Page 48 of The Match Faker

“Yes. Sorry.” People say that Canadians are always apologizing but I’ve never noticed until now. “The connection here is really bad.”

“Okay. Well, um, like I said, Nick was so sorry to miss your date. And I apologize for not checking in with you after the fact. If I had, we would have known that you’d been ghosted. Well, not ghosted, I guess. Since he actually had a good excuse.” Shelaughs, a pretty sound. “But either way, now you know, he didn’t actually ghost you.”

“Right,” I say, my throat so dry I can barely get the word out. “Because he…Nick, my date…or match. Nick didn’t show up to our date because…”

“I know. It sounds unbelievable. Like the plot of a nineties rom-com.”

A roar of laughter comes from downstairs, and I listen for the cries of one of the babies sleeping on this level. Either their cries aren’t sharp enough to break through my fishbowl or their parents have their sound machines on max.

“But I visited him in the hospital,” she says. “And I can confirm that yes, that man was hit by a bus on his way to your date.”

My brain has somehow become a clunky old machine. I wonder, momentarily, if Chloe is actually speaking French. I pulled As in school but that was over a decade ago.

“Nick was hit by a bus,” I repeat. “Then in a coma.”

“But only for a few days,” she interjects.

Numb, I nod. “Right. But now he’s better.”

“Apparently, he’s a medical miracle.”

“Uh-huh. And now he wants to go on the date that we didn’t get to have.”

“Exactly.”

If my Nick isn’tmyNick, then who the fuck is he?

Chloe must read my silence as disinterest. “Listen, I know it sounds strange. I was skeptical too, at first. But I’ve checked it all out myself. It’s real. And I really do stand by the algorithm. I think you’ll be a great match, and just think, if things go well, this will be such a fun story to tell your grandkids.”

By some miracle, I’m able to fake a laugh. “I…I…”

“You need some time?” Chloe asks.

“Yes. Please.”

“Of course, and listen, if you think it would help?—”

The hardwood floor creaks from somewhere nearby. Footsteps in the hall move closer. I’ve been here a while. Nick is checking on me or Mindy is and I really don’t want to see either of them right now.

“—could I share your email address with him?”

The steps stop outside Nick’s closed bedroom door.

“Um.”

A knock sounds, causing the solid wood to rattle against its frame.

“Sure. Yeah. Whatever you think is best,” I say quickly. Without waiting for a response, I hang up, and an instant later, the door opens, and Nick pokes his head in.

The numbness is gone, I’m no longer cold, confused. I’m going to fucking kill this man. Tossing my phone on the bed, I haul myself up and storm across the room before he has time to open his mouth.

“You,” I growl. Grabbing him by his lying T-shirt, I pull him into his lying room and slam his lying door behind him.

He stumbles as I push him away, his face a mask of bewilderment.

Rage courses through my veins, humming and heating me from the inside out. My hands shake with anger. I make fists, keep my arms straight at my side. I’ve never felt this angry before, like I could tear into him with my nails and teeth.

“What the fuck, Jasmine?” he whisper-hisses.

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