Page 23 of We Met Like This
Audrey sat on the edge of her seat as if there were scouts in the crowd ready to promise her kids futures in the majors. Or maybe she was just worried they weren’t going to be able to retrieve the ball. I’d noticed over the years that the boys weren’t exactly athletic.
“They’re doing so good,” Mom said, patting my sister’s leg after Sammy picked up the ball, only to have Jack reach into his mitt, snatch it up, and begin running toward the infield as their coach shouted, “Throw it! Throw it!”
I sucked in my lips to keep from laughing.
Chase stood up and cheered along with my dad as the ball was finally thrown and chased around by a couple other kids. I stood as well and clapped.
When I sat back down, I leaned forward to get my sister’s attention. “Look this way. I want a pic.” She tapped her husband and my dad and everyone turned toward me so I could take a selfie of the group.
“Don’t post that online,” Audrey said.
“Of course not,” I teased. Any picture I’d ever posted online with my sister in it had to go through ten steps of approval. Not really, but it felt that way. The downside of a curated life, apparently.
My phone chimed in my hand. All the dating apps had notifications waiting. I had been trying to ignore them, but they had been blowing up all week from my post-makeout self-hate matching session. And now that it was Saturday people were trying to fill their social calendar.
The first message read:I see you have a job. Are you willing to give that up when we start a family? I’m an alpha looking for my beta.
I couldn’t hit unmatch fast enough.
I looked around the bleachers. Maybe there was a cute single dad here ready to save me from an errant ball, who I would then need to repay with lunch.
“Are you swiping?” Mom whispered from beside me, leaning close.
“No, I’m not. Just putting my phone on silent.”
“Show me some choices,” she said with a conspiratorial smile. “I’ll tell you who to swipe into the trash. I’m a good judge of character.”
I nudged her leg with mine playfully. “You’re a bad influence. And nobody is getting trashed.”
“There’s not a trash icon? I think that would be a good idea.”
She might’ve been onto something. “No, I swipe left if I’m not interested and right if I am.”
“And then?”
“And then if they swiped right too, we match.”
“Huh,” she said.
“What?” I asked, curious what she thought about all this. Mom and Dad had been married for thirty-five years. Met at a B-52s concert. Mom couldn’t see the stage very well from her spot in the middle of the general admission pit. She asked a complete stranger if she could sit on his shoulders. He said yes. That stranger was my dad, who always added “I couldn’t believe my luck” to the story. I smiled every time I thought of what an epic meet-cute my parents had.
“It’s so…” Mom paused, her eyes still glued to my phone screen.
“Cold?” I finished for her. “Boring? Unromantic?”
“I was going to say ‘interesting.’”
“I want to see possible matches too,” my sister said from the other side of Mom.
“I don’t know whatyoutwo are doing,” I said. “ButI’mwatching my nephews play T-ball.”
Audrey smiled, her eyes still on the field.
Mom leaned closer to my phone. “Ooh, who’s that?”
A new message had buzzed through with Oliver’s face next to it.
“Nobody,” I said, scanning the message.
