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“Ugh, that sounds amazing,” Daniella says wonderingly. “Which donut were you, by the way?”
“French cruller.” I sigh.
“The most single of all the donuts,” Jazzy comments.
“Shut up.”
Jasmine holds hands with me and Daniella. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the death of a dear friend...”
“That’s not how it goes,” I say. “You just combined what a priest says during a wedding and a funeral.”
“...Macy Grant’s ladybits,” she finishes. “We barely knew ye. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death—”
“Yeah, I got it loud and clear, Jazz.” I roll my eyes. “You think I’m a pathetic single person. Where is this all coming from?”
“You know how I thought for a long time that monogamy wasn’t for me? Well, I’ve met someone and she’s wonderful, and now that I’ve found what Daniella and Mark have found—”
“Hey, hey—slow your roll. You’re not married with two little cage fighters in your uterus,” Daniella laughs. “You sleep with anything on two legs. So you found a new hookup—”
“First of all, that’s not true. I’ve never slept with a kangaroo and I once dated a one-legged chick. Secondly,” Jazz insists, “this woman’s the real thing. She’s my soul mate.” A dreamy, goofy smile develops on her face. I feel like tiny blue cartoon birdies could start flying around her head any minute now.
“If she’s so important to you, why is this the first time we’re hearing about her?” I ask.
“She hasn’t exactly...come out yet.” Jasmine’s eyes dart to the floor, but then snap up to meet mine.
Ella and I both give her a look. Jasmine has dated closeted women in the past and we all know how great that ends up.
“I know what you two are thinking,” she says. “But she will. It’s coming soon—she promised me!”
“I can’t imagine anyone being able to get you to settle down,” Ella chuckles. She must be pretty special.”
“She is,” Jazz says, her cheeks flushing in a way I’ve never seen before. “And don’t pretend that you weren’t a wild child before you met Mark,” Jazzy scoffs. “You slept with so many dudes, when your mother sat you down to have the talk freshman year, you asked her what she wanted to know.”
Daniella opens her mouth to speak, then closes it.
“Anyway, I just want you to have what the two of us have, you know? I didn’t want to have to do this, but...” Jazz removes a folded piece of paper from the breast pocket of her suit jacket like a slick lawyer presenting some damning evidence.
She clears her throat. “Ahem. Macy, your singleness has affected me in the following ways—”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I grouse. “This is silly, Jazz.”
“Macy your singleness has affected me in the following ways,” Daniella starts then puts her piece of paper down. “Actually, it hasn’t really affected me, Mace. I like you the way you are and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Ella!” Jasmine whines indignantly. “That’s not part of the plan!” she stage whispers.
“I wasn’t finished yet,” Daniella laughs. “We just see how hard you’ve been working lately and how if you don’t get out there soon the only thing you’ll be married to in the near future is your job. Though you don’t have to go along with Jasmine’s plan, it would be nice. You’ve been such a good friend to us. I know any man would be lucky to have you—” She shoots a playful glance at Jasmine. “—if only for your incredible amount of patience. You deserve somebody special.” Daniella scoots over so that there’s a space between her and Jasmine. I sit between them and they each take one of my hands.
“This is coming from a place of love. You’re our best friend and we only want what’s best for you,” Daniella says. “We know how amazing you are and just want you to find someone who sees that, too.”
“And the only way to do that is to get out there.”
“We’ll be your dating gurus!” Jasmine exclaims brightly. “I have a great person to set you up with. A client of mine. I think you two could really hit it off!”
I love my friend, but I’m downright scared to find out who Jasmine—who once dated a girl who carried around pictures of her rabbit in her wallet and would take them out at any given opportunity—would set me up with.
“That’s nice of you, Jazz, but I don’t think I could do the blind date thing,” I say, trying to spare her feelings. “Could we start smaller?”
“Are you saying you’d start online dating or something?” Jasmine asks, her voice full of hope.
I look at my two friends, holding hands, staring at me with the same expectant look my grandmother gets when she’s waiting to hear the winning lottery numbers announced on television. I’ve known them long enough to understand that it’s not worth putting up a fight when they’re like this. They have this idea stuck in their brains, and there’s no way I can convince them to let it go.
I look up at the ceiling helplessly. Lord, give me strength. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
Jasmine and Daniella jump up and down and emit screeches only dogs can hear.
When she finally calms down, Ella says, “Great. Now all you need to do is tell work you’ll need the entire week off.”
“Hey, wait a minute. You never said I’d have to take time off from work. I can’t do that.”
“Tell them there’s been a death in the family,” Jasmine says simply.
“But there’s a big show coming up next week—some fashion thing. I always have to be on call for other events I’m not assigned to, you know.”
“You’ll always have a big show coming up,” Ella says simply. “If you wait until you don’t have work to do in order to start dating, it’ll never happen.”
She’s right, but I shake my head. “Even so, my boss is in Paris until Monday. I can’t call her when she’s on vacation. Even if she works half the time she’s there.”
“Macy—” Jasmine starts to whine.
Ella puts her hand on Jazzy’s forearm to stop her. “Wait. Let’s give her the weekend. She needs time to prep. Like get a manicure, get some waxing done...”
I raise a hand to my face self-consciously. “Yeah, I guess my eyebrows could use a little cleaning up.”
“She doesn’t mean your face,” Jasmine says automatically.
“Come to my house tomorrow afternoon and I will show you all the joys of online dating,” Jasmine says breezily. “Oh, and bring a bottle of wine, too.”
“Why?” I ask. “You know I’m not a big drinker.”
Jasmine exchanges a knowing glance with Ella. “Because you’re going to need it.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_6155143d-d918-553e-90be-08d8f95dbad6)
I spend the entire weekend trying to convince myself that I didn’t promise Ella and Jazz that I’d start dating. I wish I’d fallen into a sodium-induced coma from all the instant chicken noodle soup and it was all a dream. I’m so nervous to tell my boss that I need to take time off. I haven’t taken a single personal, vacation or sick day in nearly two years. I notice my teeth are clenching so hard I’m giving myself a jaw ache as I dial Reka’s number and tell her the excuse Jasmine came up with.
“The entire week?” Reka’s voice is filled with incredulity. “Are you sure?” she asks, desperation edging into her tone. She didn’t take the news of me taking a break from work well. But this is coming from someone who’s never taken a vacation day—not even her full lunch hour—the entire time I’ve known her.
“Yes,” I apologize. “There’s been an emergency.”
“Are you all right?” she asks.
“Oh yes, I’m fine,” I assure her. “It’s just that,” I say it in the dramatic way I practiced in the mirror. “Someone I knew passed away.”
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry,” she says sincerely. “Were the two of you close?”
I look down at my crotch and remember Jazzy’s eulogy. “You could say that.”
“Family?”
“Oh, yes. To be honest, I haven’t seen her in years, but we were once inseparable.”
“That’s just terrible,” Rena sighs. “Take the week, Macy. You’ll miss the big fashion show, but I’ll find someone to cover. Be well,” she says kindly.
“I will,” I say before hanging up. I feel kind of bad for lying to her, but then I look at Jasmine’s building and I remind myself why I need to do this. If I don’t take steps towards getting myself out there, Jasmine and Ella were right, I’ll end up a single fifty-year-old who’s obsessed with her work.
But as I walk up the flight of stairs to Jazz’s brownstone, I start to feel sick. A sense of dread settles over me. Five years. It’s been five years since I’ve dated. I’ve been out of the game for so long I wonder if I still remember how to have good sex. Is it like riding a bike, something I’ll never forget how to do? I momentarily consider calling Reka back, telling her I’ll be at the office in an hour and live the rest of my life in a hot-and—heavy relationship with Frank the vibrator. But then I remind myself that I don’t want to be that career woman with the blinders on. Ican do this. Dating is supposed to be fun. Normal people date. I shouldn’t be missing out. I deserve someone like Daniella’s husband, Mark, and Jasmine’s mystery girl, whoever she is.
I press the buzzer to Jasmine’s apartment and the door clicks open in response. As I enter the foyer, I smell the lingering scents of floor cleaner, dust and whatever is cooking down the hall. Jasmine’s about to show me the ins and outs of online dating and with each step up to the third floor, my nerves kick more and more into high gear. I remember in the days before the internet, my middle school experience and some of my high school days, where the most explicit it ever got was daring to put your crush’s initials in your carefully crafted away message on AIM. There was no texting—you had to call a guy’s landline and pray that his mother didn’t answer. Your heart raced, your stomach tied up in knots, your palms sweated uncontrollably—that was pre-internet love. I have absolutely no idea what I’m in for with this YoCupid deal. Maybe it’s not too late to take Jasmine up on her offer on the blind date. But then I shake my head.
By the time I’ve knocked on Jazz’s apartment door, I feel a wave of nausea settle over me. This is it. Once I cross this threshold, I’m no longer Macy Grant, the Loner. I’ll officially be Macy Grant, Putting Herself Out There. Thankfully, Jazz is guaranteed to have something to treat nausea.
The moment I open the door, the smell is potent. She must be cooking up a new batch of her famous juices. Many of her clients are rich and famous—wealthy people love their juice cleanses and their drugs.
“Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life,” Jazz says with a toothy smile as I enter the apartment and hand her the bottle of wine she said I’d need.
“Tone it down, Hallmark card,” I say. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Jasmine chuckles as she rummages through a junk drawer and pulls out a corkscrew. “Now, before we get started, are you absolutely sure you don’t want to be set up with the guy I know? We can bypass all of this if you do.”
It’s very tempting, but as much as I love Jasmine, I’d be more likely to gargle bong water than to let her set me up with someone. Especially someone who belongs to the group known as Jazzy’s clients, which I’m sure is an incredibly mixed bag personality-wise.
“I appreciate the offer, but let’s try this first,” I say as diplomatically as I can.
Jasmine pops the cork and pours me a glass of red. I guzzle it down in two big gulps.
“Nervous much?” Jasmine asks.
“No, I’m fine,” I lie. We haven’t even started yet and I have an urge to snatch the bottle out of her hands and down the entire thing right now.
“It won’t be that bad,” Jasmine says as she places a hand on my shoulder. “Plus, you’re such a catch, I’m sure you’ll be fighting dudes off with a stick.”
The glass of wine I just gulped gives me a little bit of a fuzzy feeling. I very rarely drink. “You’re right, Jazz. This will almost be like online shopping,” I say with a false hope. “It’ll be kind of fun, right?”
“That’s one word for it,” Jasmine says and I give her a look. “I’m joking, I’m joking,” she says with a breathy laugh. “And let’s not take any profile pictures of you right now because you have a serious case of red wine mouth.”
I laugh as I kick off my shoes and walk over to her couch, scrubbing my teeth with my finger. A laptop is open on the coffee table facing it, and I immediately spot my face on the screen.
“Wait. Did you start creating a profile without me?”
Jazzy scans the room, shifting her eyes guiltily. “Maybe.”
I look at the pictures she’s chosen of me. One of them is me in a bikini.
“No, no, absolutely not,” I say adamantly. “Take that down right now.”
“Why?” Jazz asks innocently. “You look hot.”
“Firstly, because this picture was taken six years ago.” I point to the screen. “My hair is even a different color.” This picture was taken when I had a terrible addiction to peroxide. I’m surprised Jazz and Ella didn’t hold an intervention for me then. “Secondly, I don’t want some guy I don’t know beating off to this.”
“Ah, I forgot about that. Men tend to do that, don’t they?” Jazz says, furrowing her brow. “Fine, you can delete that one.”
I delete it and scroll through the rest of the pictures. One catches my eye. I squint slightly as I inspect it. “Did you...did you Photoshop a tattoo onto my right bicep?” I click on the picture to enlarge it and lo and behold, there’s a rainbow sugar skull decorating my arm.
“I thought it looked cool. Guys compliment my tattoos all the time. Everyone loves an edgy chick. Wear a long-sleeved shirt on the first date. Problem solved.”
“But Jazz, I’m the opposite of an edgy chick. Last week I got excited when a skirt I had been eyeing at The Limited went on sale. Now what did you write in my profile?”
“Here, take a look,” she says, angling the screen towards me.
I scan through it and it looks like a select mute filled it out. Almost all of the questions have short, one-sentence answers. Under the What I’m Doing with My Life header, Jazz wrote “Lovin’ it.” I look at the About Me section and it simply reads “I like yoga.”
“Jazzy, there’s barely anything there. Here, let me fill it out a little more,” I offer as I reach for the computer.
“No need,” Jazz says. “When it comes to online dating, especially straight online dating, no one cares. You could write entirely in a foreign language and guys wouldn’t give a shit. You could be a professional unicyclist who lives at home with her parents and it wouldn’t matter. It’s all about the pictures.”
“Point taken.”
Jasmine shows me the rest of the profile and it seems good enough. Even though the page is filled out with cavewoman answers, at least I’m fully clothed in each picture now.
“Are we ready to publish this now?”
I take a deep breath. “I guess.”
“Going live in three...two...” Jasmine counts me down with the intensity she reserves for New Year’s Eve. I cover my eyes with my hands, spreading my fingers the way I do at a horror movie so I can kind of see as Jasmine clicks a button with a dramatic flourish.
“One!” she exclaims giddily as she raises both arms in the air. She turns to me and peels one of my hands off my face to shake it enthusiastically. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, Miss Grant. Congratulations, you are now part of the wonderful New York dating pool.”
I hear a dinging noise. Then it happens again. And again. Ding!Ding!Ding!
“What’s that?” I ask, looking around. “Did you leave something in the microwave?”
Jasmine beams at me. “It’s coming from the computer, silly! They’re messages!”
“Already?” I scoff. “How is that even possible? I’ve been on here for a grand total of five seconds.”
“Believe it, babe,” Jasmine says as she picks up the laptop and starts going through them.
“Oh-ho-ho, these are good. These are real good,” she guffaws. The computer dings at least five more times in rapid succession. “You certainly are popular.”
