“So hopefully all that weeds out the assholes using it as a front for hookups.”
“Exactly.”
“So back to online dating we go. You cannot get murdered by a serial killer though. Josiah needs his auntie.”
“Fine, fine. No murder.”
“Are we writing a new profile?”
“No. I won’t subject you to that again.”
“How am I supposed to live vicariously through you if we don’t do it together?”
“Rest assured, I will keep you well informed.”
“Good, because my life would be boring without my soap opera updates.”
“My dating life is your soap opera. Here for your entertainment.”
“You should be flattered that I invest the interest. Consistently.”
“Yes. Now I feel so awesome about my life.”
“Good. I’m here for you.”
“Clearly.”
After a few hours of being mesmerized by Josiah’s baby tricks and listening to Ronnie both glow in and complain about motherhood, Ronnie and Josiah departed. With an equal mix of seething jealousy and unexpected relief at not being in Ronnie’s situation, Emma closed the door behind them, basking in the heavy silence until the hollowness of the house gnawed at her.
She gathered a bar of chocolate from her pantry stash and poured a tall glass of red wine, arranging perfectly on the couch with a heavy blanket and a mindless movie babbling in the background. She curled up with her laptop across her knees as she nibbled on the chocolate and sipped on the wine. The main page of eCompatible reflected against her face mockingly.
Emma took a deep breath and a deeper gulp of wine. Then she depressed the mouse button to create her account.
***
Weeks later, Ronnie showed up on her doorstep with a bottle of wine in each hand.
“I barely recognize you without that tiny human attached to your hip,” Emma joked as she let her in.
“Tell me about it, girl, but believe me, I am going to drink to forget that fact.”
“Sleeping here then?”
“If only. No, I have to be home for the tiny tyrant. I made Terrence drop me off.”
“Clever.”
“Why, thank you. Glasses now. Stat!”
“Calm down. I’m sure you won’t die.”
“I might! Even if by suicide.”
Emma laughed and rolled her eyes at Ronnie’s morbid theatrics and fetched her the largest wine glass she owned. She chuckled at Ronnie gulping down her first glass.
“This is just sad,” Emma said.
“What?”
“I mean, you always chugged your drinks. Now it’s just desperate.”
“See what having kids will do to you? Maybe it’s not always the worst thing that you haven’t had them yet. Enjoy being able to leisurely sip wine for pleasure rather than gulping down out of necessity.”
“Noted. Enjoying.”
“So are we online dating tonight?”
“Look at you, all up in my business.”
“As usual. How is the whole eCompatible thing going?”
“Exhausting!”
“Really?”
“It literally took me three hours to complete the personality test.”
“Why? What did it ask you?”
“The same thing, over and over and over again. Worded differently. Asked from the opposite side. Asked again. Then there were all these questions that made me feel horrible about myself. I don’t want to think about how I let people walk all over me or how I care what people think or how I’m sad a lot of the time. Or advertise them. I probably spent half of my time agonizing over what kind of person would be matched to my sad little answers. It honestly had me questioning if I even deserved a good match.”
“Oh, Jesus. That sounds horrible.”
“It was. And after those three hours, I was supposed to set up my profile.”
“Wow.”
“I couldn’t even do it. I was too tired and depressed and feeling awful about myself. I had to sleep before I could put something remotely desirable together. I got that done and out there, and eCompatible started sending me matches.”
“Does it work the same as Matched.com?”
“Not at all. On Matched, it does send you matches. Who knows how they even come up with those matches. You saw them. You can search profiles and message or wink at anyone you want. eCompatible doesn’t let you do any of that. You can only see the people it matches you with based on this ridiculous personality test. So, I finish the test and create my profile, then the system starts sending me matches.”
“Then you message them?”
“No! Dude, I can’t even begin to explain this process. Let’s see…”
“Wait, take a big drink first.”
Emma took a long, slow pull from the glass. “Okay, so I take the three-hour personality test. Then I create my profile. After that, each day eCompatible sends me seven profiles that match what I’m looking for. I can then look at their profiles. If I like them, I send them three multiple-choice questions I pick from some stock list. Like, how many kids do you want? Or what is your idea of a perfect date? Whatever.”
“In addition to my daily seven, I might also match what other people are looking for. So I show up in their daily matches, and they send me their own stock questions. I look at their profile. If I like them, I answer their questions and send my own.”
“After the stock questions, we send our list of deal breakers, which ten things that we require.”
“Wait, what? I am so confused already.” Ronnie leaned on her hand. Emma recognized the weight lengthening her face and what it felt like.
“So the deal breakers are things like no racists or I need monogamy or must want kids. The absolute requirements that make or break the relationship.”
“Okay, I got it. So you exchange stock questions, then you send these deal breakers. Then what?”
“If you’re still interested at this point, you send three open-ended questions. You can either pick from another list or write your own or some combination of that, but the answers are free and open.”
“They have to write a little paragraph?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice, so you can judge their grammar and intelligence level.”
“Of course you would go right there. So, same thing with the open questions. They answer and send their own. At this point, you can message each other only on the eCompatible system.”
“Jesus!”
“I know! And I’m not even done. You message back and forth on eCompatible for a while, and there, you can exchange real contact info and take your relationship off the site.”
“Man, they really trap you in there forever.”
“And you have to remember, this is only the process for one person. I am getting seven matches a day plus questions from whoever I am a match for and is interested.”
“Exhausting!”
“Right? It is literally like a second job. I am checking messages on my phone every break. When I get off work I spend at least two hours sorting through matches and answering questions. Thankfully, some guys disappear halfway through the process. Otherwise I might have to stop sleeping again.”
“Are you talking to anyone out of this whole mess?”
“I’m talking to like a hundred guys, I think.” Emma laughed heartily. “No, I’m somewhere in the questions with a few guys right now. I’ve gotten all the way to normally messaging with two, and I’m texting with one guy. We’re supposed to go on a date this weekend.”
“Wow, that only took a month.”
“Literally a month.”
“That is ridiculous!”
“It really is. Like I said, exhausting.”
“It better be worth it.”
“Seriously. Otherwise, I might kill someone.”
Chapter 15
Emma sat at the table at another restaurant, the scene entirely too familiar. Plunging headlong into her eCompatible m
atches, she had been on so many first dates recently that she did not even want to eat anymore. No more sushi, no more Italian, no more salad, no more bread baskets. No more awkward meals sitting across from men who turned out not to be a match at all.
She attempted to shove down the preemptive disappointment welling inside her while she waited for her date to return from the bathroom. She tried to suppress the pessimism that had blossomed into a poison in her blood, telling herself she had to keep trying, she had to commit enough to ensnare her future. Every time she desperately encouraged herself, the sentiments lost more meaning. Like a word repeated over and over until the sound of it changed. Like she had been exactly here before. A strange tingle of déjà vu edged each lackluster date.
Her fingertips toyed around the cool, condensated edge of her water glass. Then she compulsively lifted it to her mouth, taking nervous sips. The parade of preceding failures danced through her mind, despite how hard she attempted to barricade them back behind her consciousness.
Her first eCompatible date had been potentially the most uninspired and awkward of her increasing experience. Bob had a minimum of ten years on his numerous profile pictures and droned on about his monotonous job the entire meal. He traveled around replacing optometry machines and self-service photo kiosks, which Emma unfortunately learned were the same technology. She also learned that she had maintained the ability to sleep with her eyes open as she once did during her high school classes.
She never responded to another message from him. Even his queries were mind numbing.
Next was Logan. Logan was, in a word, perfect. Upon seeing him, the spark splattered across her nerves, making her skin crawl with sensation. Surprisingly, she found substance beneath his attractive exterior. A gentle sense of humor trailed in his genuine and straight smile. Conversation flowed naturally between them, without requiring pretense, and the hours vanished in a blink rather than raking her slowly over each second.
With him, Emma felt it. She felt the bottom of her attraction fall out for her to plunge into the depth beneath rationality, falling helplessly. Nearly at the same moment, he was gone. Not in a poof, but in a flurry of rampant overthinking to which only she could completely relate.
He was relocating for work, and they had only started seeing each other. He told her how much he liked her but thought they did not know each other well enough to attempt a long distance relationship. The train of thought meandered on through a million possibilities, colliding dead with the end.
Emma did not want to think about it. She took another tense sip of her water.
Logan left a crater in her chest and weakened her resolve. She barely registered the two men who followed him. She only needed to know they were not the one and did not work out either. So here she sat, trying again at a first date, hoping against hope it would actually result in something, anything, else.
The longer Emma sat alone at her table, the more she questioned if she wanted her date to come back at all. It could be better if he used the bathroom as an excuse to slip out the back. That, at least, would be a new experience. No guy had done that to her. Yet. She would probably simply shrug and switch from water to something a bit more potent. Vodka instead of wine. Something that would bite back and take the edge off her reality more quickly.
What is his name again?
She strained to remember.
Rudy? No, not Rudy. Reese? It could be Reese. I’m going to go with Reese. Reese who delivers soda around town and is from Wyoming. With the younger sister who is a barista like I was. Who has six nieces and nephews and can’t wait to start a family. Who plays pool competitively in his spare time.
She felt like she was reciting his eCompatible profile. How much of it had did she read, and how much did they actually talk about? Or had he messaged it to her? Was it in one of his questions? What were his questions? She struggled, incapable of differentiating the instances of communication, not to mention the numerous other messages from other men she could be confusing into the equation.
If he did not return, she could act parallel to her emotions. She could let the paralytic depression coating her muscles manifest in her actions. She could drop the terse, forced smirk from her face.
A headache bloomed between her eyes, unwrapping spindles of pain that snaked around the curve of her cranium. The more the unpleasant realities disrupted her heart, the heavier the ache became in her skull.
Why am I here? I should go home. Why do I keep trying?
She felt nothing for Reese. She could tell because even now she could not remember what he looked like or what he was wearing. He had made no impression on her beyond her regurgitation of the highlights of his dating profile. She could not have picked him out of a lineup.
I should just go home.
The thought kept playing around her brain, like the lyrics of a song stuck in her head.
If he hasn’t left me first.
Again, she hoped that he had removed himself and liberated her. Again came the tug of impulse to hop up, sling her purse over her shoulder, and vanish out the door. That gaping chasm below her stomach, the depressive pit in her center, weighed her down, pinned her to the seat. The duality and entwinement of hope and desperation paralyzed her. She became utterly dependent on the moment to reveal itself in one direction or the other. She had to know for sure if he was the one.
Reese emerged from the hallway in the back. He grinned at her, and Emma remembered that he was attractive enough. The consistent turmoil receded, disappearing back down into that hole to resurge when she was next alone.
“Sorry,” he said as he sat down. “I drink too much water when I’m nervous, and I might have gotten here early.”
Emma giggled, pulling her fingers back from her own water glass.
A young waitress bubbled her way up to their table with her pen and small pad already in hand. “Are we both ready to order?” she asked with a pleasant grin.
“We have been,” Reese said.
His voice had thinned and become tighter since he apologized about his water drinking. His posture mirrored the change in his voice and he now sat rigidly across from her. Emma squinted and tilted her head at him.
“Um, I will do the Cobb salad please,” she said, “with vinaigrette on the side.”
“Sounds good,” said the waitress. “And for you, sir?”
“I want the steak, but listen closely. I want it medium rare. I mean I want there still to be pink in there. If it’s not bleeding a bit, I will send it back. I also want the fries, but I need them to be crispy. If they’re not crispy, just bring me a salad with ranch. You got that?”
Emma recognized the tension that now infected the poor waitress’s smile. She kept the grin on her face seamlessly. Emma knew how it felt to hold it while gnawing at the soft inside of the cheeks. She knew the waitress was concentrating on pinching the wet flesh between her molars then letting it slip back in order to hold her facial expression steady.
Emma did not hold her facial expression steady. Her mouth fell wide, and her eyes betrayed her disgust. Fire blossomed in her chest and radiated out into her extremities. He could probably see it on her face if he was not busy talking down to the waitress.
As soon as the waitress fled the table, Reese deflated right in front of Emma’s eyes, reverting back to the gentler original she had met initially. He grinned widely at her, but now Emma found the sight revolting, all the attraction siphoned from him.
“I think I was telling you about my little niece, Delilah,” Reese said.
Emma stared at him blankly. A story that seemed so genuine and enticing when he introduced it now sounded hollow and false, like the forced attempt to sucker a woman who truly wanted children as she did. Everything about him was different after that vile tone to the waitress.
Reese continued to talk; Emma did not hear it.
The waitress returned to their table, balancing the two plates in her hands. Internally, Emma flinched, dreading another interaction between
her date and the unfortunate waitress. Once again, Reese stiffened, glaring down at his plate as she placed it before him.
“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked. When they produced no requirements, she clasped her hands together. “Enjoy your meal.”
“Wait,” Reese said. “Let me check this steak before you leave.”
Reese cut into the meat slowly and meticulously then spread the flesh with the utensils. He pressed down with his fork and gauged the juices. “Honey, this meat is not bleeding. I told you I wanted medium rare.” Reese managed to infuse even more condescension into his voice.
“Sir, that is what our kitchen considers medium rare. The cook checked it twice for me. I can take it back if you like.”
Reese looked across at Emma. He had to register the revolt in her features.
“No,” he said. “This will be fine. Bring me the side salad. These fries are clearly not crispy.”
Emma rolled her eyes as the waitress was as she walked away. She had been unrolling her silverware to drape her napkin in her lap then stopped and deliberately placed them on the table beside her salad plate.
“Excuse me,” Emma said without looking up. “I’m going to run to the bathroom.”
She snagged her purse behind her and secured it over her shoulder. Each step away from the table felt like a relief. She marched very deliberately to the bathroom and placed her palm on the door. Then she looked back over her shoulder. From their table, Reese would not be able to see the front door. She left the restaurant.
Emma spent the next day in a zombiotic trance at work. Her head was so full it was empty; she felt so overstimulated she was numb. When the distractions fell away, she registered only a revolving parade of all the dating failures now on her roster. Each punctuated with, Honey, this meat is not bleeding.
Dylan recoiled, dragging his hand across the table away from hers. You’re really awesome. I like spending time with you. I just don’t think I’m in a relationship place right now. I have a lot going on with work and my brother and all that. I don’t think I could really commit.
The Rest Will Come Page 17