I turn on the faucet and look into the seashell-lined mirror, examining my reflection. My hair has grown slightly frizzy in the ocean air, and my gloss could use a retouch. “Hey, can I borrow your new lipstick? I love the shade you chose.”
“Oh, thank you! I thought you’d like it. It’s in my purse, here.” Rose tosses over her straw clutch.
“Thank you!” I say, applying it. “What’s it called?”
Rose rises and walks to the sink to wash her hands, grabbing for the purple bar of hand soap. “I think it’s called Berry Crush or something,” she says, checking her own lipstick.
“Love it.”
“Right?”
We are getting ready to leave when Rose spins around again. “I’m serious, though, Lily. Please try to be nice. For me? I like him.”
I think of Thomas. Before last night, maybe I would fight this harder, persuade her to ditch William. But I was wrong about him. I was wrong about Henry, too, and who knows what else.
I look at the soft crinkles around the corners of her eyes, too few laugh lines, and I see another version of her face, a younger one that never knew grief. I know I will do my best to be good. I cannot compromise my mom’s happiness, not again. Never again.
The rest of the night passes quickly. I’m on my best behavior for Rose. Nonetheless, in the privacy of my own thoughts, I officially decide I do not like William. He proves every negative stereotype about summer people right. I’m grateful Theo is here to break the tension. His practice at the club has made him an expert at people-pleasing. He’s like a chameleon, blending into his surroundings.
William has insisted on ordering for the table, and I watch Theo’s face tighten as he places order after order. The menu is prix fixe and includes an appetizer and entrée, but William decides that is simply not enough. He orders the most expensive items on the menu in addition: jumbo lump crab cake, miso-butter-poached lobster, grilled octopus.
“For the table,” he says. “To share.”
I try to do the mental math of the increasing check, but after a certain point, the numbers make my head spin and my stomach drop out. I lose count.
Something I’ve observed about the rich is that they seem to order food compulsively, only to have a few bites of each dish and say they’re “stuffed.” It seems to be a status symbol to spend money without enjoying it.
“I’m surprised you two met in person,” William says after ordering three more desserts, which he also does not touch. “Doesn’t everyone in your generation resort to meeting online these days because they’re too scared to have real-life conversations?”
Theo has taken on the responsibility of making sure there is no food left on the table. He must be about to keel over, but he dutifully tears into the tiramisu as well. His mouth is too full to respond.
“Do you have kids?” I ask in lieu of answering.
“No, why do you ask?”
“Hmm, wonder why,” I say.
“Lily,” Rose warns.
“I think,” Theo starts, swallowing another bite. “It’s nice to meet someone in person, but it’s also nice to meet someone online. It all comes down to dumb luck in the end.”
I turn to look at him, surprised. There’s a smudge of chocolate on his upper lip, and I resist the urge to wipe it off by sitting on my hands.
“What do you mean about ‘dumb luck’?” Rose asks.
“Well.” He wipes his mouth with the tip of a white napkin. “Let’s do a little live social experiment. It’ll be good for my teaching practice.” He winks at William.
“Let’s say the average beautiful girl like Lily has at least three hundred matches on a dating app,” Theo starts, and I blush. “Theaverage date time is around ninety minutes. If Lily were to go on a date with even half of the profiles she matched with this week, it would take approximately thirteen thousand, five hundred minutes. Even if she booked two dates a day, it would still take seventy-five days to go through her matches, and that is if she were to pause her profile today and only sort through the responses she already has, excluding all other potential connections, online and in person, forever.”
Everyone is quiet as we take this in. I’m simultaneously dumbfounded and impressed by his quick math skills.
“I think it’s the opportunity cost that paralyzes us. So hear me out. In microeconomic theory, the opportunity cost of an activity or decision is essentially the loss of whatever value you might have derived from the option you didn’t choose, right? So, let’s say you buy a slice of pizza, the opportunity cost is the hot dog you could’ve purchased with the same money. When faced with too many choices, we either become paralyzed by indecision or we end up less satisfied with the choices we do make,” he concludes, his words ringing in the silence.
“Interesting,” Rose says first. She leans across the table, a wry smile on her face. “But unromantic.”
“Not necessarily,” says Theo. He’s leaning on the table, too, subconsciously mimicking her posture. “I think that part of the reason why ideas of fate or serendipity or ‘the one’ are so pervasive in our society is because of this decision fatigue. If we torture ourselves with opportunity cost, if we spend too much time pondering the flavor we didn’t choose, we’ll be malcontent forever. We have to believe, at least on some unconscious level, that there is a higher power at play in the universe: that the person we do meet is somehow meant to be, predestined.”
“And you’re saying that’s bullshit?” I ask, curious.
