She confirms it: No one is in. Not even the office custodian, Aarav, who’s made a habit of frequenting Meera’s desk (and showing her pictures of his grandchildren) ever since learning that she also speaks Tamil.
She knows that what she’s about to do is a fireable offense. It could even be considered a federal offense. But there are only two people in the world who would compel Meera to take this kind of risk: her daughter and her best friend. And right now, Talia needs her. Even if she’s not willing to admit it.
At Cuff, Meera’s job isn’t about the customer; it’s about developing algorithms and cleaning data. And while all Cuff employees have limited access to user accounts, it’s really only the membership experience and security teams who have reason to access individual customer information. But because she knows her login will give her the info she needs, Meera enters the company’s database and searches for Townsend Fuller.
Along with 401(k) matching and monthly date stipends (which Meera always spends on solo take-out dinners), Cuff offers all its employees free Cuff Plus memberships, giving them infinite swipes and Winks (the Cuff equivalent of likes). Meera doesn’t use Cuff anymore; to her, it feels like pissing in her own swimming pool. “Everyone is onthe apps these days,” Talia always tells Meera. “You’re not just going to bump into the right guy. You’ve got to actively pursue him.”
But Meera did bump into the right guy, once upon a time. During her first year in NYU’s Interactive Telecommunications Program, she and Hari Balaji took the same Synthetic Architectures course, where they became seatmates, and then study buddies, and then so much more. They bonded over their similar backgrounds (both had Sri Lankan Tamil parents who came to the States as refugees during the Sri Lankan Civil War) and their shared dreams of using communications technologies to make a difference in the world.
After graduating from NYU, they moved into a one-bedroom apartment in the East Village, where they spent their weekends trying new restaurants and attending immersive art exhibits. They made friends. They got married. They were deliriously happy. Then Hari’s dad had a ministroke, and Hari insisted they move down to Texas to be closer to him. Meera didn’t see an alternative.
Within a month, they traded their apartment with its lofty tin ceilings and view of Tompkins Square Park for a three-bedroom bungalow in charming, tree-lined Tarrytown (just west of Downtown Austin), where they spent their weekends grocery shopping and mowing the lawn. They got office jobs. They had a baby. They were making things work.
Then Hari’s girlfriend sent Meera an email, explaining that her husband no longer loved her and would be leaving her.
He hadn’t intended for her to find out this way, Hari said. Jessica was a good person but a little impulsive, he said. But Meera knew exactly what Jessica was: a Machiavellian Mary, a toxic feminist, a woman so afraid of not getting what she wants that she’ll go to any lengths to succeed.
Once upon a time, Meera could relate to women like Jessica. When she was younger, Meera was driven. Motivated to succeed in a male-dominated industry. Determined to support her parents in their old age and prove them wrong when they worried that theirdaughter’s attempts to “have it all” would end disastrously. But it turned out they were right. She lost the husband and the house and was clinging to her career by her fingernails. Not even two years later, Meera was struck down by a disease that disproportionately affects women, which felt like cosmic punishment for a lifetime of claiming she wasn’t like other girls.
Being different hadn’t served her well, but still, Meera doesn’t want to be on the apps like everyone else. She doesn’t want to spend her free time sifting through a slush pile of hopeful singles, assessing their capacity to love based on a half dozen photos and a few cherry-picked interests.So-and-so likes wine, basketball, and dogs.
Meera doesn’t care about that; she wants to know how these prospective matches feel about machine sentience, or quantum computing, or interstellar travel. Or infidelity.
She knows how dating app algorithms work because she helped create those algorithms, and still, they don’t work in her favor. No matter what Talia says, Meera won’t use Cuff herself, even after three years of being single—save for the brief dalliance she indulged in about a year after her divorce. Talia doesn’t know about that; Meera plans to take that mess of a relationship (if she could even call it that) to the grave.
Sitting now in the Cuff office, Meera slurps her iced coffee and stares at her screen, where the search results have proved her right. Despite asking to be exclusive (according to Talia, anyway), Townsend still has an active Cuff profile, with his account showing activity as recent as the night before. Meera is disappointed, but she isn’t surprised.
Men like Townsend always disappoint, especially when given a chance with women like Talia.
It was just about a year ago when Talia and Townsend first met on Cuff; Meera can still remember her friend’s excitement. “He’s an Ivy League grad and an investment banker and he’s unbelievably handsome,” Talia had gushed while twirling around Meera’s kitchen. “We’ve been talking nonstop for a week. He wants to take me on a date. He seems too good to be true.”
“Well, when something seems too good to be true ...” Meera looked at her meaningfully.
“I know, I know. It probably is.” Talia sighed. “But I don’t want him to be.”
Outside the Cuff office window now, horns beep and voices call out as Downtown Austin stirs to life. Her coworkers will be arriving soon. Meera taps a meticulously sharpened fingernail on her mouse, debating what to do. Knowing that Townsend has an active Cuff account is enough for her to prove to Talia that the man hasn’t changed, but still she’s tempted to look at more—to see who he’s swiped right on, who he’s sent Winks to, who he’s made promises to.
And if he’s uploaded photos through a social media platform, she can access even more data: his interests, his music tastes, his most frequently used words, the images he likes, the people he likes, the average time he spends looking at a photo ... She could know everything there is to know about Townsend Fuller with a few strokes of her keyboard. It never ceases to amaze Meera just how willing people are to bare the whole truth of themselves on the internet for all to see. Or, at least, for those who know where to look.
But regardless of what she finds, Meera knows she needs to tell Talia that Townsend isn’t who he seems. It will be difficult, because the truth is the hardest thing to see, but Meera just needs to sit her friend down, look her in the eye, and say—
“What are you doing?”
Meera jumps, her elbow knocking her iced coffee off her desk and onto the carpeted floor, where it creates a Rorschach-style splatter. Behind her, Talia stands expectantly, dark hair freshly blown out and lips painted berry red. Sometimes, Meera wonders if she’s not a little bit in love with her best friend. But that can’t be. This is just what it feels like to care deeply about someone, the way she cares deeply about Gracie. The way she once cared deeply about Hari, before he fucked that up.
“Aren’t we jumpy. Did I catch you looking at porn on the job?”
“You very well know all the good sites are blocked here.” Meera catches her breath and forces a smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she checks her screen—the only thing visible is her Outlook inbox, the company database minimized out of view. “You owe me six bucks, by the way.”
Talia looks bewildered. “For what?”
“For the coffee you just made me drop. That shit’s expensive.”
“Take mine. I need to cut back on caffeine anyway.” Talia holds out her own coffee, a gesture so generous it nearly makes Meera cry. Must be her out-of-whack hormones.
“I’m not taking your coffee, you martyr.” Meera waves her off. “I will take the shirt off your back, though. That top is cute.”
“I would give it to you if I were wearing a better bra today,” Talia jokes. She’s too kind to mention that Meera could never fit into her clothing. Too kind to be deceived by someone like Townsend Fuller.
