“We’re done shopping for the day,” I said, pulling away from the curve.
I drove us to Marco’s Pizza at the edge of town. Marco’s made the best pizza in Willet Cove and had red-checkered tablecloths and candles in wine bottles and an old school jukebox that only played music put out before 1995. We found a booth in the back, with Trevor settling under the table. Within minutes, Marco appeared to take our order. Short and stout, with a gap-toothed grin, he had the energy of a twenty year old, despite being in his sixties.
“Hey, guys,” Marco said. “What can I get you?”
“I want a pizza with pineapple on it but my brother finds that baffling, so he wants something else,” Madison said.
“Well, fortunately for you, we have all kinds of pizzas.” Marco smiled as he poured us glasses of water. “Do you know what you want besides pineapple?”
“We’ll take a Canadian bacon and pineapple,” I said. “And one of your meat lover’s.”
“And a salad to share,” Esme said.
“Also, this is a celebration.” Madison beamed.
Marco raised an eyebrow. “What are we celebrating?”
“Grady’s going to be my dad,” Madison said. “And I got three new pairs of shoes.”
Marco looked at me. I shrugged, flushing. He broke into a grin, clapped me on the shoulder. “Good for you.”
“Can we have root beer?” Madison asked, moving along to the next subject.
Esme nodded. “Yes, a small pitcher of root beer for the kids.”
“And glasses of your house red for those of us over fourteen,” I said.
“Drinks are on me tonight,” Marco said. “As a way to congratulate you on your happy news. You make a beautiful family.”
“Thanks, Marco,” Esme said. “That’s very kind of you.”
A busboy brought over some crayons and a coloring sheet for Madison. Soon, we had our drinks.
“So, I’ve been doing some thinking.” Robbie unzipped his backpack and pulled out a folder. A printed folder. With tabs.
“First.” He opened to the first tab. “I thought I would share the compatibility analysis on you two.”
“Oh dear,” Esme said.
“As you know, the algorithm I built for the Second Chance app evaluates partners across a broad range of compatibility metrics. When the app matched you with the doctor, the compatibility score was quite high.”
“I remember,” Esme said.
“What I didn’t share at the time, because the data wasn’t requested, was that I also ran Grady’s profile through the algorithm.” He laid a printed spreadsheet on the table. “Your compatibility score with Grady is ninety-nine point seven percent.”
“Ninety-nine point seven.” I looked over at Esme, squeezing her hand under the table. “That’s pretty good. But I could have told you that without a spreadsheet.”
“I’m confused by the three point deficit,” Robbie said. “But be that as it may, you have found your nearly perfect match.”
“Again, I could have told you that,” I said.
Madison, who had been coloring through this exchange, looked up. “Can I see the spreadsheet?”
“It wouldn’t be meaningful to you without understanding the underlying methodology,” Robbie said.
“Is there a chart? I like charts. Especially ones that look like a pie,” Madison said.
“Yes, I’m fond of those myself.” Robbie turned to the second page. There was indeed a pie chart comparing my compatibility score with Esme’s in green.
