I can’t conceal the shock that appears on my face. “How did you know that?”
“I used to have a cat. She was an American shorthair, too.”
“Really?” I ask. “What was her name?”
Matt continues to scroll through my photos. “Blanche.”
“Blanche?” I echo with unexpected delight. “I love it. I bet she and Theo would have been great friends.”
Matt ignores the phone for a second and glances up at me without his token scowl. It doesn’t last. Soon enough, he returns to judging my photos and I resume counting the seconds until I can leave. Blanche was a strong lady to deal with this wet rag on a daily basis.
“You should post more pictures of yourself,” Matt suddenly says. “Don’t you want Greg to see you living your best life?”
“Why would I care about that?” I ask.
“Because his profile is first in your story suggestions. You can’t deny the algorithm.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Believe it or not, I don’t use social media to passive-aggressively troll my exes.”
“I find that hard to believe. Plus, I’m pretty sure that exact purpose was written in Instagram’s founding mission statement.”
My temples twitch in the early stages of a migraine as Matt continues to look through my photos. “You sound like a super unhealthy person. I betyourpage is an ominous wall of cryptic quotes.”
“I don’t have an active presence on social media,” he says, handing the phone over to me.
“Said every Netflix true-crime murderer ever.”
Matt almost chuckles. “We should take a picture together to break up your grid. I may be soulless, but I’m shockingly photogenic.”
“I don’t want to break up my grid,” I tell him sharply.
“Fine, forget I suggested it. I just thought it would be interesting to see if Greg reacted to it. Tell me more about Theo. Is it okay if I call him Theo?”
Why do I seem to emotionally regress with every one of Matt’s goading comments? True, Greg and I haven’t texted in a couple of months, which is somewhat long for us, but not entirely uncommon. It hardly warrants a photo intervention. Though, I suppose I should document this horrendous encounter for posterity purposes.
“Fine, let’s take a picture.” Shaking my head, I lift my camera and line up the shot. Matt’s barely in it. “Scooch in, but don’t crowd me. We want to look friendly, not romantic.”
He moves closer and drapes his arm over the top of my chair. “Zero risk of that happening.”
“Aw,” I reply with mock regret. “So you mean this isn’t our meet cute? I’m devastated.”
“I’m sure you are. Here, let me hold the camera. My arms are longer.”
I hand him the phone and a second later we both lean into each other. I should feel self-conscious, but oddly enough, I don’t.
“Alright, let’s go with a casual, sitting-in-a-café-enjoying-the-day kind of scene.”
“That’s a word-for-word description of what we’re already doing.”
“Are we?” I counter dryly. “Are we enjoying the day, Matt?”
“Good point,” he replies. “Lucky for you, I have experience in theater. I was background student number seven in my high school production ofGrease, so appearing civil while sitting next to you should be manageable.”
“Well, let’s see those acting chops, Daniel Day Lewis. Say cheese and try not to look morbid.”
I take a breath and smile as Matt snaps the photo. A second later he pulls his arm in and we both check out his handiwork.
“Look at that,” I say with a tenor of surprise. “And here I thought vampires didn’t show up in pictures.”
