Swipe Right

by Tagan Shepard

  After gushing for a solid half-hour, I tried my hand at a reply. It didn’t go well. Charming and witty weren’t my forte and, besides, it was much more fun to work these out with Pen’s help. It had become our little ritual since Georgetown and I was enjoying responding almost more than receiving Skye’s messages.

  Pen and I had hung out in her gorgeous listing for an hour writing a response that made me swoon. Okay, really Pen wrote most of it. All of it. I was starstruck by Skye, but by the time Pen had finished a flirty but not-too-flirty response, I was a little starstruck by her, too. She was really good at this stuff. Unfortunately, Sunday was Pen’s other rest day, though a negotiable one if she had insistent clients who wanted to do viewings. Either way, there would be no help for me today.

  Sighing, I dragged myself out of bed and grumbled through a short run before breakfast. I was stepping out of the shower when my phone dinged with a new text from Pen.

  Have you heard from your distracted partner who takes days to respond yet?

  Ooooh someone’s salty.

  It took Pen so long to reply I was able to complete my entire moisturizer regimen before my phone dinged again.

  Sorry—tired and cranky.

  I’m sure Skye is suuuuuper dreamy and worth the wait.

  I forgive you and I’ve shown you their pic.

  I can’t remember.

  I’ll show you again tomorrow ;).

  Please don’t.

  I mulled that one over for a long time. I’d thought we were joking, but that message had a weird undertone. I tried to remind myself that it was impossible to determine tone through text, but the last thing I wanted to do was annoy my best friend. I didn’t want to be that girl who had nothing to talk about apart from their partner of the moment. I stared at my phone screen, chewing on my bottom lip until a new message from Pen arrived.

  LOL

  My forehead scrunched at that response. Why had it taken her two minutes to laugh at her own joke? She must’ve been teasing me. I shrugged, unable to determine any other meaning, and changed the subject.

  Speaking of tomorrow—if I buy you lunch will you help me write back?

  So you did get a message.

  Yeah and I don’t know how to respond.

  You’re hopeless.

  Don’t make me beg?

  Never.

  But tomorrow is too long—buy me lunch today and you won’t have to fret.

  A lock of hair had escaped my bun and I twirled it around my finger. In fact, it was the same piece of hair I’d been twirling around my finger since I got Skye’s message. I dropped it and flexed my fingers, which were already itching for me to twirl it again.

  I don’t fret.

  I can hear you fretting from here.

  I was going to type out an angry denial but realized I was twirling my hair again. And chewing on my lower lip. And my eyebrows were all scrunched together. Okay, so I was fretting a little.

  But it’s Sunday.

  It’s still a rest day if you bring lunch here and we hang out on the couch.

  I really wanted to. I was already wandering into my bedroom to look for my laptop bag, but it felt selfish. It may not be active work, but composing the message meant Pen was doing something for me on her day for herself and that felt wrong. Still, her couch was so much comfier than mine and I hadn’t seen her since Friday lunch time. It didn’t sound like a long time to go without seeing a friend, but I was desperate for some quality Penelope Time.

  I’ll take chicken salad on rye from Maisie’s.

  Pajamas are rest day dress code, so come appropriately attired.

  I showed up at her front door in sweatpants and a hoodie an hour later, bags of diner food in one hand and my laptop in the other. When I knocked, Pen called out that the door was open and I walked in to find her sprawled on the couch. She wore a pair of button-up pinstripe pajamas that looked like they’d been ironed, but no one could lounge like Pen. She had one leg thrown over the back of her couch and one arm tucked behind her head.

  “It’s about time,” she said, turning off the home renovation show she’d been watching. “I’m starving.”

  “Plate?”

  “No time,” she replied, making an adorable grabby motion for the bag.

  I couldn’t help laughing at her childlike expression of desperation. “Are you even capable of cooking for yourself?”

  She took the takeout box and shook her head. “Nope. It’s all takeout and my BFF’s kindness or I’d starve.”

  “I’m charging you for that sandwich,” I said, waggling my laptop bag in her direction.

  She mumbled something that sounded like “later” through a mouthful of fries and I dropped onto the couch beside her. We moaned in unison at the first bite of overstuffed sandwich and settled in for a good old-fashioned chow session. For all her complaints of hunger, Pen ate slowly, even daintily, and we peppered our meal with our usual banter and a lot of teasing.

  The longer we chatted, the lower I sank into her pillowy couch. Pen had saved me the chaise section, which was my favorite and offered a view of her side yard through a double window. She’d put in a new flower bed with hydrangeas and some shrubs with red-tipped leaves. I watched them flutter and dance in a light breeze as my eyelids drooped. I was always more comfortable in Pen’s house than my own, partly because there were no projects to distract me, but mostly because of this couch.

  Pen slid my computer onto her lap and stretched out across the rest of the couch cushions. She tossed me a wink and said, “You relax and let me work my magic.”

  I was far from arguing. In fact, I was already half asleep. I smiled my lazy response and pulled my hoodie tight around me. I stared into her perfectly manicured lawn for a while, trying to recall if she’d told me she was putting in a flower bed. I couldn’t remember the conversation, but I’d been so caught up in myself recently I missed a lot. I turned to Pen, meaning to ask her about it, but the thought died the minute I saw her.

  Adorable was the only word to describe it. With manic intensity, she glowered at the computer screen. Her eyebrows danced as she read Skye’s message, the occasional silent chuckle rocking her entire body. It wasn’t the attention I saw when she was intent on her professional work. When she was showing a house or walking a client through a closing, she was an approachable expert. The person you could count on to answer any question without making you feel stupid. But she also was attentive to her clients and her coworkers, splitting her attention without missing the slightest detail. But here she was single-minded. I could have smashed through the window and I doubt she’d have looked up. As she typed a response, her tongue peeked out between her lips. Every now and then she would whisper the words she’d written, replace them, and try again. Like I said, adorable.

  While she worked, I fell asleep hugging a throw pillow. I jerked awake at some point, finding a thick blanket draped across my body. I tried to sit up, but my limbs were still trapped in sleep. Pen looked over at me with an indulgent smile.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, my voice sticky. “You should’ve woken me.”

  “Nah. You looked so peaceful.”

  I fell asleep again before I could respond. When I woke the second time the light through the window was dimmer, carrying the red-orange glow of evening. The room was quiet, and I craned my neck to look for Pen. She was asleep across the length of the couch, her hands tucked under her head a few inches from mine. I watched her for a while, the steady rise and fall of her shoulder matching the softest whistle from her parted lips. It wasn’t a snore exactly, just the whisper of her breath across her teeth. It was really cute. I’d definitely tease her about it later.

  Pen woke, her breath hitching for a second as she stretched like a cat in the sun. Her flexibility never showed more clearly than moments like this. I was jealous that I couldn’t stretch so thoroughly. Her jaw cracked as she yawned and rolled onto her back.

  “That was awesome,” I said, pulling myself up into a sitting positio
n but keeping firm hold of the fluffy blanket. “I can’t remember the last time I took an afternoon nap.”

  “This is what rest days are all about,” Pen said, scratching the hair over her right ear and looking more like a cat than ever.

  I let out my own, less impressive yawn. “I could get used to this.”

  “You’re welcome anytime.”

  Pen’s phone rattled around on the coffee table. She scowled and snatched it up. It was kinda adorable how much she hated phone calls. She answered clients’ calls reluctantly, but otherwise she was a strictly text message or email gal. She always hid her annoyance when I called her, but sometimes I just couldn’t type fast enough to get my thoughts out like I needed to.

  “If you need to get that I can go,” I offered, hoping she’d decline.

  She jammed her thumb into the screen and the cheery jangle of her ringtone cut out abruptly. “Nope. It’s my dad.”

  As happy as I was to be staying, Pen’s dad was really sweet. “How is he?”

  “Forgetful apparently, or he wouldn’t be calling me,” she replied, tossing the phone back onto the table.

  “When was the last time you talked to him?”

  She shrugged and tucked her hands behind her head. “Not long enough that he’s forgotten I call him, not the other way around.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at her grumpiness because I didn’t miss how she peeked over at the screen to see if he’d left a voice mail. “Maybe he’s checking to see if his daughter’s a millionaire yet. How did the showings for the Georgetown place go?”

  “Looky-loos,” Pen replied. “What a waste of a Saturday. If I’d known they had no real interest in the property, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

  “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

  “This one’ll take a while, I guess.” She didn’t look too bummed about it, but I knew she’d be sweating the sale again soon. “Wanna watch a movie?”

  “Who gets to pick?” I asked. Pen’s tastes went toward action flicks. Usually the ones from our youth, with scantily clad damsels in distress.

  “You’re the guest.”

  “Yeah, but I’ll pick an ‘80s rom-com and you’ll snore through the whole thing.”

  “Excuse me, ma’am.” She glowered at me. “I do not snore.”

  “You were literally snoring two minutes ago.”

  “Was not.”

  “Was too.”

  She tossed a pillow at me and I managed to catch it before it smacked me in the face. I tucked it behind my head and pasted on a smile that was almost as smug as Pen’s normally was.

  “Your violence only serves to prove my point.”

  She hopped off the couch and slouched into the kitchen, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. “I’m not sharing my popcorn with you.”

  She did though. And she reheated some vegetarian chili and poblano corn bread for us. I knew her complaints about not feeding herself were exaggerated. We settled on Ladyhawke as the ‘80s intersection between action and romance. Fortunately for me, she’d never seen it so she didn’t know the romance heavily outweighed the action. And the trademark ‘80s cheesiness was cringeworthy. It was actually a pretty bad flick, but sweet enough to make me cry. Plus, Michelle Pfeiffer. Not much more needed to be said.

  By the time Michelle rode off into the sunset with her soulmate, the moon in Woodbridge was well up. I peeled myself off the couch reluctantly and folded the blanket. My bones felt like jelly from so much relaxing and I hated to make them solidify again.

  Pen picked at the couch cushion and said, “You can stay if you want. No one’s used the guest room since Dad was here for Christmas.”

  She stuck her bottom lip out. Unfair. She knew I couldn’t resist the patented Penelope Pout. Still, the mention of her rarely used guest room was a clear reminder of where most of her overnight guests slept. I’d seen more than one of them leave when we carpooled. I also saw how her neighbors looked at them and I didn’t want any of that shade thrown my way.

  “Sorry, Pen,” I said, pushing the thought from my mind. “We’ve got work in the morning and while these sweats were great for a rest day, they don’t exactly fit Randy’s dress code.”

  “Yeah,” she murmured, still staring at her pillow. “I guess not.”

  She looked sad and I wondered if she’d been cooped up inside too long. I ruffled her hair on my way out, but she stopped me at the door.

  “You forgot your laptop.”

  “Oh shit.”

  I’d completely forgotten about the reason for my visit. My stomach dropped at the thought that I hadn’t answered Skye in almost a full day. I’d never made them wait that long.

  “Stop fretting,” Pen gave me a wink as she held out my laptop bag. “I sent it through while you were sleeping.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I knew there was no chance I could sneak out of work early without anyone noticing, and I was thrilled the only person who caught me was Arthur.

  “Nice try, Kieran,” he said, slipping through the open door of my office as I collected my purse and briefcase. “Where are you off to?”

  “I came in early today so I could get all my work done by four. I’m not doing anything wrong. You can’t tattle.”

  “You always come in early and you always get your work done by four. You’re the only one of us in this office who works.” He paused to flash his charming smile at our coworker Dawn as she headed out on her third smoke break of the afternoon. She scowled at his comment but continued away from her overflowing desk anyway. “I don’t care about that. I want to know where you’re going.”

  I smiled and didn’t even try to hide it since my blush would have given me away. I was desperate to talk about Skye. “I have a date.”

  “At four o’clock?”

  “No. It’s not until six, but I want to look really good for this one.”

  “You’re going home to shave, aren’t you?”

  He sat on the edge of my desk and leaned in, for all the world like one of my high school friends asking for the scoop.

  “No. I’m not the kind of girl who goes home with someone on the first date.” Chloe notwithstanding, I had a strict fourth date rule and I was not going to break it again. “But it doesn’t hurt to smell nice.”

  “If you think that’s important, you’re definitely not going out with a guy.”

  I should have argued but he could judge his own if he wanted to. “As a matter of fact, they are not a guy.”

  “Oh! Another hot enby, huh?”

  Sometimes I regretted teaching him some basic queer vocabulary but it was refreshing to hear a straight, cis white guy refer to a nonbinary person appropriately. And wow did I want to gush. I dropped my bags and jumped up beside him on the desk, pulling up my favorite pic of Skye. Arthur whistled and took the phone from me, grabbing his glasses from his suit pocket to ogle better.

  “Nice work, Kieran! They’re even hotter than Alex.”

  I chose to focus on the compliment and held back my cringe. Arthur and Alex had always gotten along, even after we’d broken up. I hadn’t wanted our friends to have to choose sides, but if they did, I wanted them to choose mine. I didn’t know if Arthur and Alex still hung out, but, in case they did, I agreed that Skye was hotter. And also funnier, wittier, and more charming. In fact, they were so great I had a hard time keeping my cool while we messaged.

  “It didn’t start off on the best foot,” I confided in Arthur. “But things have definitely been looking up.”

  It had been tough to wait that whole day for their first message but waiting had been a big part of my relationship with Skye so far. Content creators, and I still wasn’t clear what one was, were apparently extremely busy because it still took them ages to reply.

  The message Pen had sent while I napped Sunday afternoon didn’t get a reply until Monday lunchtime. It was still a trend with us. I would reply immediately, as long as Pen was there to help me craft something decent, and then wait twelve hours
or more for Skye’s new message. At first it seemed sweet and old-fashioned to wait, but then it became annoying. I wanted to be more of a priority to them, but there was no way I could say that without sounding super needy. I didn’t want to start a dynamic of me whining and them acquiescing to keep me happy. They were dedicated to their work and that was something I understood. If the trend continued when we got more serious, then we could talk about it.

  The whole thing would be cleared up when we met in person anyway. I was much better in person than online. Once they met me, they would fall as hard as I had and then they’d drop everything to talk.

  After two weeks of increasingly personal messages and several hints, Skye had finally asked me out for dinner. More than any other person I’d messaged, more than any other date I’d been on, this was one I thought could go somewhere. I was already planning a second date.

  “That’s so great. I know you two will really hit it off. Only thing,” Arthur said, a frown deepening lines around his eyes. “I thought you were going out with Pen tonight. Didn’t I hear you talking about it?”

  “Oh yeah. I’m meeting her after.”

  “You have a date after your date?”

  “It’s not a date. It’s Pen!” I hopped down and collected my stuff from the floor. “I was nervous for that first online date…”

  “The Disaster at the Newseum.”

  “Arthur, if you have given titles to each of my disastrous dates kindly do not tell me. Anyway, the date was so terrible I met Pen after to drown my sorrows. It’s sort of become a routine for us.”

  “So you preplan the drowning your sorrows? Sounds like you’re setting yourself up for failure.”

  “Not this time,” I said, sashaying to the door. “This time it’ll be a chance to gush about how amazing my night was.”