Me: Ha, I’m not sure mine would either. Especially my last one.
Match 1: Bad breakup?
Me: The worst.
Match 1: How bad?
Me: I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I suck at relationship apps.
Match 1: That bad, huh?
Me: Yeah.
Match 1: We’ve all had those kind of breakups. Tell me about it. Maybe it’ll make you feel better.
Me: That’s kind of weird, don’t you think? Me on a dating app with my match talking about past relationships.
Match 1: Yeah, imagine that. Meeting some strange guy on an app called misanthrope who wanted to listen to stories about your past, not to hold it against you, but to understand you better and learn what it takes to make you smile.
I stare downat the message from this absolute stranger and warmth spreads out across my chest.
I text him everything. Every fear I had about Dex and Pippa, and Dex and Julia. My insecurities about not being enough, of each time someone accused me of being a Plain Jane. I told him about Stephanie and the paternity test and how devastated I was to know I’d been pregnant and lost the baby. He tells me about his past, about mistakes he’s made, resentments he carries. Back and forth, all night, until the first rays of the sun break through my bedroom window and both of us have to say goodbye.
I don’t know who he is or what he does, but for the first time in a long while, I feel a little like maybe, maybe I’ll be okay.
Chapter 11
I’m about to fall asleep, headfirst into my keyboard, when Gail barks out my name and the piercing explosion of a foghorn rips through my ears. I jolt back with a scream, splattering my cold coffee over my fingers and slamming both my knees up into the bottom of my desk.
The pandemonium seems to affect all the workstations in a ten-foot radius around mine. Julia yelps and something slams hard against our shared wall, and Gavin in the cubicle opposite mine falls backward on his chair and ends up sprawled out on the carpet, cursing under his breath.
“What is wrong with you?” I bark, snapping my eyes up to Gail’s.
Her vulture-like features appear over the top of my work divider, scowling down at me. “You have no idea how replaceable you are letting yourself become.”
Internally, I’m screaming and throwing my coffee in her face. “The feeling is mutual, believe me.”
“Maybe you can schedule your naps around your writing a bit better?” she asks dryly.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I’m exhausted and feeling very stabby at the moment. My heart is hammering from being jolted awake and my limbs are trembling from the shock of it. “Gail,” I grunt, “you have every right to be upset with me dozing off at my computer, but the jarring of my bones with the foghorn is crossing boundaries.For everyone here.”
“Jane, darling, I don’t cross boundaries. I push them. And I’m surprised really, how horribly you been laying down and taking it. It’s like I’ve suddenly acquired a new squishy Jane-sized doormat.”
I stand up eye-level to her and press the tips of my fingers on my desk to lean closer. “What do you want?”
“What is it that you do here, Jane? Do you write for this magazine? Were you given a project? What could you possibly think I want?” She angles her head closer to me and whispers. “Your dating buddy is doing a bang-up job with his articles. Exemplary, really.”
Rage coils in my gut, twisting and knotting.Of course he is.
“I wrote about that awful speed-dating debacle,” I hiss.
“Um,” she hums, cocking her head off to the right. “That was lackluster at best, darling.” I follow her line of sight, right to Dex’s workstation, where’s he’s standing rigid and stiff, watching our exchange. She takes a loud nasally inhale and breathes out an even louder sigh. “How about all the dating apps I set up for you? What’s happening with those?”
“Gail, I can’t just—"
“Yes, you can,” she snaps, silencing me. “And yes, you will. I want something by the end of the day.” She saunters away without another word, conversation closed.
I glance back over to Dex. He’s still staring at me. How the hell can he be doingbang-up exemplary workwhen I can’t come up with anything?
