I take off my exercise clothes from yesterday that I’ve never actually exercised in and step into the dress. It’s tighter than when I tried it on last, but it still fits. When I turn around, my eyes widen at how my butt has grown. A pity. Julian would love this, though he wouldn’t approve of my methods. I didn’t drink protein shakes and spend hours in the gym doing donkey kicks and squats. These curves are made of Cheetos.
I reach under my arm and yank at the price tag until the plastic snaps. I will wear this dress out. Maybe not today. But soon.
After retrieving my phone, I search the App Store for “dating apps” and install the top three.
FIVE
Quan
It’s Friday night, and I’m unwinding from a long week, with an entire pizza to myself, a cold beer, and this documentary about an octopus. I haven’t had a social life in two years, so I’ve basically watched all of Netflix by now, even that series about the samurai assassin who gets paid to kill a cat. Lucky for me, the ocean fascinates me, and I think octopuses are cool.
But when the burned-out filmmaker befriends the octopus and they shake hand and tentacle, I don’t know, I’m . . . sad. I find myself scrolling through the dating apps that I neglected all week. I’ve been matched with a bunch of people.
Tammy. Light hair, dark eyes, great smile, great body. She wants to have a big family, loves craft beer, and is training to be a special-ed teacher. I sigh. She’s perfect—if I’m looking for a girlfriend. Which I’m not. Pass.
Naomi. Gorgeous brown eyes, mysterious smile, curves for days. A business executive who dreams of traveling the world with a special someone. I like everything about her, but that has serious relationship written all over it. Pass.
Sara looks like an honest-to-God Barbie doll and just wants a fun time. My interest is definitely piqued. Until I read further and see she’s considering adding a seventh man to her harem. I’ve tried some wild shit in my day, but an eight-person orgy is not what I had in mind for my first time back, or ever, to be honest. Pass.
Savannah, pass. Ingrid, pass. Jenny, pass. Murphy? Wow, okay, Murphy is drop-dead gorgeous, volunteers at nursing homes, and—the kicker—is saving their virginity for true love. Pass.
Naya. Fran. Penelope. Pass. Pass. Pass.
I’m thinking I need to switch apps or narrow my search criteria when I come across Anna. Her picture is so sweet that I almost skip her on principle, but I keep looking because I can’t help myself. She’s got a self-conscious smile and dark eyes that manage to be soft yet penetrating. They draw me in.
In her profile, she says, “Looking to spend an uncomplicated evening with someone nice. Just one night, please.” Under occupation and hobbies, it says, “Not applicable.”
Her picture and profile seem so out of tune that I look back and forth a bunch of times, trying to understand how they belong to the same person. Based on her photograph, I’d say she’s the serial monogamist type who should be looking for flowers and forever, not a meaningless hookup.
Maybe she’s going through some life stuff and just wants to blow off steam. I can appreciate that. It’s not so different from what I’m trying to achieve.
I shake my head at myself as I tap on the button to message her privately. With a profile like that, she’s probably got hundreds of messages in her inbox already. I’m not the kind of guy who gives up without trying, though, so I give myself a moment to think, decide honesty is best, and start typing.
Hey Anna,
I like how direct you are. Right now I’m eating pizza and watching the last thing on Netflix that I haven’t seen before. Free to talk if you want.
Q
I send the message, turn my phone’s screen off, and toss it onto the couch next to me. I’m not going to sit around holding my breath for her to respond to me. Instead, I bite into a fresh slice of everything pizza and switch my attention to the TV, where the octopus is getting chased by a small stripy shark. She jumps out of the water, crawls over land—how boss is that?—and jumps back in, only for the shark to pick up where they left off. I’m so absorbed by the scene that I only notice the notification on my phone when I reach for my beer.
I wipe my hands and mouth on a haphazardly torn sheet of paper towel and pick up my phone. I have a message on the app.
Hi Q,
What are you watching?
A
I look up at the screen just as the shark bites the octopus and shakes her from side to side, and I have to laugh, even though I feel horrible for the octopus. A documentary about a dude and an octopus, lol, I tell her, and yeah, maybe my face heats up a little. It would be cooler if I was watching Star Wars or Deadpool or something.
I loved that one! I watched it twice, she admits, and I can’t help grinning. That was the last thing I expected her to say.
This octopus rocks but I think the shark is going to eat more than just her leg this time.
Keep watching, she says.
So I do, and then I reply, I’m so impressed.