Page 7 of The Match Faker

I take the phone from her to navigate to the services page. When I see their pricing, I drop the sponge into the sink.

“I can’t afford this,” I screech.

“We have the money to spare.”

“In our savings.”

“Exactly,” she says. “To spare.”

I make a mental note to create a slide deck about personal finances. I’ve clearly failed her on this subject. “That’s not how savings work.”

“Jazz, please. First of all, they’re notoursavings. They’reyoursavings. You’ve invested so much of your time and money into me. Rent, food,school. And I’ve seen your bank balance. You definitely have the money to spare.”

“You shouldn’t be snooping,” I say tightly.

“You deserve this,” she says, ignoring my chide. “I want this for you.”

Jade has always had the ability to channel a big-eyed woodland creature in times of her highest need and she employs that talent now. Terribly unfair. She knows I can barely deny her when she’snotusing these tactics.

“It’s a lot of money…” I say. In our family, that amount of money is the kind our mom stole from our college funds to buy into another pyramid scheme.

But she’s right. I can afford it. I’m thrifty. My budget could be a case study for the spreadsheet Olympics, but if there’s one thing I learned from my father, it’s that I can never be too prepared for my entire life to blow up in my face. There’s no such thing as too much of a rainy-day fund. While using some of it now wouldn’t hurt my bottom line, the idea of parting with it is painful.

In a perfect world, one where I have no worries about stability, security, or the future, I’d invest in a business. I’m already contributing to a retirement fund, and I have a small, medium-risk investment portfolio, but neither gives me the freedom and flexibility of a silent partnership or the enjoyment of working for myself. For a while, I thought I could make an offer for a small share of Haüs, but that was a plan for the distant future, and it was reliant on me being married to Mitchell.

And yet, an ache forms under my breastbone. I ache to be desirable, to Mitchell—or to men like him—his parents, the people I work with. To beseen, appreciated, loved.

I’m tired of being so easily cast aside.

Those five pairs of reflective eyes blink at me through the window and when I turn to Jade, she’s somehow managed to make the same pouty, wide-eyed face of our animal neighbors.

“Fine.” I sigh. She bounces on the balls of her feet, making excited squeaking sounds. “Let’s sign me up for matchmaking.”

Blue phone light already illuminates the little V between her eyebrows. “I’ve already started your application.” She smiles, her tongue poking between her front teeth. She shoos me away. “Go get the credit card.”

And I do.

2

NICK

There’s nothing more depressing than a dive bar the morning after. Moonbar glowed last night, bursting at the seams with people, and laughter, and music. As daylight trickles in from King Street through the high-set windows, the graffiti wall looks more like a misdemeanor than art, and every surface looks sticky to the touch.

And that’s after I cleaned up.

“Nick, seriously. Thank you so much.” On the other end of the line, Bernie sounds exhausted.

I flick off the main lights and push through the Employees Only door. Then I take the stairs in the freezing stairwell two at a time.

“I’m so sorry you had to work on your night off.”

“Berns.” I close the door behind me and rest my head against the wood. Home sweet home; warm, cozy, never sticky. “I promise it’s fine. I did last call after you left and woke up early to finish closing this morning. I hope Adam’s feeling better. Let me know if you need anything.”

On cue, Bernie’s six-year-old son retches in the background.

“Oh shit. I gotta go.” She hangs up.

I should shower. And eat. And start the booze order for next week. And finish the schedule for next month.