“You two looked just fine once I got things moving again.” I started to argue, but she held up a hand. “Besides, you told me you don’t want anything to happen. Has that changed in the last”—she looked at her watch—“three minutes?”
“You’re impossible, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told. By you, in fact. But nothing is impossible, my dear, not even me.”
After dinner, Grandma changed into a nightgown, then insisted that I watch a movie with her, which turned out to be some hideous made-for-TV thing that was too poorly acted to watch. Instead, I opened Instagram, intending to look through Joe’s feed. But first I clicked on my notifications.
There were a lot. I never posted anything artsy, and it was an amazing shot. As I scrolled through the comments, I reminded myself to ask to see his gallery again. Then—
Oh.
Joe liked eight of my pictures.
Not the ones he took—older ones.
Meaning he had gone through my feed.
My friends were all old and married like me—well, like I had been. But I did know one person who was an expert, if a somewhat infamous one, in social media and dating.
I texted my cousin Lily.
What does it mean if a guy you just met likes old Instagram pictures of you? I asked.
The three dots appeared immediately. Her phone was always in her hand.
Is it the guy who took that picture of you? she wrote back. I stalked his profile. He’s H-O-T.
I rolled my eyes, completely unsurprised that she had already looked him up. Maybe. But what does it mean?
You know what it means, Jen. Three dots again. Is this a Grandma fixup?
She’s trying.
Oh no. Trust nothing. He’s probably our cousin.
If Tony was actually my grandfather, Lily was right on the money. But that was too far, even for my grandmother. I hoped.
So he’s interested?
Yup.
I bit my lip as I replied. That complicates things.
Why? You’re single . . . or about to be. And you’re totally allowed to bring a date to my wedding.
I laughed, and Grandma looked over sharply. “What are you laughing at?” she asked over the television, which was at a decibel level that would probably relegate my hearing to the quality of hers soon.
“Lily.”
“Billy who?”
“LILY.”
“Oh.” She lost interest and returned to her movie.
Thanks.
Let me know if Grandma does anything crazy. I’ll blog about it. My readers love her.
I summarized the Xanax/Zantac debacle. Lily could have that one.
Then I switched back to Instagram and went to Joe’s feed. He had posted the picture of me as well, without tagging me, but using my Wizard of Oz caption. The rest of his pictures were mostly artistic shots mixed with pictures of Jax, a couple of him with friends, and a few with an older couple, identified as his parents in the caption.
If I liked a picture, did it tell him I was interested?
And moreover, did I want that?
Another notification popped up.
He had liked a picture of me in Greece from six years earlier—Brad had taken it on our first trip together. I was lying on a wall in Mykonos, my chin resting on my hand, making a kissy face at a stray cat. My hair was wild in the breeze, my skin tanned, and I looked younger and happier than I could ever remember being.
I had deleted the photos with Brad in them, which was a significant portion of my feed, but kept the ones Brad had taken of me because otherwise there would be almost nothing left. But there were still enough that finding a picture from six years ago was significant.
And he was looking at my feed right now.
I glanced over at my grandmother. She wouldn’t hesitate.
So I didn’t think. Instead, I went back to the picture of me in the woods, double-tapped it, and commented, “Copycat. Come up with your own caption,” with a winking face.
Then I closed the app and dropped my phone facedown on my lap.
It vibrated a few seconds later with a text.
Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery . . . Besides, it was the perfect caption.
I looked back at Grandma. She was still immersed in the TV.
It was the perfect shot.
The three dots appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared. It’s easy with a good subject.
Lily was right. He was flirting. But why would he be interested in me? I knew I needed to reply, but I froze.
The three dots appeared again. Do you want to grab a drink?
I could feel my heart pounding. Yes. I wanted to. Very much. So much that I didn’t want to at all. No good would come of this.
Now? I asked, hedging.