Swipe Right

by Tagan Shepard

  “All kidding aside,” I said. “I’m sorry about ruining your chances with that one. She’s cute.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry. I can make it work. Keep crying on my shoulder for another minute and I’ll be the best friend in the world.”

  I whispered just loudly enough to be heard over the beat of her heart in my ear, “You already are.”

  There was a rumble like a purr in Pen’s chest. It reverberated through me and shook the last of the anger away. The tears were gone, but they left emptiness behind. I hadn’t been this tired in a very long time.

  “And now she’ll know it and I can definitely get traction with that.”

  “You know what,” I said, prying myself out of her arms with difficulty. “I bet you could.”

  Abby came over to check on me, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk, so I scanned the crowd and let Pen reassure her. I was pleased to see no one was looking our way. Perhaps women breaking down in the arms of the first person they found was a regular occurrence here. It seemed to be the theme of the night. Across the courtyard, seated on a metal bench identical to ours, was another woman sobbing into someone’s shoulder. I couldn’t see either of their faces, but one had long, blond hair and the other had the gayest haircut I’d ever seen. Short with lots of product in an asymmetrical cut. She wore a plaid shirt and bulky men’s jeans.

  The blonde came up for air and I realized it was the skinny girl that had been draped all over Pen when I came in. I shot Pen a look, and it was clear she’d seen the display. She shrugged, though it wasn’t in her nature to give up so easily. Then, as I watched, her face hardened into a mask of confusion. I looked back to the bench and now the butch’s face was visible. It was a very familiar face. I had a feeling that, if I saw her walk, she would still walk just as gay as she had leaving Pen’s townhouse.

  “Um, Pen, isn’t that…”

  “Sure is.”

  “For someone who isn’t gay,” I said as the blonde went in for a kiss as aggressive as the one she’d been laying on Pen. The kiss was returned energetically if somewhat sloppily, frightening a yuppie straight couple nearby. “She’s really leaning into it.”

  We watched them make out for a little while. It wasn’t the prettiest thing in the world, but then watching someone else make out rarely was. When I realized there was little chance Pen would actually go home with the blonde, I sighed and squeezed her hand.

  “I guess you’ve earned yourself a toaster oven, Pen.”

  “Excuse me,” she said, her eyebrows knitting together. “That joke is a reductive stereotype that denies lived experience and sexual fluidity.”

  She held her straight face for a full two seconds, then started to laugh. I scowled at her. “That’s my line.”

  I wasn’t able to hold my scowl nearly as long as her. Soon we were both laughing and banging our hands on the bench. Abby gave us a long eye roll and that only made us laugh more. This was exactly what I’d been looking for tonight. Pen being her normal, hedonistic self and teasing me for being my normal, overthinking self. It was the sort of dynamic I had never had and, given recent events, doubted I ever could have with anyone else. Our relationship was the most special part of my life and I could cry with gratitude for it every day.

  Pen grew quiet first. “Want to talk about the date?”

  “No.” I’d tell her eventually, but I was exhausted emotionally and physically. “I just want to hang out with you for a little while. Is that okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I’ll send you off to fight for another notch in your headboard. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hank Prince was a single guy who’d worked sixty-hour weeks for years to buy his first investment property. It’d been difficult to set an appointment for his closing because he travelled a lot for work and often at short notice. He was very polite and even apologetic both times he’d had to reschedule. When we set the third appointment, I mentioned his appraisal would expire if we pushed the date again. He promised to not make any more trouble for me, even if he had to fake being sick to get out of work.

  In the end he didn’t have to, but he had to do the closing without his Realtor present. The only time he was free was a Tuesday afternoon, but Pen had helped him find this fixer-upper. When I told her the new date was a rest day she offered to come in but he refused, even enlisting my help to get her to stay home.

  Our mutual battle against Pen’s stubbornness helped build a rapport before we’d met, and I had a feeling from the tone of his emails that he was going to hit on me. He didn’t waste any time, asking me to drinks before he’d even picked up his pen. To his credit, he was very polite when I turned him down.

  “I understand,” he said, rubbing a hand over his prematurely bald crown and sparse copper hair. “Seemed worth a shot. I thought it would work to my advantage that I own two homes now.”

  “Actually,” I said, sliding the deed signature page across the table to him. “You only own one home until you sign right here.”

  He laughed and scribbled his name. He was one of those clients whose signature got sloppier the deeper we progressed into the packet. I could never abide someone who couldn’t maintain good penmanship. Sure, thirty signatures was a lot, but it showed a lack of commitment. Anyone who got distracted while spending a quarter million dollars wasn’t worth my time.

  I noticed some of the wind had gone out of Hank’s sails. It was inappropriate for him to make a pass, but this was a big day for him and I didn’t want it spoiled by any awkwardness. Hoisting on a fake smile, I tried for friendly humor.

  “For the record, it’s not you…” I didn’t finish with the cliched “it’s me.” Instead I finished with, “I’m taking a break from dating at the moment.”

  “Why’s that?” he asked as he signed the name affidavit.

  I slapped my notary stamp on the page more firmly than necessary. “I’ve had some bad luck on a dating app.”

  He laughed sourly. “I’ve been there. It’s the worst.”

  I tortured myself by allowing the image of Skye stumbling drunkenly into Giorgio’s to play in my head for the first time in over a week. “Yes, it is.”

  “Keep your chin up. The right one’s out there.”

  “I’ve thought that before and I’ve been wrong.”

  “I’d rather trust the wrong person than give up.” He seemed to realize that he might have insulted me and stammered, “Not that taking a break is giving up. You just need time.”

  “Maybe so.” I straightened the paperwork and slid one copy into a thick folder for him. “Congratulations, Hank. You’ve got another house.”

  Excitement lit his eyes and I couldn’t help but smile along with him. Taking the keys, he left the office, tripping over his chair in his haste to get back to work. While I was sorting my own paperwork and dreading an afternoon trip to the courthouse, Hank stuck his head back in.

  “Maybe you should try it the old-fashioned way,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Meet someone in real life and be disappointed without standard text messaging rates applying. You know?”

  I laughed and that made him look shyly away. “I’ve had the exact same luck with that.”

  The courthouse visit was miraculously brief and I made it home before rush hour traffic snarled the roads. I made a bowl of rice and quinoa with roasted beets, mushrooms, and Brussel sprouts. While the veggies roasted, I whipped up a dressing of yogurt, dill, and lemon and thought of Hank’s suggestion to meet people offline. In retrospect, I realized he probably meant himself, since he’d waited a long minute in the doorway, but that didn’t mean he was wrong. I’d met Alex in a bar and Nick in high school. In person. Neither of them had been anonymous faces at the other end of an Internet connection and maybe that was why we’d formed a real human connection.

  The problem, of course, was that I’d tried this game before. Hank’s advice was the same as Pen’s when
I asked her to help me write a profile, and my experience now was the same as it had been then. I went to bars, restaurants, stores, and every manner of outdoor event. I’d talked to people I thought were cute and I’d let them approach me. Nothing ever came of it, just like online. I met more people on Swingle, but I also had more disasters. Which was better?

  I scooped grains into a bowl, but the sight of all the leftovers filled me with defeat. All I wanted was someone to share a meal with. Okay, honestly I wanted to share a whole lot more and the desperation I’d felt months ago was reaching crisis level now. But the truth was that I craved love more than sex. I craved someone I could talk to at the end of the day. Someone to lie on the couch with and share my bad ‘80s movie obsession.

  The phone rang as I started up Adventures in Babysitting. What could I say? I’d had a lifelong crush on Elisabeth Shue and damn if she didn’t look even better now than she had in 1987. Pen’s name appeared on the screen and I answered on speaker so I could eat my dinner while we talked.

  “Hey sexy,” her voice rang through the line with the sort of energy a day off always gave her. “How’d the closing go?”

  “He hit on me.”

  “Of course he did. That’s why he scheduled it for a Tuesday. So I wouldn’t be there and he had a clear shot. What an ass.”

  “It was fine,” I said, plopping onto the couch. I’d set the AC to blast and curled up in my sweats and thick socks, cradling my dinner bowl in my lap. “He was sweet when I turned him down.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t cry,” Pen said with more edge to her voice than I’d expected. She must’ve really not liked the guy.

  It seemed prudent to change the subject. “How was your day off?”

  “Scanned some listings for a new client and binged a docuseries on a serial killer.”

  On screen, a muted Brad raged at his sister for using the last of his pimple coverup to paint her picture of Thor.

  “You know it’s not a day off when you work. That makes you a workaholic.”

  “What about the documentary? What does that make me?”

  “A basic white girl.”

  “Can’t argue there.” After a minute in which I scraped up the last of my dinner, Pen asked, “Why haven’t we been hanging out recently?”

  “We’re having lunch tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, but we haven’t been going out after work. It’s been two weeks since you’ve scared off one of my hookups.”

  I laughed and snuggled deeper into the couch cushions. “I do miss that.”

  “Remember the chick who walks so gay? While you’ve been home pouting, she and that girl you threw out of my lap moved in together.”

  “I haven’t been pouting.”

  “You’ve definitely been pouting.”

  I might’ve been pouting. “What do you mean moved in together?”

  “I mean, she’s not a toaster-oven joke anymore, she’s a U-Haul joke.”

  “Wow, you’re pulling out all the lesbian stereotypes, aren’t you?”

  “Clearly they’re all based in reality.”

  I laughed along, but a moment later I stopped, staring at Elisabeth Shue’s excellent ‘80s hair but not really seeing it at all. “Wait. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I’m serious. Keep up. The kid moved in last weekend. She’s not a kid, really, she’s twenty-eight, but still feels pretty young to me.”

  Pen explained how the gay walker’s name was Marlene and how she approached Pen at Riveter’s on Saturday night to thank her. She’d never been so happy in her life and it was all because of Pen. I was only half listening to the story. The only part that stuck with me was how happy those two women were. It gave me hope. Here the kid had been devastated by an imagined betrayal and Marlene was just getting her gay feet under her. They were both floundering and yet they’d found their way to each other despite the odds. I found myself rooting for them in a way I hadn’t rooted for any real-life couple in a long time.

  As much as their love story, I was charmed by our part in it. Recapping with Pen afterward had become the best part of all my dates. Hanging out with her made me feel better about everything. She made me laugh and made me hope. Being with Pen made me feel better about me. Now there was evidence that it made more than my life better, it made the world better.

  “Aw, Pen,” I said. “We made people fall in love.”

  “The hell we did. I made people fall into bed. It’s not love, they barely know each other.”

  “I don’t believe you. I’m sure they’re happy.”

  “Maybe so, but they don’t have what it takes to last. You can see proof.” Her hesitation made me realize this was the real reason she called me. “Set up a date with whatever loser you’re talking to for tomorrow. Meet me at Riveter’s after and you can see they won’t last.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can. You don’t have to make it a big-deal date. Just get coffee.”

  “I can’t because I’m not talking to anyone. I’m taking a break from Swingle.”

  “Not that again.” The words sounded exasperated, but her tone was anything but. There was a sadness there that made her sound vulnerable.

  Vulnerable was a rare state for my best friend and I rushed to defend myself. “It’s too hard. Everyone is awful.”

  “You shouldn’t give up, honey.” All the teasing was gone now and she was sweet mixed with vulnerable. “You deserve love. And besides, I miss hanging out with you after.”

  I missed that, too. I missed how she laughed when I told her my stories. I missed how she always spun them to make me believe again. Most of all, I missed how she’d hugged me last time. The smell of her skin and her clothes and how I felt so safe there in her arms. Her lips pressed against my forehead. I couldn’t get it out of my head.

  Pen was not a hugger. Sex she could do without thinking. Hugging was something else entirely. It was intimate in a deeper, more meaningful way, and I wanted her to hug me more. If I got another hug like that, maybe it was worth scouring Swingle for another disappointment.

  “I doubt I can get someone to go out with me in less than twenty-four hours. Online dating isn’t like that.”

  “Then come out with me without the date. We can just hang out.”

  As much as I wanted to go out and have fun with Pen, I didn’t really feel like watching her take some stranger home. It felt less invasive on her prowling to meet her halfway through the night with a story to tell.

  “Next week,” I said to only mild argument. “I’ll have a date by next week.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  When I promised Pen I would have a date the next week, I didn’t really think it would happen. I’d moved my Swingle app to the back page of my phone where its little icon sat all alone. It felt cruel to abandon that cheery little heart to its lonely corner of shame, but it hadn’t exactly been kind to me either. The first thing I did after hanging up with Pen was rescue it from solitary and put it back to its normal spot on page two, beneath my equally ignored Pinterest app.

  I’d been getting messages but hadn’t checked them for a couple of weeks. Several people I’d ignored now wanted nothing to do with me. I couldn’t blame them. After all, Skye had made me wait one day and I was ready to wallow in loneliness forever. Now I knew that would have been a significant improvement over the actual turn of events.

  When I tried messaging two of my admirers, they’d already blocked me. Fair. There was one, though, that looked promising and my apology to them went through, meaning they may not have given up on me. Lucky for me, because they were close to the ideal person.

  Their name was Charlie and they were a gorgeous, ridiculously tall enby. Hints of silver streaked the auburn hair at their temples. They had a warm smile and a broad, powerful build. I had to admit, I liked the idea of a partner towering over me and Charlie looked the type. At forty-five they were a little older than I usually went for, but they had a face almost as youthful as Pen’s. In
fact, there was something in their eyes that reminded me of Pen, too.

  I was heading to bed, and had even grabbed my toothbrush, when I realized I hadn’t turned the Swingle notifications back on. Without that little chirp to announce activity, I might miss more messages. It was a good thing I took the time because there was already a reply from Charlie. If I’d made them wait again, there would be no way I could talk them into a date the following week.

  Their message was charming if a little bland, but I was okay with the strong and silent type. That’s how I had described Nick to my mom when we’d first met. She had given me an indulgent smile and shot a glance at my dad. I hadn’t understood the look at the time, knowing my dad to be anything but silent, but I had been pretty young. I hadn’t realized how much people could change over time.

  “Stop thinking about it,” I growled aloud, but I knew myself too well to believe I could be distracted once I’d started thinking about Nick.

  I managed to hold back the nauseating feeling of betrayal long enough to reply to Charlie. It wasn’t a great message, but I was tired and my heart wasn’t in it yet. Smashing my thumb into the send button, I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes and slumped back onto my bed.

  “Why do you ruin everything?”

  I’d meant it as an admonition to my overactive brain, but it might as well have been directed at Nick himself. My mind knew I was lucky to be rid of him, but every now and then my traitorous heart reminded me how much I’d lost in our divorce.

  Nick had been my best friend and the partner to my life’s biggest adventures. He’d made his interest known the moment we met, but then he’d done something completely unexpected for a teenage boy.

  He’d stopped flirting with me.

  Other guys had given me a single compliment and then tried to shove their tongues down my throat. Nick had spent the whole semester earning my friendship. He hadn’t made a move. He’d just…listened. He asked me about my hobbies and joined my friend group. I thought he didn’t like me and I moped for a little while, but he became a good friend. A year later, when he finally asked me out, I asked him why he’d waited.