“You should ask Velma about her methods.” Brek pointed the tines of his fork at Velma.
She glared at him.
“Are you interested in finding a match?” Pam asked.
“Here she goes. Hang on, Velma. You’re in for a ride.” Brek sat on the counter, his plate on his lap, bare Neanderthal feet dangling against her maple cabinets.
“Tell me about yourself, Velma.” Pam removed a small spiral notebook and pen from her purse, poised to take notes.
“Uh…” Velma started.
“Don’t be nervous. I do this all the time. Start with your age. How old are you?” Pam asked.
“Thirty.” Velma handed Brek the jar of real Vermont maple syrup.
Pam scribbled something on the paper. “How do you usually meet men?”
“Mostly online.”
Pam tsked. “I’m not a fan of online. You can’t judge chemistry through a computer screen.”
“That’s probably why you’ve had such bad luck.” Brek set the syrup aside. “Show her your spreadsheet. She’ll love it.”
“I’m not showing anyone my spreadsheet.” Velma gave him her best attempt at a withering stare.
He smiled at her in reply.
“What spreadsheet?” Pam asked.
“Velma’s got a program,” Brek said through a huge bite. “Ranks men on the diversity of their portfolios.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Velma clarified. “The whole thing is part of my five-year plan. I have a spreadsheet so I can compare all the things that are important to me in a man. Financial solvency is a part of that, but it’s a very small part. Personality is ranked much higher.”
“How do you rank attraction on your spreadsheet?” Pam straightened, her full attention on Velma.
“I haven’t gotten that far.” Velma cut into her pancake. “No one has gotten past the first stage of compatibility.”
“Tell me, Velma. When you’re forty years old, sitting next to the man you’ve married, what do you want to feel?” Pam asked.
Velma blinked hard at the idea of actually finding a partner who would stick through everything with her. “Happy. I’d like to feel happy.”
“And you think a man with a diverse portfolio and manicured fingernails will make you happy?” Pam confirmed.
Sheesh. This was like therapy. Deep therapy.
“No. I just think having someone there to enjoy being happy with me would be nice,” Velma said softly.
“You want a guy with manicured fingernails?” Brek paused as he mopped up the syrup from his plate with a pancake. He had abandoned the fork.
“Of course she does,” Pam replied. “I don’t need to see her list to know that’s important to her.”
“Velma, shoot your goals higher than a nitwit with nice fingernails and a pension. That’s all I’m sayin’.” Brek glanced to his mother. “You fix her up, make sure the jerk isn’t a total loser.”
“Do you think you could really find someone for me?” Velma wiped at a nonexistent speck on the granite countertop with her fingers.
“Would you ever consider…?” Pam glanced to Velma, then Brek, then back to Velma.
“Brek? Like to date?” Velma looked to her roommate. Well, yeah, she’d considered him. All night long. But he wasn’t the kind of man who wanted forever. Not with someone like her.
