“I’d say to hell with them all if Cuff weren’t the reason I met you.”
It was so tempting to end the conversation right then, when things finally felt good again. Still, she pushed on. “When you say Amanda had bad habits ... are you saying you believe what you told the police? That she could just be off on some bender?”
“It’s entirely possible.” Townsend shrugged. “When I ended things and told her I didn’t want anything serious, she told me to fuck off and said she was going to Europe for the summer. Maybe she made it there, or maybe she’s off partying somewhere in the States. All I know is I have no idea what happened to her.”
“And you don’t think anything ...badhappened to her, do you?”
“I don’t think she’s actually missing or, you know, dead or whatever, if that’s what you’re asking.”
End this conversation now,Talia told herself.Change the subject.She didn’t; instead, she asked, “How do you know for sure? How do you know something bad didn’t happen to her in Europe or wherever she is?”
Townsend hesitated for a moment, as though there was something more he wanted to say. But instead he just shrugged. “I guess I don’t know for sure, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? She’s not my problem. I can only assume she’s off being her usual chaotic self, because that’s what she does best.”
Talia touched his cheek, and he put his hand over hers, giving it a squeeze. “You’re right,” she said. “She’s not our problem.”
Settling in at her desk, Talia dives into a deep work session, attempting to extract a training dataset from big, noisy, nonsensical data. When she first started working for Cuff, she saw nothing more than a dating app with silly prompts and a simple swipe mechanism. She’d never imagined the engineering potential the job encompassed—or her own potential for helping people swipe their way to The One. Her current project: developing a natural language–processing model that can weed out bad actors from honest-to-goodness Cuff members looking for love.
Despite the smirks she gets when she reveals her job, or the jokes she’s seen circulating on social media (“Like it rough? Into butt stuff? Download Cuff.”), Talia hasn’t turned cynical. No matter how many people may be on Cuff for easy, meaningless sex, she still believes most users want more than that. Just imagine the time these millions of people have poured into their profiles. Writing a 150-word bio that’s pithy and sharp. Choosing a half dozen photos that exhibit approachability and warmth in addition to a great ass. It isn’t easy deciding how to present your best self (or, at least, whatever version of yourself you think will serve you best).
Talia wants to reward their efforts by giving them the best user experience possible. May they all be so lucky as to find their own Townsend on Cuff, just as she has.
There isn’t anything wrong with finding love on an app—though to be honest, Talia never imagined her own love life would play out this way. If she had a choice, she would have met Townsend in someromantic, clandestine way. Like how the protagonist in her favorite novel, Kennedy J. Abbott’sRight on Track, met the love of her life: on a midnight Paris-bound train from Vienna.
Or how Kennedy met her own husband. According to an Instagram post the author shared on their five-year wedding anniversary, she and Thad met at the grocery store when they both went to reach for the last pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia.He let me take the ice cream,she wrote in her caption,and in that moment, dear reader, he scooped up my heart.A true-blue meet-cute; Talia would expect nothing less for a romance writer.
What’s less expected is that someone as analytical as Talia would have an affinity for romance novels (or, as Meera refers to the genre, “rom-vom”). Working in a male-dominated STEM field, Talia feels pressure to be one of the guys—to join the office bracket pool during March Madness and wear Chuck Taylors to work rather than heels. But in the safety of her home, she’ll always choose a bodice ripper over that night’s game. These books have been her guilty pleasure ever since middle school, when she discovered the dirty Regency romance series hidden under her older sister’s bed. And in Talia’s opinion, no one writes a romance novel quite like Kennedy J. Abbott.
Kennedy’s Gramercy Park Hotel wedding was featured inThe New York Times, and Talia spent so much time poring over the pictures on Kennedy’s Instagram grid that she could recall every detail, down to Kennedy’s silky cyan-colored Manolo Blahnik slingback pumps—her “something blue,” according to a photo caption. Now she and Thad lived on a palatial estate in Asheville, North Carolina, where Kennedy doted on their honey-blond twin daughters and penned novels that made Talia feel more loved and seen than any person ever had—that is, until she met Townsend. Until she experienced her own love story.
Their spark didn’t ignite on a train bound for Paris or in the freezer aisle of a grocery store; it began on a phone screen. And while she probably won’t find their story in the pages of Kennedy’s novels, Talia hascome to accept the origin of her modern romance. It’s unconventional, but it’s hers. It’stheirs.
It seems like only five minutes have passed before Talia feels a light tap on her shoulder. She startles; she didn’t even hear Meera approach her. “What time is it?” she asks, taking out her AirPods. Rap isn’t her thing, but she’s been giving Jack Harlow a chance for Townsend’s sake.
“Almost six. Are you heading out soon?”
“I am. I have dinner plans with ...” Talia suddenly remembers her audience and stops herself.
“With Townsend? It’s okay. You can tell me.”
“Yes. With Townsend.”
Meera tucks her hair behind both ears, looking suddenly sheepish. “Listen, I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. I shouldn’t have made an accusation like that without knowing all the facts.”
Talia nods stiffly. Is she even angry at Meera anymore? She can’t decide. Truthfully, she’s been feeling more pity than anything when it comes to her friend these days. Meera has made a choice to remain single and bitter, but Talia can choose to reject negativity. You attract the energy that you give off (as theSpot of Positiviteapodcast often reminds her), and Talia believes this to be true. She even bought herself a “Spread Good Vibes” decal for her Stanley tumbler as a reminder. “Apology accepted,” she tells Meera.
“Good.” Meera smiles, looking genuinely relieved. “I say this a lot, but I really am just looking out for you. I’m overprotective because I care.”
“I know. And I appreciate it.”But I really wish you would get your own life and let me enjoy mine.Talia wants to add this last part but thinks better of it. “Walk out with me?”
“Let’s do it.”
As soon as Talia stands, her computer dings with an Outlook notification. A new email has arrived at six on the dot, even though the office has a strict policy against sending emails at the end of the workday. Cuff is all about the “work–life balance”—but still, Talia knows many of theupper-level execs are complete workaholics and use the delayed-send feature so they can fire off emails at two a.m. (and have them arrive at a much more reasonable eight thirty).
Meera squints curiously at her screen. “Who’s emailing you now?”
“I don’t know.” According to Outlook, the message was sent by someone named Amy Stake. The address itself is a nonsensical group of letters and numbers attached to a disposable email domain—a burner email address.
“Amy Stake,” Meera reads. “Who is Amy Stake?”
