How to Hack a Heartbreak

by Kristin Rockaway

  “Can I grab the check, please?” I waved my arm like a madwoman, trying to flag down the bartender, then texted Whitney: Where are you?

  Meanwhile, Alex whispered something and Jenny giggled maniacally. The bartender delivered my bill and I slapped down my credit card, pretending not to overhear what was surely foreplay.

  God, I was an idiot.

  My phone lit up with Whitney’s reply: Date’s over already? Must’ve been bad. We’re at Verlaine. Come!!!

  I replied OMW and signed the bill. The feet of the barstool scraped against the slate floor as I slid off my seat. Alex turned his head at the sound. “Are you outta here?” he said, looking somewhat surprised.

  “Yup.” Unable to meet his eyes, I met Jenny’s instead. “It was lovely to meet you, Jenny.”

  Her smile softened. “You, too.”

  I’d made it halfway to the door when Alex called out, “See you Monday, Melanie.” Too mortified to form a proper response, I waved half-heartedly over my shoulder and fled the scene, all the while thinking, I am never using Fluttr again.

  2

  I spotted them as soon as I walked through the front door of Verlaine. They were huddled together on one end of the large plush sectional that lined the back of the bar. Lia was talking, and from the wistful smile on her face, it was probably something to do with her new boyfriend, Jay. Dani sat on one side of her, leaning forward with her elbows on her thighs and listening intently. Whitney sat on the other side, her gaze wandering around the room in search of something more interesting. When she caught sight of me, she thrust her bangle-covered arm in the air.

  “Mel!” Her voice rose above the chatter and music. Dani and Lia looked up and I weaved through the crowd toward them.

  “Hey.” I squeezed in next to Whit, accidentally bumping a guy sitting beside her. “Sorry,” I said.

  “No problem,” he replied. From the glassy sheen to his eyes, he’d clearly taken full advantage of the happy hour specials. “You can bump me anytime, baby.”

  Gross.

  I angled my body away from him and toward the girls. “What’s going on?”

  “Lia was just telling us about her upcoming Mexican adventure,” Dani said.

  “Mexico? Wow.”

  “Cabo,” Lia said. “Jay is taking me to this super exclusive resort right on the beach.”

  Of course he was. Jay was always showering her with thoughtful, expensive treats. Dinners at trendy restaurants. Orchestra seats at Broadway shows that had been sold out for months. Jewelry worth more than a semester of college tuition. A luxury vacation was the next logical step.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t the teensiest bit jealous. After spending years dating loser after loser, it was hard not to see the blissed-out look on Lia’s face and think: Why not me? But her relationship gave me hope, too. A mere two and a half months ago, Lia right-swiped Jay on Fluttr. Now, they were bound for a Mexican beach. If it worked for her, it could work for me. Surely, there was at least one other decent man to be found on that app. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to give up on it.

  On the table before us, a lone spring roll withered on a porcelain plate. It looked like it’d been sitting there awhile; the greens were wilted and a skin had formed on the dipping sauce. But seeing as I hadn’t eaten anything since my usual noontime peanut butter sandwich, my stomach growled at the sight of it.

  “Anybody eating this?” I didn’t wait for an answer before scooping it up and cramming it in my mouth. Not the freshest spring roll I’d ever eaten, but the carrots were still somewhat crunchy, and it put a temporary stop to the roiling in my stomach.

  As Lia went on about snorkeling and sunset cruises, I wondered if I’d ever get the chance to stay at an exclusive resort in Cabo. Probably not. That would require money, or failing that, a rich guy to pay my way. And the way things were going, I’d likely be single and debt-ridden for the rest of my life.

  A server approached and began to clear away the empty glasses and plates. “Another round, ladies?”

  Whitney gave an enthusiastic “You bet!” Then she turned to me. “So, you had another shitshow of a date?”

  “Kind of. But, not really.”

  “What does that mean? It either sucked or it didn’t.”

  Three pairs of curious eyes trained on me. I froze, suddenly embarrassed to admit I’d been stood up. I felt like it reflected some kind of unflattering mark on my character, which was ridiculous seeing as Brandon from Brooklyn knew nothing about me besides my name, age, and location. Our brief interaction took place entirely within a virtual world. Saying it out loud would make it real.

  Unfortunately, Lia saw right through me. “He never showed, did he?”

  I sighed. “Nope.”

  They all gasped at the same time. Whit shouted, “Fucker!”

  Lia reached across her to put a comforting hand on my knee and said, “I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, it’s happened to me before.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Just before I met Jay. This guy and I made plans to meet up for a drink in the Village and he totally stood me up.”

  “Was his name Brandon?”

  She shrugged. “Honestly, I can’t remember now. It was like it happened in another life.”

  “Men are the worst,” Whit chimed in.

  “Not all men,” Lia chided. “You know the saying—you’ve gotta kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince.”

  Oh, right. The myth of Prince Charming. The preposterous notion that there was a perfect guy out there who’d fulfill all your desires and dreams. It seemed a little far-fetched to think there were enough of these princes to satisfy every woman in the world. It also seemed unlikely that they’d be hanging around on Fluttr, just waiting for you to stumble upon them with a flick of your thumb.

  “No, Whit’s right,” I said. “Men are the worst.”

  “It’s not just men, though,” Dani said. “I’m ghosted by women on Iris all the time.”

  “What’s Iris?” Lia asked.

  “A new dating app for queer women.”

  “So you’ve given up on Fluttr?”

  “No,” Dani said. “I just wanted to try something else. Fluttr has a decent interface for LGBTQ users, but my thinking was that maybe a woman-only space would have a different sort of vibe—less bullshit, more tact. But so far I’m not having much luck.”

  “Why is online dating so horrible?” I moaned.

  “I suspect it has something to do with the detachment associated with digital correspondence, and the inability to establish a true connection with someone in the absence of physical cues. Philip Brixton has conducted numerous studies about the importance of nonverbal communication. The results are fascinating.”

  Only Dani could turn a Friday night bitchfest into an academic analysis of human behavior. Don’t get me wrong: I was proud that she was doing so well for herself, but the rest of us weren’t getting a PhD in Sociology. Her ten-dollar words and references to obscure research studies were lost on us. But I didn’t want to make her feel self-conscious, so I said, “Interesting,” even though I had no clue what she was talking about.

  Whit was less subtle. “Speak English, nerd.”

  Dani tossed her braids over one shoulder and pushed her glasses up on her nose. “It means that it’s really hard to give a shit about someone unless you can look them in the eye. Body language is crucial to building relationships.”

  “See? I always say body language is important.” Whit adjusted her Bombshell Bra with such vigor that her breasts nearly spilled out of her deep V-neck T-shirt. The drunk guy next to me muttered something lecherous, but Whit ignored him and continued, “I’ve never had a problem with the guys I’ve met on Fluttr, though. True, I get the occasional weirdo with an Asian fetish, but that’s certainly not a Fluttr-specific phenomenon. So that blo
ws your whole detachment theory out of the water.”

  “I wouldn’t classify what you do on Fluttr as ‘building relationships,’” Dani said, as the server delivered our drinks. Lia and I snorted, but Whit smirked triumphantly. She’d had a ton of success with dating apps because she used them purely for hookups. No guy in his right mind would ever left-swipe Whitney Hwang’s photo: pouty red lips, silky black hair, cleavage for days. She listed her occupation as “Provocateur,” which wasn’t completely inaccurate given the fact that she worked in PR. I’d lost count of how many one-night stands she’d racked up thanks to Fluttr.

  Which was great for her. But I wanted something that lasted more than a night.

  “I just wish there was a way to weed out the profiles of people who aren’t interested in a meaningful relationship,” I said. “Or people who say they’re interested in a meaningful relationship, but really aren’t.”

  “Like people who ghost out of nowhere after weeks of pointless messages,” Lia added.

  “Or people who stand you up,” Dani said, with a swig of her martini.

  “Or people who send you dick pics,” I said.

  Dani cringed. “I’ve never had that problem.”

  “Of course you haven’t. You only date women.”

  “I love how they’re always non sequiturs, too,” Lia said. “Like you’re just texting about the weather and out of nowhere—surprise! It’s a penis. What’s the point?”

  “It’s pure exhibitionism,” Dani said.

  “It’s borderline abusive.”

  Whit cocked her head. “You know, I don’t really mind the occasional dick pic.”

  “Men are the worst.” I drained the rest of my martini in one dramatic gulp, then slammed the glass down so hard on the table, I was shocked it didn’t shatter into a million pieces.

  “The problem,” Whit said, “is that you’re going about it all wrong. Fluttr isn’t the place to go looking for a happily-ever-after.”

  Lia raised her finger. “Well, I did use it to meet Jay.”

  “We know,” Whitney said, with a roll of her eyes.

  “I’m not even looking for a happily-ever-after,” I said. “I’d be satisfied with a happy-for-now. To meet a guy who actually took the time to get to know me and told me the truth and treated me with respect.”

  “Well, you’re not gonna find that on Fluttr.” Whit fished the lychee from the bottom of her martini glass and popped it in her mouth. Then her eyes got wide and sparkly. “Hey, why don’t you write your own dating app?”

  Lia and Dani oohed and aahed.

  “That’s a great idea!”

  “Yeah, you can make it super selective. Ban all the losers.”

  “You could totally put Fluttr out of business.”

  “Aren’t you surrounded by start-up investors all day? I’m sure they’d go crazy for a new dating app.”

  “It’s not that simple,” I said.

  “Who said anything about simple?” Whitney said. “Just because it’s not easy doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”

  “I can help you design a front end, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Lia said. It was sweet of her to offer, since she was already swamped with the demands of her day job as a graphic designer for a big ad agency.

  But designing a user interface wasn’t what worried me. It was everything else. I saw what those founders went through. Months of endless demands and sleepless nights. Disappointment. Failure. Rejection. At the end of a three-month incubation period, only half of all Hatchlings went on to receive additional funding. The rest of the fledgling start-ups just died.

  Not to mention, putting an app out there with my name on it was a lot of responsibility to deal with. If it sucked, I had no one to blame but myself. Sure, working the help desk wasn’t glamorous, but at five o’clock, I punched out for the day and left the stress of it all in the office. It never followed me home.

  “I just can’t,” I said.

  Whitney sighed and steepled her fingertips beneath her chin. I knew what was coming next. Another one of her lectures on “leaning in and claiming my seat at the table.” Advice on how to define an action plan for my life, tips on how to see it through.

  I didn’t want to deal with this now. All I wanted was an uncomplicated Friday night bitchfest. Why was it so hard to make that happen?

  Before Whitney could get into it, though, our server came by with a tray full of shots. As he set them down before us, I said, “We didn’t order these. Did we?”

  “No,” he replied, tucking the tray under his arm. “These are compliments of the gentleman to your left.”

  Great.

  I peered cautiously over my shoulder to see the drunk guy leering at Whitney’s chest. “Enjoy, ladies,” he slurred.

  Here was something else I didn’t want to deal with: the advances of a shitfaced stranger. If we accepted these, he’d expect us to talk to him, or at the very least, say thanks. And I wasn’t about to thank someone who’d been aggressively ogling us all night.

  “We don’t want them,” I told the server. “Send them back.”

  “Wait a minute,” Whitney said. “Why are you turning down a free drink?”

  “I don’t wanna talk to this guy, do you?”

  “No, but we don’t have to talk to him just because he bought us drinks. That’s not how it works.”

  The drunk guy leaned over, practically falling into my lap. “A simple thank-you would suffice, ladies.”

  Whit turned to the server, who looked like he wanted to flee the scene of whatever crime was about to be committed. “On second thought,” she said, “we’ll send those back.”

  As the server dutifully placed the shot glasses back on his tray, the drunk guy glowered. “You girls should show a little gratitude.”

  “Excuse me?” Lia said.

  “You heard me.” Spittle flew from his lips as he rounded on Lia. “You’re lucky anyone bought you a drink. If it wasn’t for your friend with her tits hanging out, I wouldn’t have looked twice.”

  Before I could tell what was happening, Whit was on her feet, grabbing two shots off the poor server’s tray and flinging them in the drunk guy’s face. Amber liquid dripped down his cheeks and onto the front of his slim-fit polo. He sat frozen, shock and alcohol impeding his reflexes. People at neighboring tables stopped their conversations and turned to stare, eager to see what would happen next.

  But we knew from experience: when Whit started throwing drinks, it was time to leave. We gathered our purses and jackets and hustled her out the door as she screamed a final “Asshole!” over her shoulder.

  Out on the sidewalk, we straightened our skirts and smoothed our hair. “Everyone okay?” Dani asked.

  We assured each other we were fine. It wasn’t the first time a drunk dude had harassed any of us, and it surely wouldn’t be the last.

  I hugged my purse to my chest and looked around. Rivington Street was bursting with weekend vibes. People smiling and laughing as they emerged from restaurants and ducked into bars. The party was just getting started, yet all I wanted to do was head home and hide under the covers. To left-swipe this entire night from my memory: Brandon, Alex, all of it.

  “I think I’m gonna get going.”

  “Hell no, you’re not.” Whit grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me down the block, toward Ludlow Street. “It’s rock ’n’ roll karaoke night at Arlene’s.”

  Lia squealed. “Ooh! Let’s go. I wanna get there early so we can get our names on the list.”

  “I don’t know if I’m up for it,” I said.

  “Come on.” Dani squeezed my shoulder. “Think of how much better you’ll feel after you screech out ‘Life on Mars.’”

  She had a point. There was no pain a little Bowie couldn’t heal. And no better way to forget about the misery men had wrought on my life than
by making new memories with my amazing girlfriends.

  3

  Unfortunately, I didn’t remember much of what happened after we left Verlaine. The only thing I could recall with clarity was an abundance of Coors Light.

  From the way my throat was burning, though, I’d obviously screeched out my fair share of David Bowie. And I had a vague recollection of wolfing down some mystery meat I’d bought from a cart on Stanton Street. In fact, there was still some garlicky gristle lodged between my teeth. Apparently, I hadn’t felt the need to floss before I fell asleep.

  Sunlight sliced through the slats of my blinds. I squinted and struggled to sit upright, but the room was spinning way too fast for my liking. So I unplugged my phone from the charger and nestled back beneath the covers.

  After we’d said goodbye in the wee small hours of the morning, the girls started a group text message. My ancient phone had died halfway through, so I turned it on now to catch up on the conversation.

  DANI 2:25 A.M.

  Does anyone know what happened to Whit?

  LIA 2:27 A.M.

  Last I saw, she was making out with some hipster in the corner of Arlene’s.

  DANI 2:28 A.M.

  Not that guy with the handlebar mustache????

  LIA 2:30 A.M.

  Yup.

  WHITNEY 3:45 A.M.

  For your information, handlebar mustaches are hot right now.

  WHITNEY 3:46 A.M.

  Besides he’s an actor.

  WHITNEY 3:47 A.M.

  At least I think he is.

  LIA 11:04 A.M.

  Did you get his #?

  WHITNEY 11:52 A.M.

  Why would I do that?

  DANI 12:12 P.M.

  Is anyone else in a world of pain right now?

  LIA 12:15 P.M.

  I told you not to do those SoCo shots!

  WHITNEY 12:17 P.M.

  Blech. SoCo is never a good idea.

  DANI 12:18 P.M.

  Uuuuuuuugggggghhhhhh

  WHITNEY 12:25 P.M.

  Mel what’s up with you?

  LIA 12:27 P.M.