Page 92 of The Match Faker
I like my life. I like my job. That I get to wear my T-shirts to work and that I live above the bar.
Maybe, if I had to, if I could, the only thing I’d change is Jasmine’s first impression of me. I’d take that seriously, and her.
“Listen,” Chloe says, folding her hands in her lap. “We don’t usually do this. At its heart, matchmaking requires time. Even with a perfect algorithm. For the sake of anonymity, I don’t need or want to know any more information about this client, but I’ll sign you up for two weeks at half price. If the match happens, it happens. But if it doesn’t…”
She looks around like a secret boss is hiding behind her chair or she doesn’t want whatever she’s about to say next to get picked up by whatever bug has been planted by Core Cupid’s closest competitors.
“If you don’t end up matching, I don’t think you should let that stop you. If you love her, she needs to know.”
I thank her, taking my time filling out the forms she needs to start the paperwork, her words echoing around this drafty office even if I’m the only one who can hear them. This is so generous of her. Clearly, she’s the right person to help others find love if she believes in it this strongly.
The only problem is, I don’t think Jasmine is as ardent a believer. Even if Jasmine knows for sure how I feel, it might not be enough.
There’sa strange man waiting outside the bar when I get back. This isn’t uncommon. Some of our regulars have nowhere else to be. Sometimes unhoused folks will sit against the door for warmth in winter; our policy is to offer them water and a meal, then ask if they’ll move out of the doorway.
What’s strange about this man is that he’s my father.
I stop in front of him. “Are you okay?” Maybe he’s on a new cholesterol medication that causes him to enter fugue states andtravel hours into the city. That reason seems far more likely than any other I can think of.
“Can you pour your old man a drink?”
“Old man?” I say, mimicking his offended tone when I used the label, but I open the door and let him in.
Dad takes his time, studying the graffiti wall, testing the stability of the stage, inspecting the audio system. By the time he takes a seat at the end of the bar, opposite where I stand prepping limes, I have a flight of three beers ready for him. All from local craft breweries and complementary in malt and hop flavors, bitterness, conditioning, body, and—Rocco’s favorite tasting factor—mouthfeel.
Dad takes the first glass. “Slàinte mhath,” he says in Scots Gaelic, echoes of his Glaswegian accent in his words despite not having lived there since he was eight years old.
The silence between us while I work and he sips is amicable. It isn’t until he’s finished his first beer that he straightens on his stool and clears his throat.
I put down my knife. Here we fucking go.
“I’ve been hard on you,” he says.
I freeze. Finally, blink, breathe. Fight the urge to laugh and sling a petty retort, but the shock and sarcasm are quickly squashed by a rush of emotion. So, I keep my response simple, if not a little strangled. “Yeah.”
“Of all my kids, you have always reminded me most of myself, and I wished I’d had more guidance when I was a kid.”
“I’m not a kid anymore,” I say, my voice still rough.
He nods. “Sometimes it’s hard not to look at you—at all of you—and see the babies you were,” he says. “I’m sorry, Nicholas.”
I swallow to buy myself time, but in the end, I don’t need it.
“I want to offer you the loan again.”
I jerk my head up, all the air from my lungs leaving me. “Why?”
Dad’s smile is familiar. “If you were willing to pretend you were dating a complete stranger who thought you were someone else, just to make me happy, you deserve it.”
That statement doesn’t make up for a lot of shit, but it’s a start. I walk around the bar and Dad wraps his arms around my shoulders, patting my back with strong hands.
“Wait,” I say into his shoulder. I push us apart. “How’d you know that? That Jasmine was a stranger and thought I was someone else?”
“Didn’t she tell you?”
My stomach drops like a stone. “Tell me what?”
“Jasmine called us.” He hugs me again. “She told your mom everything.”