“Excellent odds! Less competition.” He starts typing, answering questions with surprising speed. “Ooh, this is thorough. ‘How do you handle conflict?’ Easy—I make increasingly terrible jokes until everyone forgets what we were fighting about.”
“Please take this seriously.”
“I am! Look, I’m answering honestly.” He shows me the screen. “See? ‘Communication style: Humor as a defense mechanism.’ That’s growth, Pip. Self-awareness.”
I watch nervously as he continues. He’s actually being honest, despite the commentary. When he finally reaches the end, he cracks his knuckles like he’s about to perform.
“Ready to meet my future ex-wife?” He hovers over submit.
“It doesn’t predict divorce?—”
“Drum roll, please!” He starts drumming his hands on the table. “Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for! Who will capture the heart of this dashingly handsome plant father?”
He clicks submit with a flourish.
The screen loads. His results appear.
Top Match: Piper Renner - 90% Compatibility
Silence.
Then Ethan explodes. “Ninety percent?!” He jumps up, pointing at the screen. “Pip!Pip! We’re destined!”
“Sit down, you’re making a scene?—”
“We’re soulmates! According toscience!” He’s gesturing wildly, other coffee shop patrons staring. “This is better than astrology! Better than fortune cookies! Your app just proved we’re?—”
“It’s obviously broken.” I snatch the laptop back, face burning. “A bug in the algorithm?—”
“A bug?” He clutches his chest again. “You wound me! Here I thought we had something special!”
“Ethan, please?—”
“Wait, wait.” He sits back down, still grinning like a maniac. “Let me see the breakdown. I need to know exactly how perfect we are for each other. Do we get matching tattoos now? Should I tell my mom?”
With shaking hands, I show him the analysis, hoping he’ll stop making a scene.
“Compatible life goals, shared values, complementary personalities...” He’s reading dramatically, like it’s Shakespeare. “Pip, this is beautiful. We’re like... peanut butter and jelly! Bert and Ernie! Greg and adequate sunlight!”
“And ten percent incompatible,” I point out desperately.
“Only ten percent! That’s nothing! What’s our tragic flaw?”
I mumble through the incompatibilities, but he’s not discouraged.
“So I’m impulsive and you’re cautious? That’s perfect! I’ll make sure we have fun, you’ll make sure we don’t die!” He’s practically bouncing. “This is amazing. We should frame this. Put it on the wedding invitations.”
“Stop.” I bury my face in my hands. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
“Ninety percent, Piper!” He pulls my hands away from my face, still grinning. “Your life’s work just declared us scientifically compatible! We could name our kids Binary and Algorithm!”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. You ninety percent love me. It’s right there in black and white!”
Despite everything, I’m fighting a smile. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m being scientifically validated!” But then his expression shifts, becomes slightly more serious. “Okay, okay. Look, Pip, I’m joking around. You’re my tutee and I take that very seriously. Sacred student-teacher bond and all that. I’m older and wiser too.”
