Page 2 of My Best Friend's Sister

O N E

- Madeline-

Ever since I started using Uber, I’d been conducting unofficial research about whether drivers were happy working for the company. I didn’t know why. Maybe it’s because I didn’t trust headlines anymore or maybe it’s because asking people about their flexible work hours was a handy way to get them in a good mood and talking about themselves.

Whatever compelled the urge, I couldn’t seem to stop it. But that was fine by me. Beat awkward silences any day. Or worse, having the driver ask me questions. If I wanted that kind of hassle, I’d run errands with my mother.

Truthfully, though, their responses were irrelevant. If every Uber driver on the planet told me that the company paid them minimum wage and whipped them every time they showed up to collect it, I probably wouldn’t stop using the app. It’s too damn convenient, and it’s saved me a buttload of cash.

Maybe that makes me a terrible person. Or God forbid, a millennial. But taking cabs wasn’t a vintage experience worth paying for like listening to vinyl records, for example. Otherwise, all the hipsters in Chicago would insist on paying more for the privilege. Instead, they’d rather bike around rain or shine. Because as everyone knows, there’s nothing hip about overpaying for transportation.

The same went for dating sites, which reminded me, I hadn’t swiped in hours. God forbid there was a sufferable suitor out there bursting to send me an obscene message. Frankly, the more obscene the better, since I desperately needed a distraction from the fact that I couldn’t afford to take the internship offer I just got. Not that I’d broken the news yet.

I opened the app as my driver, a middle-aged woman with middle-sized dreads, started complaining about her son’s gaming addiction. But before I could start swiping, my sister’s face popped up on my phone. I apologized to the driver as a courtesy before answering the call. “Please don’t tell me you’re not going.”

“You know I’m not going,” she said. “I told you the second James invited us.”

My blood pressure spiked. Maeve was supposed to be my lifeline at this thing. Standing by the appetizers and talking shit about James’s obnoxiously fancy friends was literally plan A through C. “He’s our brother! He’s going away for six months!”

“I know,” she said, making a sound like she’d just finished chewing something. “To London.”

“It’s across the ocean!”

“I’m morally opposed to going away parties if you’re going somewhere cooler than here,” she said. “How about someone throws me a staying-put party? Like, surprise, Maeve, we all got together today to say how awesome it is that you haven’t jumped off your building on your lunch break at any point in the last five years.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s not like I would actually do it,” she said. “I’m just trying to make a point. Apparently, it is a thing in Japan, though. People are so overworked they have nets at the top of skyscrapers to catch them when they fall.”

“Jesus.”

“Not enough staying-put parties happening there either, if you ask me.”

I sighed. “What are you going to do instead?”

“I’m staying in to swipe.”

I laughed. “Since when do you use Tinder?”

“Since never, but I got a binder from a sperm bank today full of potential—”

“What?!” I asked, my eyes doubling in size.

“Don’t freak out,” she said. “I haven’t agreed to anything besides swiping through the booklet to learn more about the swimmers on offer.”

I hugged my small purse to my stomach. “I thought you were joking when you said you were going to look into that. You’re not even old.”

“I’m no spring chicken, either.”

“I take it back. Anyone who uses the phrase spring chicken is ancient.”

“Maybe I’ll find someone for you, too.”

I scoffed. “The last blind date you sent me on was a disaster. You seriously think I’d let you set me up with a sperm donor?” I glanced at the rearview mirror and appreciated that the driver didn’t meet my eye. “If you want a baby so bad, why don’t you just get a boyfriend?”

The woman bit back a smile as she made a left-hand turn.

“It’ll be the same, I promise. It’ll fart and burp and insist on being half naked most of the time, and it’ll get cranky if you don’t let it play with your boobs.” Thank God the driver was a woman. I never would’ve been so blunt in front of a man.

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