“So things like thatcanchange?”
“Oh, yeah. You know Tinder?”
“Tinder?” I repeat, confused.
“Yeah, Tinder.” She perks up. “Wait, did they not have Tinder in the reality you came from? I have to tell Noah. He’s been trying to find proof for this theory he has that not all of us second-lifers came from the same original reality, but nothing has stuck.”
“No, of course I remember Tinder. But what does Tinder have to do with Alex?”
“Oh.” She sighs. “Damn. I thought we were onto something.”
“You were saying? About Tinder?” I prod.
“Right. It doesn’t exist.”
“Tinder doesn’t exist?”
“Nope.”
“Shouldit exist yet?” I frown. Did Tinder exist in 2012?
“It should. It came out September 2012. Except it didn’t, not this time. It isn’t there. Go ahead, check,” she adds after a moment, and I realize that my doubt must be obvious.
Frowning, I open the App Store on my phone and type inTinder. An app pops up. I open my mouth to tell her she’s wrong and stop when I realize—
“You found the artificial-lighter app?”
I deflate. It’s an artificial-lighter app. “But maybe you misremembered the timing, and the dating app will overtake the lighter.”
“Nope. I remember the exact timing because a girl in my company showed it to me after rehearsal the week we went into previews forSwan Lake. AndSwan Lakewas 2012.”
Shaking my head, I muse, “But why would someone come back andmake it so Tinderdoesn’texist? Why not just invent it and reap all the glory and money?”
“Maybe someone will.” Kimiko shrugs. “Youcould if you know anything about coding.”
The fact that Tinder doesn’t exist has my brain spiraling. If things are so in flux that Tinder never appeared, it’s probably a terrible idea to invest all my eggs in one basket. Did I screw up by throwing all my money into Bitcoin? Kimiko continues, unaware of my internal panic, and sufficiently distracts me. I’ll worry about Bitcoin another day.
“Shit, I’ve gotten us really off topic, haven’t I? So, youfuckedAlex Aquino—”
She prompts me to continue. Magically, she refrains from cutting in again, though I can see she’s tempted several times; she goes so far as to open her mouth, then stops herself, pantomimes zipping her lips shut, locking the zipper—which makes no sense—and throwing away the key.
I talk about sleeping with Ellie and getting ghosted. I talk about dating Alex. I end on tonight’s revelation that my best friend is hooking up with the boy I was obsessed with for fourteen years and, even worse, doesn’t even consider us friends because I’ve been blowing her off during the period that cemented our friendship the first time around.
“Do you even want to be her friend?” Kimiko asks.
“Of course I do. She’s mybestfriend.”
“No, she’s your best friendfourteen years ago. Think about it. You’re thirty-two. She’s eighteen. I know you love her, but trust me, you’re going to notice that difference. You probably already have. Maybe that’s why you’ve been blowing her off.”
“I don’t think that’s why, considering I’ve been spending all my time with a different eighteen-year-old.”
“That’s not the same. When you’re fucking someone, all your hormones go haywire, and you can’t see them clearly.”
I’m not sure why, maybe because we’ve moved on to the subject of my age difference with Alex—something I’ve felt weird about but mostly managed to shove to the back of my mind—but all of a sudden that word sounds way more crass, more grating than it did when she used it minutes ago, and I wince at the sound.
Fucking.
A cold, sharp, meaningless word. Such an incongruous term for how I see my relationship with Alex now, even how I saw it on the night of Ellie’s wedding, when there was no relationship to speak of, and it really was that meaningless.
