“Neither did she,” I mutter. “But she does now.”
He pushes upright, grabs a glass, pours a beer, and slides it toward me. “It’s on me.”
I take a long sip. It does nothing to dull the shame. “Thanks.”
Silence settles between us. He drums his fingers against the bar, thinking. Then his eyes brighten.
“I think I know your problem.” He leans in. “You need confidence. Dating confidence.”
I narrow my eyes. “And how exactly do I get that?”
“Nora’s building a dating app…”
“I already have the date,” I mutter. “I just need her not to hate me by the end of it.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “This isn’t a traditional dating app.”
That gets my attention, and I straighten on the stool.
He pulls his phone from his pocket, taps on the screen a few times, and turns it toward me. “It’s for when someone needs a date to a function but doesn’t have one. No strings. No expectations. You show up, be charming, you leave. That’s it.” He scrolls through his profile. “You could use it for practice. Get comfortable dating without all the added pressure.”
At the top of the screen, the OneDate logo glows back at me. This might actually solve every single one of my problems. “How do I sign up?”
“You’ll have to talk to Nora. It’s still in beta, but it should go live soon. I’m sure she can get you in.”
I give a slow, decisive nod, as if I'd just received a blueprint for survival. “Thanks.” I lift the beer and take a sip. Hope tastes like hops and fragile optimism.
Two
No Bodily Fluids In The Bar
Nora
The day holds up two middle fingers and says fuck you before the clock even hits 8 a.m. I hobble around my apartment with a hairbrush in one hand while tugging on a sock with the other. Three separate times, I forget my coffee. By the time I remember it, it’s practically an iced latte.
With a long, dramatic sigh, I take a reluctant sip. Bitter. But it’s caffeine, and I don’t have time to make another. Every night, I promise myself tomorrow will be different. I won’t forget. I’ll be organized. Efficient. A functional adult. I take another sip. Who am I kidding? My coffee will be cold again tomorrow. I’d be more surprised if it was warm.
Cardigan. Phone. Wallet. Keys. The frantic pat-down is muscle memory at this point. Somehow—miraculously—I make it out the door with everything. That only happens four out of seven days. Today must be special. Or I’m getting used to adulting. I laugh to myself. Special. Definitely special.
There’s a sharp nip to the mid-morning August air, courtesy of Lake Superior and its flair for the dramatic. Eighty degrees one day, fifty the next. Sometimes in a single afternoon.
Mom’s townhouse is only a few minutes away. The entire drive, I’m very calm. Very normal. Definitely not gripping the steering wheel at ten-and-two like I’m about to land a plane in a thunderstorm. By the time I pull into her driveway, the tension has climbed my spine and settled into my shoulders. The worry never fully leaves anymore—it just changes volume. Some days, it’s background static. Other days… it’s a full-blown alarm. I kill the engine and sit there a second longer than necessary, hands still locked around the wheel, knuckles pale. Okay. Be normal.
I never know if she’s having a good morning or if she’s teetering on the edge of a flare-up. The not knowing is the hardest part. The new medication has helped enough that I let myself hope. Just a little.
I push through the front door. “Mom?”
“In the living room,” she answers.
As I stroll from the entryway through the kitchen, I find her on the couch with her feet propped on a pillow. A half-filled-in crossword puzzle lies spread across her lap.
She taps her pen against her lip, squinting at a clue. “Seven letters. Mythical bird.” She writes the answer without hesitation. A stack of completed puzzle books sits on the side table beside her tea, their spines cracked from use. She looks up at me with a smile that suggests she’s winning against something bigger than a crossword.
“I checked the mail, but it was empty.”
She snorts. “Because I already got it.”
“Oh.” I pause. “Right. That makes more sense. You must be having a good morning?”
