He had recently started calling me Mother, which I blamed on our recent binge of a historical Masterpiece Theatre mystery. With Robbie, one never quite knew what to expect.
“Yeah?” I asked. “Tell me.”
Over the last few weeks, Robbie had been carefully monitoring the responses that came through from various men. Thus far, he had not been impressed with the app’s accuracy when it came to matches. Which had prompted him to write his own code to identify the statistically high compatibility between the match and me. So far, he hadn’t found one above fifty percent.
Until today, apparently.
“This one here. Look at this,” Robbie said. “Ninety-seven percent compatibility, according to my program.”
Robbie scooted his laptop in my direction.
@KidDoc
About Me: Hey there. I’m a pediatrician who loves to hike, travel, and read. I’m from Seattle but now live in Willet Cove. Escaping three hundred days of rain was necessary for my mental health. I love my work. Helping kids and supporting families during a health difficultly is my dream job, even when it’s emotionally brutal at times.
Outside the hospital, you’ll usually find me hiking, traveling, cooking comfort food, or reading in a hammock with a stack of novels. I’m close with my niece and nephew, and I have a soft spot for kids who color outside the lines. They tend to be the most interesting thinkers.
I’m a creature of habit. I like routine, clear plans, and knowing what’s coming next. A well-organized life is a happy one.
Some of My Favorite Things: Morning coffee outside, no matter the weather. Concerts in the park. Salt & vinegar kettle chips. Independent bookstores. Watching beach sunsets. The beach itself is great in small doses, but I’m not a “sand everywhere” guy. Tacos (street tacos especially). Music with real lyrics and heart. Mary Oliver poems. A vase of fresh flowers on the kitchen table
My real-life superpower is: Finding exactly the right book for a kid who needs a distraction.
After work, you’ll find me: On a trail, cooking something delicious, or unwinding with a good movie.
A perfect Sunday looks like: A farmers market morning, a long hike, then cooking dinner with someone special while music plays in the background. (Bonus if we have the meal planned the day before.)
Favorite comfort movie: Paddington 2 — no shame. It’s impossible to watch that without feeling better about the world.
Favorite song: “Closer to Fine” by Indigo Girls.
“We like a lot of the same things,” I said.
“You and the doctor have significant overlap in core preferences and value indicators,” Robbie said.
I blinked. “Value indicators?”
“Patterns in your speech, your stated hobbies, emotional vocabulary, lifestyle descriptors.” He ticked them off. “Mary Oliver. Paddington. His love of tacos. He’s from Seattle, like you. You and this guy are practically a Venn diagram of relational stability.”
“A Venn diagram?”
“Overlapping circles of harmony, Mother.”
He said it like it should be obvious.
I glanced at the profile again. “He does seem … like a good match for me.” Except that he was wildly successful and I owned a struggling flower shop.
Robbie nodded, his expression skirting delight, as he got up to come around to my side of the table. Robbie wasn’t one who wasted energy on flexing his facial muscles, but at the moment he looked downright excited. “He’s consistent. Predictable. He has routines. That means he’s less likely to make impulsive choices that negatively impact a family system. In addition, he doesn’t mind kids like me.”
“That’s true.”
“And he has a good job,” Robbie said. “Which means we wouldn’t have to rely on Dad’s child support. Or should I say, the support that never comes.”
A wave of guilt washed over me. I hated that Robbie was so aware of the truth about his father and our finances. My ex had trouble keeping a job. Mostly because he thought he was smarter than everyone else. Which he most definitely was not. Robbie didn’t get his intelligence from his father’s side of the family. If Robbie took after his father, he’d be wearing a tank top and ordering tickets to the next monster truck show.
“I might irritate him with my spontaneity,” I said.
“That might be the three percent incompatibility.”
