by G. , Whitney
“Yeah, unless …”
“Unless, what?”
She doesn’t answer me.
“Did you mean what you said at the theater last week?” I ask.
“Yes.” She nods. “Every word. I really do love him.”
My chest aches at her confessing that she’s in love with him again. The look in her eyes is undeniably for him.
“Take things slow with him, then,” I say, surrendering. “Make sure he’s everything you want before you cross the line.”
“He is. I just wish that he could see that.” She hugs me longer than usual, and I rub my hands against her back.
We slowly pull away and stare at each other.
Fuck it. Tell her that she belongs with you instead. Consequences be damned.
“Hey.” Tim steps into the room before I can utter a word. “I was looking for you two. I just got an email about free pizza night at Brick Oven. Let’s go, shall we?”
“No, I’m okay,” I say. “I need to pick up some stuff for her brother while I’m here anyway. I’ll be out of your way soon.”
“I’ll go.” Penelope keeps her eyes on mine, but she loops her arm in his. “We need to leave now if we’re going to make it before they run out, though. Oh, and Hayden, can you shut the door all the way when you leave the house? Tim’s dog is here.”
“Will do.”
I watch from the windows as they leave and get into his truck. Once they roll out of the driveway and pass the four-way stop at the end of the street, I treat myself to a private tour of his things that are in the living room.
I remember Penelope telling me that he was building a dating app as well, but according to what she’s said, he is a bit farther along in the process than me. Where I have a team of seven, he has a team of twenty.
Flipping through his folders, I raise my eyebrow at the logo and name ideas.
Tinder as the name? A red or hot pink flame as a logo?
I open one of the mini file cabinets near the coffee table and pause. There’s a stack of papers, all dripping in code. In between the lines are the words, ‘suggested algorithms, and features.’
I know that I should let them lay as they are, but I can’t help myself.
I make copies of everything in Penelope’s library and unplug the printer. Then, just because he has the audacity to make my best friend fall for him, I knock over all of his shit before leaving.
Break Up #16.5
The One That Could Never Be
better yet …
the one that really started the cold war
* * *
Hayden
Back Then
The copies on my front seat are taunting me as I drive; they’re calling me a “thief.” The guilt of what I’ve done almost makes me turn around and shred everything.
Keyword: Almost.
I want to look at his work, only to see if he’s figured out something amazing for his app. If there’s anything I can learn, not steal.
Trying to silence the voices in my head, I accidentally trigger the memory of a dog barking.
Woof! Woof! Woof!
I try to think of something else, but the barks get louder. And it only takes me half a mile to realize that those sounds aren’t in my head at all.
Woof! Woof! Woof!
I pull over on the side of the road and look in the backseat.
“Woof!” Tim’s grey and black terrier stares into my eyes.
He’s sitting on the floor, and his front paw is trapped under some shipping tape.
What the hell?
I mentally rewind the past hour, wondering when and how he jumped into my car.
He barks louder and struggles to free himself.
I sigh and take my time helping him, considering the pros and cons of returning him tonight or first thing in the morning.
The cons outweigh the pros, so I scoop him up and move him to the passenger seat. Then I grab a blanket off the floor and cover him.
Pulling onto the road again, I take a detour to the closest pet store and try to pretend like I haven’t completely lost my damn mind.
One hour later
I place a bowl of water onto my kitchen floor and make sure there’s enough kibble in the new dispenser that’s next to it.
I’ll return him tomorrow, and Tim will know.
Pulling out the stolen notes, I sit down at my table and begin to read.
His idea isn’t similar to mine in the slightest, but he’s figured out the part that I’ve struggled to find: An addictive way to reject and accept matches.
Swipe right for yes. Swipe left for no.
Hmmm.
He has far more stupid ideas than good ones, though. Things like bagel meet-ups, murder mystery games, and more niche games that users can play to “score true love.”
All of that was utter garbage. But the swiping feature?
That was impressive.
Very, very impressive.
A wave of envy washes over me, nearly drowning me with every hit.
He has my Penelope.
My Penelope.
Without thinking, I pull out the ‘accept and reject’ plans for my dating app and set them next to his. Then I compare every line of code.
I brew cup after cup of coffee, comparing the best parts of his app to the places where my app is at its weakest.
I only take the swiping feature—obviously, but I vow to never admit that shit to a single soul.
By the time I finish, the sun is rising into the sky, and Tim’s dog is pawing at my leg—reminding me that I have to quietly drop him off at Penelope’s next-door neighbor’s house with an anonymous note, so that Tim will never know that I “stole” him.
Shit.
Break Up #16.5
The One That Could Never Be
better yet …
the one that really started the cold war
Hayden
Back Then
I pack my broken heart into a suitcase and head to the airport for New York.
I’m not sure how the hell Penelope finds me, why she insists on making this shit even harder since she broke my heart by falling for some other guy, but I do my best to show no emotion.
I tell her that I’ll still call.
That we’ll still be best friends, but that’s a lie.
I’m too in love with her for that to be a reality.
At first, things seem normal between us—like she doesn’t notice, because I still send her small texts here or there. But I force myself to stop after a few weeks.
Outside of a “Happy Birthday,” or a “Hope you’re well,” we rely on Travis for updates on one another.
He’s far too involved in his own career to ever notice the change.
Break Up #16.5
The One That Could Never Be
better yet …
the one that really started the cold war
Hayden
Back Then
Chicago, Illinois
Several months later, I sit in a bar in SoHo to watch Penelope compete in Skate America. My feelings for her have been compartmentalized, and I’ve channeled everything I once felt for her into my newly named dating app—Cinder. (Yes, I know that it’s petty to make it rhyme with Tinder, but I haven’t completely let go of my envy. Plus, it sounds better than Tinder anyway.)
Alas, almost all of my “She’s too young for you,” “It’ll never work,” “She’s your best friend’s little sister” affirmations have finally paid off. I’ve also managed to get a therapist to convince me that my emotions for Penelope were misplaced for the family I never had.
“Can you turn the TV up a bit?” I call out to the bartender as the show begins.
“As you wish.”
“Welcome back to Skate America, ladies and gentlemen!” The announcer smiles onscreen. “First up on tonight’s program is the reigning world champion in singles figure skating, Miss Penelope Carter!”
I stare at Penelope as she takes to the ice in a stunni
ng blue costume, still feeling remnants of feelings that I swore were long gone.
I have to call her after she wins today. We need to put an end to this Cold War.
Her music begins to play, and she commands the attention of everyone in the bar. Everyone in the arena.
She’s utter perfection for the first minute in, and the announcers are already declaring her as the winner.
She deviates from her program with a quadruple lutz that she lands perfectly. Then she does another.
As if she has something to prove, she attempts and lands a series of triple salchows, and then she gears up for a fourth quadruple lutz.
She launches herself into the air, but she doesn’t land with her blades this time.
Her head hits the ice first.
I stand up from my chair as blood spatters onto the ice, as the announcers scream for someone to help her.
Deafening screams and wails fill the bar, and the TV cuts to a quick commercial.
Without a second thought, I rush to the airport and pay triple for a last-minute ticket to Chicago.
“Took you long enough.” Travis stands up the moment I step into the waiting room.
“How is she?”
“Broken legs, wrist fracture, fractured skull, and selective, spatial memory loss. The latter has to be short term, because she remembers all of my transgressions just fine.” He rolls his eyes. “The doctors say she’ll recover easily, but she’ll never skate again. They say her chase for twenty-eight is officially over.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Me neither.” He pats my shoulder. “I’m getting her some snacks from the cafeteria. You want anything?”
“No, thank you.” I walk down the hall and into her room, expecting to see her sleeping, but she’s sitting up.
Even with her head wrapped in bandages, she’s still fucking gorgeous.
“You wear suits now, Hayden?” She smiles. “I would give you a compliment on how good you look, but I don’t want to feed your ego, and according to my journal, I hate you.”
“You definitely do.” I laugh and set a bouquet on her table.
“Before you say anything, can you tell me if Hell has frozen over, or if I’m still in a coma?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“I had a vision that Tatiana Brave came in here with flowers, and she was crying like she gave a damn about me being hurt. I can’t believe that was real.”
“Hmmm. Let’s see.” I flip over some of the bouquet tags, stopping when I see one signed as, “Your sworn enemy and #2 Skater in the world.”
“She was definitely here.” I pull out the card and clear my throat.
Penelope,
* * *
How dare you get hurt months before the world championships?
* * *
You are utterly selfish for attempting another quad in what was already a winning routine, and I will never EVER forgive you for that.
* * *
I’m praying for a miracle because I want to beat you once and for all.
* * *
Love
(Ha! Not really. I don’t have any freaking white-out :-/ )
Tati
* * *
P.S. You’re the only person in this sport I’ve ever respected 100%, but I still hate you down to your marrow.
“She drew a few lines through that last note, and then under it she wrote, Your costume sucked ass and I look forward to being the new #1.”
“Of course, she did.” Penelope snorts. “I hate her so damn much.”
“No, you don’t.” I sit on the edge of her bed. “I think you respect her, too. In fact, I think you two would be cool if you weren’t such vicious competitors.”
She doesn’t respond to that, but the look in her eyes says it all. “Why aren’t you and I friends?”
“Probably because of our Cold War.”
“One you started according to what I wrote.” She holds up her journal.
“I’m sure your point of view of the past several months is biased.” I take off my jacket.
“Why did you stop talking to me?” she asks. “Was it something I did?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I was just being selfish. That’s all.”
“Selfish about what?”
I don’t answer that. “Are you still with Tim?”
“Who the heck is Tim?” She shakes her head. “You’re the second person to ask me that today. He must not have been that important because he’s not written in my journal at all, and I remember every guy I’ve dated since you left. I have Jackson, Roger, Tate, and Randall—all breakups that you weren’t there for.”
“I’m sorry. Will I have to grovel in order to get your friendship back?”
“Would you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be making a list, then.”
“I’ll follow it.”
She swallowed. “I’ve missed you, Hayden.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” I point to her journal. “Are any of those breakups worth recapping?”
“Well, let’s see. There’s the one who stole my car.” She flips a page. “The one who couldn’t stop burping, the one who told me that I was in love with someone else, and the one who pulled out his cock in the movie theater.”
“I’d like to hear all of them except that last one.”
“I’ll have to start with that one then.” She laughs and slams the book shut. “Promise me something.”
“Yeah?”
“The next time I’m head over heels in love with a guy, tell me to break up with him when things start getting serious if I’m not exactly who I want to be.”
“Why the hell would I ever tell you to do that?”
“Because I’m noticing a theme in all of my journal entries,” she says. “I mean, at the end of every recap, I tell myself the same lessons and they clearly never take. I forget about my own dreams and latch onto his, or I try to become a part of his world at all costs, while sacrificing my own.”
“So, you want to push the one who loves you away?”
“He’ll understand why, if he loves me.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, Penelope.”
“Just say you’ll do it, no matter how much it hurts. You’ll tell me to focus on my dreams and accomplish everything I want before I get super serious with anyone else.”
“Even if he really loves you?”
“Especially if he really loves me.”
She falls asleep after we’ve caught up on a few things, and then she’s wheeled into a series of surgeries the following evening.
Then again, the next day.
Her memory comes back in pieces here or there, but it’s never the whole thing. And it’s never quite in order.
On the one hand, her failure to recollect Tim helps me with Tinder. I mean, Cinder. On the other, I know that one day, should we ever cross the line, she’ll fail to see that I did exactly what she made me promise to do.
Forty Six
Present Day
Hayden
My letter in The New Yorker stopped the internet at nine-thirty in the morning. For twenty minutes, the tech world held its breath while they read my words, and then they collectively gasped in shock.
Thousands of emails flooded my inbox, and #HaydenHunterisOverParty #HaydenHunterstole #TindermadeCinder made their way to the top of Twitter’s trending charts.
As morning news shows caught wind of the story, I turned off my phone and told Sarah to avoid making any statements on my behalf.
I knew that more intensive backlash was coming, but I wanted to stave off facing it directly for as long as I could.
There was only one person I wanted to reach anyway.
I sent out a company-wide memo, telling everyone to enjoy the rest of the week off, and then I brewed myself a cup of coffee. It was almost time for me to begin stage two of getting Penelope back.
As I was looking over my list, a loud knock sounded at my door.
The lock twisted, and the tell-tale sound of loafers hit the marble floor.
Lawrence.
“I love what you’ve done with the place,” he said. “All of these empty pizza boxes, takeout Chinese cartons, and beer cans add a true depressive flair to the room.”
“Thank you. That’s exactly the feel I was going for.”
“Hmmm.” He stepped on an empty wrapper, and I turned around to face him.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You’re here because all of the board members are resigning, and they want to see my head on a platter.”
“Quite the contrary.” He crossed his arms. “I’m the only person who wants your head on a platter—preferably a stone one, so I can crush it with a mallet. Everyone else at Cinder is beyond thrilled with you. They’re planning a celebration in your honor.”
What? “Why?”
“Because ever since you published that ridiculously, ill-advised lover-boy letter, our subscribers have increased by three hundred percent and our stocks are approaching record highs.”
He sounded anything but upset. “I figured you were biding your time and preparing one hell of a gloating session, so let me have it.”
“There’s nothing to give.” I shrugged. “I don’t have anything to gloat about.”
“Allow me to repeat myself. Subscribers are up by three hundred percent and we’re reaching record highs on the stock market.”