I’m safely away from my teasing family and back at my apartment in my bedroom, I open the PerfectMatch.com app. Twenty messages! I can’t believe it. Then, I remember my filtered picture and my ego checks itself.
I open the first message, my heart beating hard. It simply says, “Hey.”
I blink, scroll down and search for more, but that’s it. Hey. Um, okay, could you be any more generic?
I move on to the next message: “You are the most hottest girl on here. Let’s meet up and see where this can go. XOXO.”
First of all, eww. Secondly, “most hottest?” I mean, I know not everyone is an English major, but I have no intention of dating a man who speaks like an uneducated little boy.
This is looking glum. Nevertheless, I keep opening messages and, believe it or not, they keep getting worse. Some of the most memorably offensive ones include:
“Mmm, let’s fuck.” Mmm, let’s not.
“Hey there, girl. You like foot rubs?” Not from creeps like you.
“Will you take my virginity?” He seriously looks 12. Not even kidding.
“I’m currently in the hour of the day when I do nothing (except watch pointless TV, drink protein shakes or masterbate) until I go to the gym. Thought I’d say hi.” Yes, he really spelled masturbate wrong.
“Can I tickle you until you piss yourself?” I truly have no words. Serial killer, maybe?
“Do I make you horny, baby?” No. And, how original.
“i know i have no chance with u IRL so if i pay u $500 would u suck me and let me lick u?” I can’t even.
What a complete waste of my time. Just as I’m about to shut this app forever, I see this: “Leigh, I see you like mint chocolate chip ice cream and pizza which makes us kindred spirits. Are you talking about deep-dish, Chicago-style? If not, this might be doomed before it begins ; ) Andy.”
Huh, interesting. Okay, Andy, you have my attention. I click on his profile and check out his picture. It’s a little fuzzy, but when I zoom in for a close-up I can see he is a good-looking guy. Dark hair, blue eyes and an adorable smile with a dimple in his left cheek. Thirty, maybe?
In his bio section, there’s only one sentence: “Looking for ‘The One’ because I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
Ohhh. My heart tightens. That’s kind of sweet. I can’t believe this guy is single. He’s too cute and seems nice. I wonder what’s wrong with him?
Then, I remind myself that no one looks like their picture.
I wonder if Andy is even real?
Despite my doubts, I start to compose a message back.
Chapter Six
Drew
It’s finally Monday morning and I sit at my desk. The modern, large corner office has floor to ceiling windows that provide a panoramic view of the Financial District including the double-decker Bay Bridge and, when I look out, I feel like a King on my throne, ready to take on the world.
I drink hot, black coffee and check my emails. Then, I make a couple of calls. Receive a few calls. No new information about the JD Unlimited takeover yet and that’s all I’m really concerned about.
My mind begins to wander and I pull up the PerfectMatch.com app on my phone. There are around 60 new messages, but I’m only interested in one. My eyes skim down and I search for Leigh’s response. If there is one.
My heart thuds hard in my chest when I see it. I release a long, pent-up breath and open it.
“Nice to meet you, Andy. Although I’ve never been to Chicago, I have enjoyed a pan pizza from the local place down the street. Why do I get the feeling that I’m missing out? And, what does a guy from SF know about Chi-town? I’m an optimist so I wouldn’t say we’re doomed quite yet...Leigh.”
I feel my mouth edge up in a smile. “Leigh,” I write, “I grew up in Chicago so you have to understand two things: nothing beats the food, whether it’s the hot dogs, pizza or doughnuts, and the Cubs rule. If we were there, I’d take you to the Green Mill where we could listen to some jazz and sit in Al Capone’s old booth. That is, if you like jazz and a good gangster story? Andy.”