You Are Not Alone(56)
“I think the ‘great catch’ line is a direct quote of yours,” Jane points out.
“She’s pretty malleable.” Cassandra looks at Shay’s photo again. There are so many eerie overlaps between her and Amanda now.
But their styles are different: In the pictures, Shay wears jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, which Amanda would never have chosen.
“Shay’s wardrobe could use some tweaking,” Cassandra muses. “We should take her shopping.”
Jane nods slowly. “Or we could suggest she visit a certain boutique where she could pick up some great outfits for when she starts dating.”
A smile spreads across Cassandra’s face. “Genius. We’ll send her to Daphne’s. There’s no way they can miss seeing each other.”
CHAPTER FORTY
SHAY
According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, a typical person will have ten different jobs before the age of 40. One reason why people switch employment is because raises average just 3 percent per year in most occupations—but moving to a different company can mean a more substantial increase in salary. Women hold almost as many different jobs as men throughout their lifetimes, despite the fact that women typically take more time out of their careers for child-raising activities.
—Data Book, page 51
AT 5:30 P.M. I PULL on my jacket as I step outside. The temperature is starting to dip into the high forties, and it’ll be dark soon, but I’ve been inside all day and crave fresh air.
I spent the day filling out forms for Quartz’s human resources department, then I began research for my first assignment: analyzing different energy drinks on the market and outlining the various similarities and differences between them.
The hours flew by as I lost myself in compiling each brand’s characteristics and market share.
I’d set my phone to Do Not Disturb mode so that I wouldn’t get distracted, only allowing in calls and emails from Quartz. If I wanted this to turn into a real job, I’d reasoned, I needed to treat it like one.
Now, as I head south on Second Avenue, I scan my email and text messages. There’s nothing interesting, so I pull up the app for Cupid.
A little cupid emoji has a heart-shaped bubble coming out of its mouth with the word Four!
I click on it and see four messages. There’s a little flutter in my chest. I haven’t been on a date in months. And now four guys might be interested in me?
I can’t wait to see who has reached out. I glance around and see an inviting-looking new bistro on the corner ahead. I head there, keeping my phone in my hand.
Plenty of tables are open this early, so I ask for one by the fireplace. As soon as the waiter takes my order for a glass of red wine and a hummus plate with veggies and pita, I open up the app.
It feels a little like Christmas morning and I’m about to unwrap the bows on mysterious presents. Anything—or more accurately, anyone—could be inside.
I deflate a bit when I read the first message. His profile handle is SilverFox. And his opening line is Ever consider an older man?
Not one old enough to be my father, I think.
I go on to the next message. This guy attached a photo, which I click on to open.
Then I recoil. It isn’t too graphic—it’s just a shirtless selfie—but it’s so generically cheesy. His message doesn’t make a better impression. All he wrote was Hey. I imagine him doing this to almost every woman on the site.
The third guy is wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap in his lone photo. I’ve got a really busy schedule, so I’m not looking for anything serious. But want to meet up for a drink one night?
I wish he’d written more about himself, so I check out his profile. It’s pretty spare. It’s hard to get a sense of who he is. Could he be married? I wonder. I think about it a little and decide to write back, Can you tell me more about yourself first?
But before I do, I check out the final message. The first thing I notice is the photo—of a guy with brown hair, a shy smile, and horn-rimmed glasses. He looks slender and fit. Appealing, but not intimidating. His username for the site is TedTalk.
A swooping feeling is in my stomach.
Hi DataGirl, I’m Ted. I’m definitely active—I love pickup basketball and hiking—but I also enjoy quality time with a good pizza.
“Excuse me,” the waiter says, and I glance up to see him holding my wine and hummus plate.
“Sorry.” I pull my arms back off the table. I hope he didn’t see what was on my screen. Even though it seems like everybody does online dating these days, I still don’t want a stranger knowing something so personal about me.
The waiter spends far too long arranging my cutlery and offering me more water. All I want to do is get back to Ted.
I go back to his message the moment the waiter leaves: Heels won’t be a problem for me, since I’m six foot one. Anyway, if you’d like to chat more, you know where to find me.
I immediately click on his profile.
His information is listed: thirty-five years old, never married, mechanical engineer, lives in Manhattan. The category of relationship he’s seeking is Serious.
I’m beaming. He sent the message at eleven-thirty this morning. So it’s been more than six hours. I won’t look overly eager if I reply.
I’m not good at flirting in person, but it seems easier here, in the darkened bar. I think for a minute, then write back, Hi Ted, Here’s an important question: Thick or thin crust? DataGirl/aka Shay. P.S. I like hiking too, but there aren’t many places to do it around here. Unless you know of some secret spot?