Silence.

  “Anyone?!”

  The words came out in a shrill voice, my hands flailing.

  Blair reached for one. “Hey.” She looked at me with eyes that matched my dad’s, a shade of light-brown.

  Sam put a hand on my knee, and my mom gave me a sad smile in the rearview mirror.

  “It was very weird. We all know and feel that, too. It’s okay to feel what you feel. This situation is not exactly normal. I know Dad really appreciated us being there,” she said, squeezing my hand.

  “It just sucks. This whole thing is just a lot,” I said, turning to the window and placing my face against it as I watched the miles of cornfields zoom by.

  I felt like a kid again, sitting in the car with my siblings and my mom, as if we were running an errand or getting food, not leaving death’s door waiting wide open for my grandparents.

  “I know, sweetie. Vent it all out if you need. All you kids did great. Thank you for being here for your dad,” my mom said as a tear slipped out of the corner of her eye.

  Sam grabbed her hand, too.

  “Of course, Mom. You taught us to be there for each other when we need it most,” Sam replied, smiling at her.

  A moment of silence hung as we all sat there, holding someone’s hand and then Blair let go and wiped at her eyes.

  “Did you ever hear back from that guy?” she said gently, guiding us onto another topic away from the weirdness.

  “What?” I said, my head heavy and cloudy with emotion.

  “The Bumble guy! The drag queen?”

  “Shit, shit, shit!” I yelled, making my mom wince and Sam laugh.

  I whipped out my phone and tapped on Bumble. The match was grayed out. I had let the damn thing expire.

  “I let it expire,” I whispered, feeling a weird sense of stupidity.

  “What does that mean?” Sam said.

  “It means I missed my window to talk to him! You only get twenty-four hours. And, if you miss it, you miss the match! I mean, you can pay to extend your time and thus send a message, but, like, nobody does that. Nobody pays for the extra shit—and then what if he thinks I am a weirdo for extending the time or a dumbass for letting it expire!”

  A new sense of anxiety fluttered in my chest. I hated how insecure dating made me feel. It was like being in middle school again but worse.

  “So, extend the match, obviously,” Blair said, looking not the least bit worried.

  “I never do that, though.”

  I couldn’t compute what I had done. I had been so consumed by this dumpster fire that I had missed out on someone I had genuine interest in.

  “Yeah, but you aren’t actually interested in that many people you match with, right? So, extend the match this once and see what happens! Who cares? Life’s too short not to give people chances, you know? Spend the extra few bucks, E.”

  Nodding, I chewed on my bottom lip. “Okay, yeah! I’m going to do it. I am going to extend the match and then send a message right away and try not to freak out over nothing. Because this literally means nothing right now except we both mutually find each other physically attractive and nothing in our bio totally repulses the other.”

  “Thatta girl!” Sam said.

  “Slide into those DMs, E!” my mom said.

  We all laughed at that.

  I paid for the damn extension and watched the little yellow circle fill back up and tell me I had more time.

  Okay, what the hell was I going to say? I needed to do it before I lost my nerve and my courage to do so.

  Okay.

  Hey Landon! I actually already follow your IG and love all of your Ella content. By the way we can fully skip past the weird weather small talk and cliche office quotes. How’s your week been? It’s so nice to officially meet you.

  I stared at that message for a whole five minutes before Blair leaned in close.

  She nudged my shoulder. “Send the damn thing.”

  “Is that enough? Or too much?” My eyes went wide.

  “Literally have no idea why you would consult anyone in this car, since you constantly bitch how none of us actually know what it’s like to go on an online date here. You are the expert in this field,” Blair said with a shrug, and I snorted. “Maybe not an expert, but you have more experience!”

  I stared at her and scowled. She was right, but I was annoyed I needed someone to validate me. Before I could say anything else, she hit send.

  My mouth opened in a little O, and I snatched the phone away.

  “BLAIR! Mom! Blair is touching my shit and sending messages to people on my phone without asking.”

  Blair laughed and stuck her tongue out at me.

  My mom rolled her eyes, and Sam winked at me.

  “You’re welcome! You will thank me later when this all works out, and you actually like him! Now, put the phone down because I am ready to belt out some of The Greatest Showman and leave this shit show of the last twenty-four hours behind me!”

  I could tell she was feeling weird about it, too.

  She was overcompensating like she normally did when others were feeling down, and she was trying to keep everyone’s spirit high. It was very Blair of her. She took it upon herself to make everyone else okay, even though she was suffering, too. She was the most selfless person I knew.

  Unlike me, who prioritized self preservation and pushed people away when I was in pain. I wasn’t motherly or nurturing. I was rough around the edges and intense. I was empathetic and fiercely loyal but not in a warm, fuzzy way, more like in an aggressive affection, love, and care kind of way.

  So, for the next four hours, I tried not to check my phone every ten minutes to see if he replied. The reception was spotty as we made our way across Nebraska to Kansas City. At one point, my phone died, too, and my mom’s car charger wasn’t working, so I had no choice but to sing along to Blair and Sam’s playlist.

  It was nice, though. I hadn’t spent this much uninterrupted time with them in a while. I missed my family, even though, sometimes, I wanted to flick their noses. We were there for each other and actually gave a damn about what was going on in the day-to-day.

  Plenty of families weren’t like that. They breezed in for the highlights or even less than that, like my grandma and grandpa. They thought being related was enough for a relationship. That related blood created an obligation and that you didn’t need to work on that relationship with time and communication because you were simply owed time from relatives.

  Which was a whole bunch of bullshit.

  Even if I wasn’t born into this family, I would still choose them. They were the best. We talked about all the inappropriate things you aren’t supposed to talk about with your parents and siblings. Sex. Drugs. Politics.

  We called each other out on our bullshit and still treated one another with love and respect. I was thankful to have the time with them and was a little sad when they dropped me off.

  But I also was anxious as fuck to charge my phone and see if Landon messaged me back. So, I practically ran into my apartment and slammed the door, beelining for my room to unpack and plug my phone in. I had to wait, like, five minutes until the damn thing would turn on, and I told myself to calm down because this could go nowhere. That I would get ghosted, the conversation would fall flat, or it just wouldn’t work, like ninety-nine percent of all Bumble interactions.

  Aka it wouldn’t.

  Like, how messed up that you used online dating to find someone knowing and acknowledging that it probably won’t work. Is that a self-fulfilling prophecy or being a realist? I hadn’t decided yet.

  My phone finally turned on, and there was a notification from someone on Bumble, and I squealed a little.

  I opened it up—and what do you know . . .

  Landon had messaged me back.

  CHAPTER Eleven

  Online dating made me feel like I was in middle school again on AOL Instant Messenger, where my AIM profile had some quote from the song “Airplanes” and about eight weird emoticons. Like I was oddly desperate and yet completely emotionally removed simultaneously.

  In other words, it was dreadful.

  But, here I was, beside myself over a first message with someone.

  Landon: Elena! Hi hello! First off, thank you for following me. This is a first! To meet someone on here that already knows Ella.

  SAME PAGE. If we can skip sending past office quotes that would be perfect.

  Decent week for me. I filmed for a wedding this week and got my brows done, went to an Arizona alumni event and today just got ready for a livestream at a community center! Very busy, no days off.

  Are you teaching this weekend?

  Okay, good vibes already. He’s enthusiastic, and the man actually gives a damn about self care, which really shouldn’t be a surprise, but it was. Because, even when men say they are feminist, liberal, or whatever, they still devalue femininity and things typically associated with women.

  So, works a lot . . . Same.

  Since he’s technically a videographer and freelancer, too, it makes sense he would hustle. That was mine, too, always diving into the next thing and trying to figure out how to make things work.

  Okay . . . what to reply next?!

  Keep it cool. Natural. Fun.

  Woof.

  Me: It’s so good to hear from you! I do like to be the first at things . . .

  Sounds like a pretty busy week. Love that you got to prioritize self care as it can be really hard to do so when you’re a freelancer because sameeee. I have a perpetual habit of putting myself at the bottom of my to do list.

  What’s the livestream you’re doing?

  I am! I teach several classes this weekend and I am hoping to schedule in some me time as well and maybe go see a movie with some friends. But we will see, sometimes the weekends seem to get away from me.

  I stared at my message for a solid ten minutes.

  Did I seem cute, carefree, and totally cool?

  Okay, well, it didn’t matter because he would either like me or not. I hated this first part of dating. The awkwardness—or, rather, my awkwardness of trying to be emotionally vulnerable and available when my whole body is literally screaming at me not to be. I had to override the immediate reaction of feelings equaling weakness—talk about old childhood wounds there—and tell myself not to get into a relationship without opening up.

  So, goddammit, I would open myself up to this.

  I hit send, then flipped the phone over and stared at it.

  Okay. I needed to get my stuff ready to go because I needed to teach later and then Fatima and I were supposed to hang out and maybe catch a movie but plans were still TBD.

  At the very least, I needed to shower and eat something.

  I sent a message off to Fatima that went something like, I am freaking out because someone I actually liked matched and messaged me back on Bumble and I need some emotional support to get through this day after the weirdness of my 24 hour jaunt to see my dying grandpa.

  I tried not to obsessively check my phone for the next six hours, but by the time I had showered, eaten, and taught my private class for the day, I still hadn’t heard from him, and Fatima was sitting on my bed, scrolling TikTok as I paced.

  “You know pacing won’t make this better,” she said without looking away from her phone.

  “I know. Why am I being like this? I am never like this about anyone on an app,” I said, stopping and sitting on the ground.

  I liked sitting on the ground. It stabilized me.

  “Because he doesn’t actually have any red flags from his profile? Because it seems like he actually knows how to have a conversation with someone? Because he is a hot boy and a hot girl, and it’s a bi girl’s fantasy?” she said, smiling at me.

  “Okay, well, when you put it that way,” I said, laughing. I lay on the floor, put my arm across my eyes, and groaned. “I mean, yeah, he kind of is. It’s just weird to think that there is a man out there who fits my list so well. I thought for sure he didn’t exist, and I don’t even know if he really fits the list, but I think he is settling into my list pretty damn well.” I chewed on my lip.

  “Read me your list again.”

  “First things first, no gender preference. Attractive. Emotionally intelligent. Love language: physical touch. High libido. Good communicator. Mid-twenties, thirties. Feminist. Liberal. Steady income. Open-minded. Extroverted. Open to marriage. No kids and doesn’t want kids. Nice smile. Active in some capacity. Good diverse support system. Spiritual. Not a ton of drugs. Believes in mental health. Loyal and reliable.”

  “Okay, well, from his profile, we know a decent amount of these. Things you will need to know a little bit more about are the physical touch, sex, marriage, religion, active, drugs, and support system . . . The other stuff, he should back up to with his words and actions, but I think the thing that makes this so scary is you are off to a great start. He is starting a lot higher than anyone else you have gone on a date with in a long time.”

  She was right, of course.

  She looked at me seriously. “I think what’s scary is that you actually have someone who could maybe be a potential for something more, and that freaks you out. Because, before now, you have just had people that were just okay, and you had to settle for something on your list. It’s scary that this could actually work out to something that you want.”

  “You aren’t wrong. I think it’s scary if it works out, right? I mean, that’s why you’re on the apps and shit, but, in reality, you’re thinking, realistically, it’s not going to work. Which is a confusing headspace to be when you want it to work, but you are pretty sure it won’t,” I said as I crawled onto my bed and laid my head on her lap.

  “How is that you give the best love advice?” I said, sighing.

  “Are you asking how I give it without actually being interested in it myself because I am ace or in more of a rhetorical way?” she said, pulling my hair slightly.

  “I meant in a rhetorical way. I know you give damn good advice because you get people and emotions and feelings. I mean, it’s what you got your degree in, and you are, like, the smartest person I know. And anyone who discredits your expertise because you individually aren’t interested in sex or don’t have explicit experience being in sexual relationship is an asshole who needs to sit down and be put in their place,” I said, looking at her seriously.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” she said, smiling at me.

  I laughed. “Did you just say ain’t? I am sorry. Who are you?”

  “Whatever.” She put her phone down and smacked my arm.

  “How long is too long for him to reply?” I whispered, looking at the ceiling.

  “People are allowed to take time. The sense of urgency in our culture is alarming. The length of time he takes to reply probably doesn’t have anything to do with you except that he may want to take extra care and time to get his words right, you know?” she said, finger-combing my hair.

  “I know but, like, ugh. I am conditioned for urgency, reply to me nowwww,” I whined in a really mature twenty-six-year-old way.

  “Okay, get your ass up, let’s go to this movie and get your mind off of simply sitting here waiting.” She shoved me off her lap and forced my ass to move.

  For the rest of the evening, we headed to the movies and grabbed drinks at a local cocktail bar afterward, where I half-heartedly tried to flirt with our waitress, but it didn’t work very well.

  Because, when you look too femme, it’s hard to know who is actually gay and who is being nice—because women are like that. I was guilty of that, and it was a damn hard place to navigate when you were trying to be casually flirting and not be like “Hey, I am bi and think you’re hot. Want to fuck?!”

  We all needed secret code words or hand signals or something to find the other bi and lesbian babes. Where was the universal sign for “Hey, I am also interested in women?”

  I miserably failed because one: I had no idea if she was gay or bi or pan, even though I was getting vibes and two: I just wanted Landon to reply because I wanted to see where that would go.

  But he didn’t, and by the time I got back into my own bed and Fatima had left, I was staring at Bumble again, waiting for a message that had yet to come.

  So, what did I do? I went on Instagram and prowled.

  And then I made the biggest rookie mistake.

  Like, the most embarrassing thing you can do on Instagram when taking a deep dive. I liked a photo from months ago because my phone had slipped from my hand.

  “Fuck me!” I said.

  Literally, the number one rule of diving into someone’s social media is DO NOT LIKE ANYTHING!

  Ugh.

  Unliking it would be worse. He would probably think I was some weirdo who would drag him into an alleyway and put him in a body bag or something.

  I mean, I know that feels dramatic, but the embarrassment was so real it made me cringe and want to crawl into myself and never come out.

  And then the literal unthinkable happened.

  He followed me back?!

  I sat up in my bed, my eyes wide and a huge smile cracked on my face.

  That motherfucker followed me back.

  And then another unthinkable.

  I got a notification he liked a photo from like a year ago.

  My smile grew wider, and I laughed. So, he didn’t think I was a weirdo. He thought it was cute and was being cute back.

  Relieved, I sighed.

  Okay, crisis averted—I could go to bed, knowing that all was not doomed. He would most likely reply back to my message. Would he bring up my IG faux pas?

  Hopefully, we could just pretend it didn’t happen or laugh about it in a cute way, like we were already making the most adorable memories and adventures. What a fun inside joke.