“Thank you!” Marcella and Sunny clink their glasses loudly, sloshing their wine onto Mica’s head between them.
Ellis’s earnest brown eyes flash in my mind. His hands in his back pockets. That spark of awareness that crackled between us. A guy like that wouldn’t beseriousabout dating, right? He’s part of the Tinder generation. And also,lookat him.
And then, like with most things in my life, destiny strikes. My phone vibrates, and when I look down I see that One & Only has a new follower on Instagram.
Ellis Yang-Cohen.
I catch Marcella’s eye across the table. “I blame you if this all goes south.”
She grins. “I am happy to take the credit when it all comes up roses, baby.”
7
Ellis is active on social media. He posts at least every week, and mostly about plants.
I’m in my big reading chair by the window overlooking a canyon dotted with oaks and chaparral. I’ve lit several scented candles and am sipping from a mug of steaming decaf coffee. My foolproof method for sobering up before crawling into bed.
Betty is grooming herself and chirping happily for once as I scroll through Ellis’s feed. He likes to document the progress he’s making on the river restoration project. But he also likes taking pictures and videos of him and his friends going out, playing D&D, and eating food. His life looks full and wholesome and if I was thirty I would have dated the hell out of him. Daniel be damned.
But I am feeling time passing, that restlessness of wanting to get started on this lifetime partnership thing. It’s a new feeling. My twenties and early thirties were busy and fulfilling—like the life Ellis shows on social media. I was too focused on having adventures and building my career to think about settling down.
In a way, the “when” of finding my fated is the only big unknown of my life. Other than, let’s say, death. I’ve always knownwhat I would be when I grew up—a matchmaker. I never had a moment of rebellion with it, like my mother. When Mom went to art school instead of working at the agency, Halmoni and she barely spoke to each other until she was pregnant with me. But with me, it was always clear what I wanted to do. I knew I wanted to end up with my fated—to have a love like my grandparents. Like Emoni and Sunny had. After I graduated high school, my grandparents sent me to travel around the world for a couple years and when I got back to L.A., I was ready to commit to the business.
According to his feed, Ellis has traveled some. One picture catches my eye. Mongolia? I look at the deep green meadows, the charcoal smudge of a sky. Mongolia is one of the more magical places I’ve visited, and I feel the sudden urge to talk to Ellis about it.
I assess the temperature of my cheeks with my palms. Am I still drunk? Logan drove us home after dinner because I was definitely drunk then. My cheeks feel warm to the touch. But nothot.
Suddenly I’m thirteen again, nervously gripping a phone before calling a crush.Cass, get ahold of yourself. You are, like, middle-aged now. Before I can rationalize myself out of it, I leave a comment on the Mongolia photo.
One of my favorite places in the world—C
Since I don’t have a personal account, I have no choice but to comment from the agency’s new account. Hopefully the “C” makes it clear it’s me and not my grandmother.
Betty squawks like she knows I just did something embarrassing.
I’m putting my mug in the dishwasher and turning off the lights, when I see my phone light up on the counter. I grab it to see a DM waiting for me. My palms immediately start sweating.
“Grow the fuck up, Cass!” I actually say this out loud. Betty chirps in agreement.
Hi, C. You’ve been to Mongolia, too?
The worst thing about DMs is that the sender can see the exact second you’ve read it. Shit. The jig is up, I don’t play things cool. I reply right away.
Yeah. Beautiful country.
He also replies immediately.I felt weirdly connected to it. Does that sound like an obnoxious thing a privileged white guy would say?
Maybe, but thank god your peasant Asian roots keep you humble
He sends me a crying laughing emoji in response and I can’t help but smile. At my own joke, but also at making him internet-laugh.
I reply again:My grandfather is obsessed with Mongolian history because of our shared ancestry.
That shared ancestry being…invasion?
What else?
There’s a pause as he takes his time with his reply. I refuse to sit around for it so I start brushing my teeth. But then my phone buzzes.
