IDK. Depends what you’re using it for.
What are YOU using it for? As soon as I sent that, I realized I didn’t want to know the answer. Dating. Just dating, I typed quickly. Just thinking since you use it and haven’t been murdered yet, maybe I’d test the waters a little.
What if I’m the one doing the murdering?
You keep bringing up disposing of bodies, so I’m not ruling that out. But I feel like if you were going to kill me, you would have done it already.
Touché. Just link it to your Facebook profile so people can see you’re not sketchy, and only meet people who linked it to theirs so you know you’re not getting catfished. And don’t give anyone your address or real phone number.
I have to link it to my Facebook? I replied with horrified face emojis. My MOM is my Facebook friend!
No one on Facebook will see Tinder stuff. It just shows potential dates that you’re a real person, not a Russian troll trying to steal their identity. There was a pause. Why the sudden interest?
I can apparently bring a date to Amy’s and Jake’s weddings.
He sent the GIF of Katniss Everdeen volunteering as tribute.
Was he flirting? I shook my head and replied with a laughing emoji. My mom said only if I’m actually dating the person.
Do you do everything your mom says?
Don’t you?
No way! I eat candy for breakfast all the time.
You do not.
Fine. Busted. I brush my teeth twice a day and always take an umbrella when it might rain.
I was smiling. I’ll buy you dinner if you help me set up a profile.
That’s the weirdest date request ever, but sure.
I started to put my phone down, then picked it back up. Amy’s criticism that I hadn’t made an effort with Madison or replied to Jake was still rankling me. Probably because it was deserved. But where to begin with Madison?
Ugh, I thought.
I started a new text to her. Hey future sis! Just checking in and saying hi. How’s all of the wedding planning going?
I hesitated before hitting “Send.” I wished I had something to ask about other than the wedding, but I honestly didn’t know what else she liked, other than my brother, which led me to believe her taste was questionable overall. We were friends on Facebook and Instagram, but her posts were infrequent and bland. And she didn’t have a Twitter, so I couldn’t even see who she followed or retweeted. So with nothing else to work from, I sent the message.
The three dots appeared and she replied a minute later. Hi. I’m good. Everything seems to be coming together pretty well.
Not exactly effusive. And not much material to get a conversation going. I was contemplating what else I could say when she replied again. I hear you’re coming to the shower with your mom and Amy?
Yup. Booked our tickets this week. We’re looking forward to it.
Me too. She added a smiling emoji.
I thought about just telling her I wanted to get to know her, but that sounded creepy. And what on earth would I reply if someone said that to me? Was it better to just send little texts every once in a while and hope a conversation would eventually grow organically?
As I debated my next move, my phone vibrated again. But the text wasn’t from Madison, it was from Jake.
Thank you was all it said.
For what?
For making an effort, you jackass.
I rolled my eyes. Yeah yeah yeah. What else is going on?
We’re buying a house. I already knew that, from my mother’s nonstop commentary on my siblings’ lives, which, now that I thought about it, was probably why I never felt the need to talk to them.
Cool. Send me a link?
Mom told me she showed it to you already. Just say congratulations, like you’re supposed to.
I started to type something snarky about how he was just fishing for compliments and rubbing it in when I was still renting, but I took a deep breath and deleted what I had written. Congratulations.
Thanks. We’re excited. It’s got a nice guest room if you ever want to come visit.
Okay. He didn’t reply and I didn’t say any more. But it was something. I made a mental note to text him the next time my mother updated me on anything major, and, feeling somewhat absolved, I put my phone down to get ready for bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Alex waved to me and I weaved toward his table, unwinding my scarf as I went, then sat heavily in the booth across from him. It was two weeks after we had set up my Tinder account. And an hour into my fifth Tinder date, I texted Alex to see if he wanted to meet up as soon as I could ditch the guy.
“Drink?” He had already gotten me a martini.