by Max Monroe
I’m looking for a beautiful woman who is sweet and kind and healthy.
Must-haves: honesty, kindness, both kidneys, be a nonsmoker and a nondrinker, have never used drugs, and loves working out and taking care of herself. Type O negative, preferred.
Holy moly. Is it just me, or is Henry planning on stealing someone’s organs?
Without hesitation, I decline his match and head to the next guy on the list.
Andrew, 39
I’m a nice guy and an entrepreneur who has absolutely no interest in committing murder. I’m looking for a special someone to spend my life with, but obviously, we’ll start with a lovely evening that will one-hundred-percent end with you back at your house safely! Because, again, I have no intention of committing murder.
Also, jail isn’t all that bad. And I’d like the record to show that I wasn’t guilty that one time I was arrested and had to do five years.
What is with these guys? Why are they advertising their vices so obviously? Andrew clearly actually wants to murder someone.
Next option, please!
Mike, 35
Life is all about goals.
Here are my top 3 goals:
To hold a massive python or anaconda or any huge snake, really.
One time, to find out what it feels like to have insects on me naked.
Breed Labrador retrievers.
Jesus.
I’m really beginning to understand why Carrie Bradshaw had such a hard time finding a guy in New York. I used to think she was a lunatic for being so obsessed with Mr. Big when he kept letting her down over and over and over again, but now, it’s starting to all make sense.
At this rate, with these online dating pool options, I’m either going to bring home a serial killer, some guy with an animal fetish, or have to resort to calling Boat-Lover Brian back up and asking him for a second chance.
Sheesh. Where are all the good, normal single men in New York?
Well, one of them—who just so happens to be one of the best guys you know—literally lives across the hall from you, you almost tried to kiss him the other night, and you friend-zoned him years ago…
I exhale a deep sigh.
I did not try to kiss Luke Friday night. I just got a little too cozy with his hand on my face. I’m chalking it up to a lack of affection in general. I mean, it’s been a long while since I’ve felt someone else’s touch.
Ava, it’s safe to say all the “find a boyfriend” pressure is starting to get to you.
Instantly, I close out of the TapNext app, slide my phone back into my blazer pocket, and stand up and stretch my arms above my head.
I have to do something else. Anything else. Besides this.
I glance at the clock on my desk and see it’s only a little after ten. I still have another two hours before I’m supposed to meet Claire and Desi.
Instead of wallowing until my lunch date with the girls and reliving memories of Mark talking about his pussy breath, I choose to do something productive. Destination confirmed, I head out of my office and toward the South Wing.
Surely, what I’ll find there will be enough to take the edge off my weird-as-fuck mood.
A girl can hope, right?
“So, how’s online dating going?”
Of. Fucking. Course. It only took ten minutes into lunch with my best gal pals before this dreaded subject came up. The one I’ve been trying not to think about for the past few hours.
I sigh and drop my forehead onto the table. “Horrible,” I mutter and glance up at my friends. “I’ve been on four dates, and every single one has been an absolute dud.”
“Four dates?” Desi’s eyes turn skeptical. “It’s been almost three weeks, and you’ve only been on four dates?”
“Yes. Four dates.” I lift my head off the table and narrow my eyes at her. “Which feels like an eternity when you’re stuck at dinner with some guy named Brian who talks about his sailboat like he wants to fuck it. Or Mr. Pussy Breath, who was appalled I didn’t give myself the gift of his tongue.”
Claire bursts out into laughter.
Desi grins. “Well, that’s disturbing.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” I respond through a sigh. “The odds of me finding someone to bring home for the holidays, my baby sister’s wedding, and that stupid reunion are looking dismal.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Desi chimes in. “I’m sure there’re other guys out there. You just have to try a little harder.”
“Try a little harder?” I repeat. “Des, I’ve scoured that dating app. Looked at what feels like over a thousand profiles, and unless I want to bring an ax murderer home for the holidays, I think I might be shit out of luck.”
“It’s a shame you can’t just bring Luke home with you,” Claire comments, and I tilt my head to the side.
“I asked him in the beginning. He said no.”
“Really? I wonder why. You guys do everything together anyway. You’re basically attached at the hip.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, but you know our relationship isn’t like that. We’re literally just friends. Have been for years. And you know he hates how much I avoid everything. He’d rather I just told everyone the truth.”
“Maybe he’s right,” Desi asserts with a shrug of one shoulder. “I mean, it sounds like it’s safer than bringing home a guy who’s a murder risk.”
Claire snorts. “Yeah, that would certainly put a damper on the holidays.”
“I can’t. It’s just…way too complicated at this point.”
“So, take Luke,” Claire suggests.
“I told you. I already asked. He said no.”
Desi snorts. “Ask again, then. If you really push the issue, there is no way Luke is going to tell you no.”
Claire nods her agreement avidly.
I sigh and take a sip of iced tea. “My family knows Luke, though.”
“So, tell them you’re not just friends anymore,” Desi supplies. “I mean, you guys are super close. It probably wouldn’t be that hard to fake a relationship.”
Would it really work? Fake-dating Luke?
Your lips seemed to think it would work the other night.
I shake off the thought and sigh. “I was hoping to find something real.”
“It’s pretty hard to force something, Ava,” Claire says, her voice soft. “Love just happens. Finding someone…just happens. On its own schedule.”
I do know that relationships generally don’t happen on a fucking deadline.
But is forcing Luke into this really the best option?
I mean, he always has my back, but this? It feels like I’d be asking for a lot. A little too much, to be honest.
I just need to put on my big-girl panties and keep trying.
I need to forget about all the prior weirdos I’ve been subjected to—the Sailboat Fucker and the Cat Lover and Mr. Fishnet Tee and Señor Pussy Lover—and chalk those up as an online dating learning curve. It’s kind of like beginner’s luck in poker; only, you have to get through the shit hands at the beginning instead of the end.
Surely, if I keep giving TapNext a try, I can match with someone who is nice and vaguely normal enough to bring home for the holidays…right?
God help me.
November 17th
Luke
At a little after eight in the morning, I drive my uncle Gary’s Audi R8 into the Woodbridge parking lot—a short walk to Teterboro—and pull into my rented spot. It’s not ideal to have a car while living in New York, but I’m willing to pay the extra monthly costs in parking garage fees for the convenience of always being able to get to the airport on time.
Normally, I’d drive my Jeep, but since my uncle has been in the Bahamas for the past year with his new—and insanely young—wife Claudia, I decided to take his car for a spin rather than let it sit in the parking garage of his building—which is also Ava’s and my building.
It’s not like he’ll notice, though.
He spent most of his life on Wall Stre
et, pinching pennies and compounding interest, and by the time he retired a few years ago, he’d accrued more money than any one person needs in their lifetime. Needless to say, he’s simply living the good life, enjoying the fruits of his labor and a far-too-young-for-him wife.
I waste no time cutting the engine and hopping out of the driver’s seat. With a quiet beep beep, I lock the doors and toss my leather duffel over my shoulder. But before I can start the short walk to Teterboro, my phone vibrates in my jacket pocket, and I pull it out to find Unknown flashing on the screen with a call.
Thinking it’s probably some bullshit telemarketer asking me if I want to extend the warranty on a car I probably don’t possess anymore, I almost don’t answer it, but for some reason, something tells me I should.
Just in case.
So, I do.
“Hello?” I greet and resume my path toward the airport.
“Luke London?” A female voice fills my ear.
“You got him.”
“Luke, I have Tim Brindle on the line for you.”
I stop dead in my tracks. Holy fucking shit.
“Luke, it’s Tim.” A male voice takes over the call. But this voice isn’t just any man. He’s the Director of NASA’s Astronaut Program. “How are you doing?”
“Well…to be honest, sir, I’m not sure if I should be excited to hear from you or worried.”
Normally, the first step in finding out you’re an official candidate in the program is to receive a fancy acceptance envelope in the mail. Not a phone call.
Is this how they break it to you when you don’t get in?
Instantly, my bag drops off my shoulder, and I stand there and wait, in the middle of the fucking parking lot, too focused on the future of my fate to worry if I’m standing in anyone’s way.
“No need to be worried, Luke.” His soft chuckles bounce around in the receiver. “I am calling to let you know that the board has decided you are one of five prime candidates, and you’ve officially been accepted into NASA’s Astronaut Candidate training program.”
Time stops.
All I can hear are the sounds of my heart pounding wildly in my chest.
And I’m still just standing in the middle of the damn parking lot, unsure of what to even do with myself.
“Luke?” Tim questions. “You still there?”
“I-I’m here,” I stutter, laugh, and run a hand through my hair. I’m normally so assured, so confident. Who knew in the proudest moment of my life, I’d turn into a bumbling buffoon? “Just a little shocked.”
“The shock is only temporary.” He chuckles again. “And once it wears off, I suggest you start making arrangements to move to Houston. The program starts January 5th.”
“Wow. January 5th?”
“Yes. Are you ready to be a NASA astronaut, Luke?”
“I’ve been ready for this my whole life, sir,” I answer without hesitation. “Thank you for this opportunity.”
“You know,” he continues, “I worked with Carey London. He was a good man. One of the best. And there’s no doubt he would be mighty proud of you.”
I look up at the sky and smile. Yeah. I think my dad would be pretty fucking proud of me right now.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Congratulations, Luke,” he adds. “You’ll be getting your official NASA acceptance in the mail in the next few days, along with everything you need to do prior to coming to Houston.”
“Thank you.”
“See you in January.”
The call ends, and I don’t know how long I stand there before I’m capable of having a reaction to the news.
I did it.
I got into NASA’s program.
Holy fucking shit!
This is everything I’ve been working for since I was a teenager, and somehow, I’ve achieved what has felt like the impossible for the majority of this crazy journey.
A surprised laugh escapes my lungs. Goddamn. You crazy bastard. You really did it.
Instantly, I call the one person I have to tell this news to, but it rings and rings and rings until her voice mail picks up. “Hey, this is Ava. Sorry I missed your call. Just leave a message, and I’ll get back to you soon!”
There’s no way I’m going to tell her this in a voice mail.
I’m going to be a fucking astronaut for NASA, for fuck’s sake!
In less than two months, I’m going to move to Texas.
Away from Ava.
My heart clenches and strains at the realization. Soon, I won’t be living across the hall from her. I won’t be in the same building. I won’t even be in the same fucking state. I will literally be thousands of miles away.
My phone starts to vibrate in my hand, and I look down to find Incoming Call Ava flashing on the screen. And I just…can’t answer it. A moment ago, I was ready to tell her the news and now, I…can’t bring myself to do it.
This news is exciting, of course, but it changes everything.
Like a coward, I hit decline, and not even a minute later, she sends me a text.
Ava: Sorry I missed your call! I was in an early meeting with my director. Everything okay?
On a sigh, I toss my duffel over my shoulder and resume my walk to Teterboro.
My stomach is in a knot, which is an odd fucking feeling for what should be the best day of my life. I should be ecstatic. Cheerful. Fucking exuberant.
But something with Ava I can’t quite put my finger on has me unsettled.
My mind reels with a million different things at once, and it isn’t until I’m inside the airport and through the lobby that I’m able to gather my thoughts enough to text her back.
Me: Everything’s good, Ace. Just wanted to see how you’re doing this morning.
For whatever reason, I still can’t bring myself to actually tell her my big news. But it’s probably just because it’s the kind of thing I should really share in person.
Ava: Meh. I’ve been better. What time are you getting in from Miami tonight?
Me: Probably around eight this evening. Why?
Ava: Because I made reservations at that fancy French restaurant up the street from our building, and I don’t want to gorge myself on baguettes and expensive cheese alone. But I’ll have to cancel because the dumb reservation was for seven.
I furrow my brow and type out a response.
Me: I take it you were supposed to go on a date?
Ava: Yeah. With a guy named Todd I met on TapNext yesterday. He seemed super nice, but all that changed this morning when he sent me over twenty questions about the size and shape of my feet.
What the fuck?
Me: That’s creepy AF. You’re like a magnet for these guys.
Ava: Tell me about it. He even requested that I wear open-toed shoes.
I don’t know why she keeps doing this to herself. I don’t even know why she’s so adamant about this “Find a Boyfriend” mission, as she calls it.
Ava is gorgeous. Smart. Funny. She’s all the goddamn things, and she doesn’t need a man at her side to prove anything to anyone. She proves every-fucking-thing by just being her.
Me: Don’t you think it’s about time you toss in the TapNext towel?
Her next response is a real rambling doozy.
Ava: And do what exactly? Tell everyone I’m a big fat liar? My mom is still under the impression that I have a boyfriend, although I haven’t told her anything about him. Callie is still full steam ahead with planning emails and phone calls. Basically, I’m so far deep in my web of freaking lies, I’m not sure how to get out of it. And you said you won’t pretend to be my boyfriend, so…
An overwhelming urge to take this opportunity for what it’s worth overwhelms me.
I know her better than anyone, and we like spending time together. Pretending to be in a relationship with her will be a piece of cake logistically, and as a bonus, it’ll be like one last hurrah before I make the move to Houston.
I can take a slightly earlier leave than I’d originally pla
nned from Soar Aviation and spend the holidays in Vermont.
Me: I changed my mind. I’ll do it.
Ava: You’ll do it???
Me: Yes.
Ava: Just for clarification, what is it you’re saying you’ll do?
I roll my eyes.
Me: I’ll be your date. To the reunion and your sister’s wedding and pretend I’m your super-awesome boyfriend.
Ava: Are you being serious right now???
Me: As serious as you were the time you told me you were going to get me a kangaroo for Christmas our senior year at Columbia.
Ava: THAT WAS A GREAT GIFT.
Me: Sure. Completely impractical but fun for the day I had him before they came to pick him back up.
Ava: I’m rolling my eyes at you right now.
Me: Oh, trust me, I know you are.
Ava: Luke, you’ve met my family before.
Me: Do you want me to do this or not?
Ava: I do! I’m just spitballing the logistics, okay? My parents were here two summers ago, and we went to dinner.
Me: Once. They probably don’t even remember.
Ava: My mom talked about you ad nauseum for months straight, AND she sends you birthday cards in the mail. Trust me, she remembers.
Me: Fine. If you’d rather keep dragging yourself on dates with guys who want to lick your fucking feet…
Ava: Ugh. Obviously, I don’t want to do that!