Page 2 of Made for You
“Sure! My name is Julia. I’m a Synth. And I’m here to find love.”
WHAT’S UP Magazine
Can a Synth Find Love on The Proposal?
By Tia Morales
You heard it here first...there’s going to be a Synth on the upcoming season of The Proposal: Bachelor Edition! The show, filming now in LA and airing this spring, is sure to draw more viewers than usual, if only to witness the catfights when the *human* girls find out who they’re up against! (just kidding) But seriously—how would YOU feel if a perfect synthetic woman threatened to make off with your man?
Well, claws out, ladies, because our insider source tells us she’s gorgeous (duh!), and made to suit bachelor Josh LaSala’s personality to a T. Not to mention, Miss Synth will be the first non-human able to have babies (!).
While technically this mystery contestant has not been announced, WekTech Industries did just blast the Insta handle for their newest creation, and...can you blame us for connecting the dots? Her name is Julia Walden, and she’s America’s third Synth (the first designed by WekTech). Much like her BotTech predecessors, celebrity twin Synth sisters Christi and Chrystel, stars of Keeping Up with the Synths, Julia looks exactly like a woman and feels exactly like a woman...but is she a woman? What exactly is going on underneath that gorgeously fake skin? And does her first post, provocatively captioned the journey begins!!!, mean her journey to find love? Can a Synth truly love? Either way, buckle up, America. Things are about to get ugly in Proposal-land, and let’s be honest...doesn’t that make for the best entertainment?
NOW
A tiny cry wakes me. It’s the gray light of early morning and the clock reads 6:00. Wednesday. I briefly register the outline in bed next to me.
“Josh, you’re home,” I murmur, relief rolling through me as I reach for him. A head shoots up. Too much hair. I yelp, loud and sharp, before realizing who I just touched—Captain, our big floof of a Bernese mountain dog. He woofs, low and deep, as if apologizing for not being Josh.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I say as I weave my fingers deep into his fur, trying to find the anchor I lost Sunday night, when Josh was supposed to be back from his hiking trip.
I’d honestly forgotten he’d made those plans. While he was packing Saturday evening, I worked my way through a bottle of white. I was mad and sloppy. I remember saying, “Well, when are you coming back?” in that nagging tone he hates.
Sunday. He said Sunday. Right? A one-night trip.
I reach for my phone on the nightstand, nearly knocking over a wineglass with the merest puddle still in the bottom. A few new messages light up the home screen. One from Andy. Any updates on Josh? Call me. I’m worried. Another from Ally Buoncore about the Making Julia documentary Netflix has been harassing me about ever since filming for The Proposal ended, fourteen months ago. My nonresponsiveness alone has upped their offer to a million dollars. There are a few other messages I don’t bother reading.
But none from Josh.
I tap our text thread, and stare and stare at the green bubbles of my unanswered messages to him.
Sunday night. Trying to remember...were you coming back tonight or tomorrow? ETA?
Sunday night, later. Hey babe, it’s almost 10pm. You close?
Monday morning. Josh, I’m worried!! Please text me asap!
Tuesday morning. Babe, I’m filing a missing person report. Call if you see this.
As I focus on the green bubbles, I try to go back to Saturday night. Josh was packing up his gear, his tent, his clothes, while I followed him around the house, wine in hand.
You didn’t tell me about this trip!
It’s just one day.
We need better communication, Josh.
It’s one day.
Just tell me. Do you still love me?
I’m not answering that.
Why?
Because you’re drunk, Julia. God. This conversation is over, okay? We’ll talk when I get home.
Then he drove off, peeling into the darkness, the taillights like devil eyes. His house keys abandoned on the counter. As soon as he disappeared, I texted Andy again, because he always knows how to make things better. And I hoped that Josh forgetting the house keys was an accident and not a sign.