Rachel makes a face. “Oh, I don’t like the sound of this at all. There is no good use for the word mate outside of the Discovery Channel.”
“Yeah, the name’s not great,” I say.
Their tagline’s even worse: Love at no sight. And that’s not even the embarrassing part of my secret.
“So how does it work?” she asks.
I reach over and rip off a piece of her unfinished sandwich and toss it to my pigeon friends, Spencer and Katharine, as in Tracy and Hepburn.
“So, you know how Tinder is all about first impressions based on someone’s photo?” I say. “Well, this is sort of the opposite. There are no photos. No names, even. Instead you choose from these little cartoon avatar things and a screen name, and the app matches you with potential mates.”
I emphasize the word deliberately with a grin, and she rolls her eyes. “Okay, I get it. The app is all ‘beauty is on the inside.’ What happens after you’re matched?”
I shrug. “You message each other. If you click, you set up a meeting in person.”
“But what if the other person’s hideous?”
I give her a gently chiding look, and she shrugs as she rubs the baby’s back. “It’s a fair question. A meeting of the minds is nice, but physical attraction is hot.”
“Well, so far, none of the guys I’ve decided to meet in person have been hideous.”
“But one of them was hot, huh? Oh wait, no. You said you hadn’t been on any second dates.”
“I haven’t,” I say a little glumly. “All of the men have been perfectly nice, all pleasant looking in their own way. But no chemistry. None.”
Rachel tilts her head. “Then why the Cinderella mode? You only ever revert to that when you’ve got a crush.”
I take a deep breath. “Okay. Here’s the part where you’re going to want to dust off your best lecturing voice.”
Rachel taps her throat and hums like a singer warming up her voice. “Okay, ready. Hit me.”
“There’s this guy on the app I really like talking to. But… we haven’t met.”
“Hmm.” She purses her lips. “No lecture yet. But why not just meet him and see if you have chemistry?”
I bite my lip. “He’s not really available.”
“Then what’s he doing on a dating app?”
“He didn’t actually sign up for the app. He was at a friend’s bachelor party, and I guess one of them got drunk and thought it would be hilarious to steal his phone and set up a profile on his behalf.”
“Okay, but if you guys hit it off—”
“He has a girlfriend,” I interrupt.
“Ohhhhhhhh,” Rachel says, eyes widening. “That’s tricky. Wait. You’re having a cyber affair! With a cheater!”
“I’m not. I’m really not!” I repeat at her look. “And he’s not a cheater. After we matched, I messaged him, and he explained right away what had happened and that he wasn’t looking for a relationship. If he were looking for some sort of weird Internet affair, would he have told me about his girlfriend right away?”
“No,” she admits. “But then why are you two still talking?”
“We’re just friends,” I say, shrugging. “After he replied to my message, I replied saying no problem, and then he replied, and then I replied. Somewhere along the line we discovered both of our first crushes are from Empire Records—”
“I’d forgotten about that! You loved A.J.”
“Still do,” I say with a nod. “He had a thing for Corey. We both live in Manhattan, we’re both highly suspicious of oatmeal, we both lost our dads to lung cancer four years ago, we both put mustard on our scrambled eggs—”
“So gross.”
“We don’t, however, like the same ice cream, apparently.”
“You’re smiling that smile again,” Rachel says. “Sweetie. I’m not buying this just friends thing. You’re in love with this guy.”
“I’ve never met him!”
Rachel’s lips purse as she shifts Matteo to her other shoulder. “Does Lily know about this?”
“That I sometimes message a male friend? Why would I bring it up?”
I don’t add that I might have mentioned it, if the last time we had dinner Lily had not been going on and on about a documentary she’d just watched about online predators.
“Caleb?”
“Yes,” I say sarcastically. “My younger brother loves to hear all about his sister’s love life.”
“Ah-ha! So it is a love life.”
Whoops. I definitely walked right into that one.
“Did I tell you Caleb moved to New Hampshire?” I ask in an admittedly lame attempt to change the subject.
“Yes, and I still don’t fully comprehend moving out of a rent-controlled loft in SoHo to a barn in New Hampshire, but quit trying to distract me. Does anyone know about this? I need backup that this is nuts.”
“Keva knows,” I say, referring to my friend and upstairs neighbor.
Rachel looks away with just the slightest flinch, and I feel instant regret. She and Keva have met a couple of times and get along, but I sense she’s sometimes jealous of the friendship.