Page 3 of Most Likely to Match
The cafeteria full of people.
The vice principal, my photography teacher, and Ms. Bello, the lunch lady, all frozen in a tableau of shock.
The gleeful eyes of Chloe’s friends— one a student council vice president, another the school hockey team captain, a third the shoo-in for prom queen— popular, smart. Better.
The final shot, my penis in my hand, my jeans pooling around my knees.
I close my eyes. I don’t want to see Chloe’s face as the entire school erupts into laughter.
1
CHLOE
PRESENT DAY
When you fall in love, or get engaged, there’s this weird transitory time whenyoufeel different, but the rest of the world stays the same. You walk the same streets, shop the same grocery aisles, ride the same subway trains. You see the same people on your commute and bag your groceries with the same cashier, butyouaren’t the same. And you keep waiting for someone to see it, the sunbeams bursting from your fingertips, the love lifting the smile in your cheeks more perfectly than any cosmetic injection.
At least that’s what I’ve heard from the clients who’ve gotten engaged, the ones who’ve felt like they met The One after a date generated bymyalgorithm. I’ve never been engaged. I’ve never even been in love. But I still understand that feeling.
Just in reverse. The upside-down version of that feeling.
I’ve lost three clients this month. Three. And it’s not even the end of the month.
Not because they’ve been unsatisfied with my matchmaking services.
Not because they never found their perfect match or found them somewhere other than in the code of my algo.
I’m losing clients because I’ve never foundmyperfect match.
The guy who sells hot dogs at the top of the subway steps nods at me as I appear street side. Even though he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even crack a smile, my skin feels painted in the most recent cancellation email. Right there on the surface for him to read. The one that saidI just don’t see how I can take dating advice from a person who doesn’t date.
Which isn’t even true.
I do date. I simply am not dating currently. And when I was, I wasn’t dating seriously.
Because those who can’t do, teach.
Or for the J.Lo fans, those who can’t wed, plan.
Those who can’t love, match.
I smile at Chuck, Moonbar’s late-night bouncer and happy hour private event doorman, but avoid eye contact, because he knows me better than my favorite hot dog merchant. And even if it’s a completely irrational thought, if I meet his eyes, I know he’ll know.
He’ll know that, despite a successful algorithm and well-matched customers, I am losing clients. I ambleedingclients. And for quite possibly the stupidest reason ever.
Because I don’t have a boyfriend. Because I haven’t found my perfect match. Because apparently Core Cupid can only be a viable business if there’s a ring on my finger.
The bar is already packed as I descend the steps into the dive bar. There’s a table set up near the door, where two women from the Downtown Toronto District Business Improvement Area hand out name tags and take down emails for various raffle, including: a thirty-minute call with a digital marketing service; three hundred dollars’ worth of free printing services; and new headshots from the photographer they hired for the networking event.
I manage to get through the registration process without anyone clocking my failure, which seems impossible. Failure oozes from my fingertips like a slick, corrosive oil. Disappointment hangs from my skin like heavy jowls.
I use my bag like hockey pads to get through the crowd ofbusiness owners and make my way to the back of the bar, pushing through the swinging door into the relative quiet of the bathroom hallway. As the door finally settles on its hinges behind me, I shift the bag on my shoulder and open the zipper with enough force to almost rip it. That is enough to give me pause and remind me to breathe.
I spent three weeks researching the best tote bags, taking into account versatility, zipper and fabric quality, and compartments— both quantity and size. Even after settling on this one, I made adjustments to it so it would be absolutely perfect.
Now isnotthe time to destroy my bag because I’m overwhelmed and overstimulated.
“Psssttt…”
