Suddenly, my mind replays last night’s dinner scene with my family: My little sister Eleanor standing up, pressing her hand flat against the table like it’s the only thing anchoring her to Earth. My mother loudly relaying the engagement news before Eleanor can even form the words, and the whole dining room erupting in orchestrated celebration, complete with champagne that appeared out of nowhere.
I remember my mother’s hand on my shoulder, heavy with the weight of a new architectural problem. Because this is exactly how she sees it: a structure in need of support. “You of allpeople, George,” she had said, trailing off like that was the only explanation required.
I close the memory like a browser tab and look at the problem in front of me the way I look at most problems: as a system with moving parts.
At its core, it is a logistical challenge with emotional packaging, and I solve those for a living.
So I stand up. Then I follow my thought out the door, through the hallways and all the way to Tessa's desk.
I pause beside her desk, aiming for casual and probably landing somewhere closer to preoccupied.
She turns, looks me in the eye, and for a fraction of a second there’s a flicker of curiosity in her expression, followed so quickly by concern I almost think I imagined it. Then her features settle into attentive focus, the one she usually reserves for tricky client cases and meetings that are about to go sideways.
“I need your help,” I say. It’s not the smoothest opener, but it’s all I’ve got.
She clicks her pen, sets it down, and gives me her full attention. The rest of the office seems to drop half a step back.
It is slightly disarming. Right now, unfortunately, it feels more disarming than usual.
“My sister is getting married,” I say, as though this is breaking news.
“Congratulations,” Tessa replies, the corner of her mouth inching upward.
“There will be…a lot of events,” I add, pulling up the engagement email on my phone because seeing the schedule in black and white, plus several aggressively cheerful color-coded attachments, is both horrifying and oddly stabilizing.
I turn the screen so Tessa can see it. She leans in to read, close enough that I catch the faint warm scent of her perfume and the softer note of whatever hand lotion she uses.
I drag my attention back to the itinerary.
“I need a girlfriend through the wedding,” I say, because there is no elegant way to phrase that sentence and I have already exhausted my supply of dignity for the morning.
Tessa blinks once, slowly, and goes very still.
I’m suddenly aware that Noah, sitting nearby, has probably stopped typing to eavesdrop. Even the air in the office feels suspended for a beat.
“Right,” she says, her voice neutral, not giving anything away.
“It’s basically a diplomatic summit,” I go on, scrolling through an endless list of sub-events. “My mother seats people according to a complex formula no one has deciphered, and there will be family politics, dinner rehearsals, free-floating toasts…that sort of thing.”
I notice Tessa’s lips twitch. And I wish for a second that she would break the tension with her laughter.
“It does sound…involved,” she says, her tone softening.
Noah resumes typing. Loudly. Almost too precisely, like he’s demonstrating he’s not listening at all.
“So, you’ll help me?” I confirm, needing to hear her say it outright.
Tessa holds my gaze for a second. “Yes,” she finally says.
“Great.” Relief floods me. Problem delegated, puzzle in motion. I slip my phone back into my pocket and step away, already feeling the first quiet click of order returning to the universe. But when I glance back once, Tessa is still standing there with the folder in her hand and her pen untouched on the desk.
I return to my desk.
When I sit down, the spreadsheet greets me with 412 green markers. Over four hundred confirmed outcomes that I was certain and proud of just moments ago. The blink of the cursor seems less accusatory this time, as if it knows I’ve taken a step toward a solution.
And Tessa will find the right candidate. Because that’s what Tessa does. She’s exceptionally good at this. And that means I can focus on my usual business of making everyone else’s matches, secure in the knowledge that now my own personal match is in the most efficient hands possible.
