“Girl, please. No. Your present is on my laptop.” Lola hugs the laptop to her chest as if she’s adding another protective layer between her and the cold.
“Oooh! You’re going to show me something online, so I can tell you if I want it or not?” I ask, slightly giddy with anticipation. It’s been a long time since someone has bought me a present.
“Something like that,” Lola says, putting down the laptop and opening Safari. “I signed you up for Bumble and I made you a profile page.”
“That definitely is not on my Christmas list.”
“I know, I know, but hear me out. One month is all I ask. Try it for one month, and if you don’t like it we close down the account. Thirty days is not going to kill you, and I’m paying for the first month anyway so, you know, Merry Christmas.” I can’t stand listening to Lola whine and beg at the same time. “I don’t suppose you got me anything?” Lola asks, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah, another year of friendship unless this online dating thing goes sideways. How does this even work? I’m not up for men judging me by a couple of pictures, which, by the way, I have yet to approve.”
Lola takes this as a yes and claps her hands with the enthusiasm of a little kid.
“This is Bumble and the best part is the women have all the power. Men can’t choose you, you choose them. How great is that! Let’s take your profile for a little spin.”
“Right now?!?!?”
“Yeah, right now, what else you gotta do? I know you can drink and type, I’ve seen you do it a thousand times.”
“Jeez, okay, but let me see my pictures first.” I have to give it to Lola: She has chosen four quality photos of me. One is a little misleading, I don’t usually parade around in head-to-toe motorcycle chic. That photo was from a fund-raiser at the Ritz-Carlton, Leather for School Lunches. I know these pictures are going to attract bees to this honey, but I just want to be sure I don’t get stung again. Other than that Lola did okay. Even her write-up is spot on, with a touch of exaggeration. I’m ready. “Okay, now what do we do?”
Lola looks at me funny. I think she was expecting more of a fight, not complete participation.
“Well, we actually search on your phone.” Lola grabs my phone and in a matter of thirty seconds the Bumble app is downloaded. “Next we start looking through the men. We swipe left to look at their pictures and read the profiles and right if we want to tell them we’re interested in a match. I mean, if you’re interested in a match.”
“No, you were right the first time, this is definitely a WE project.”
“Are you ready to give it a try?”
“I’m a thirty-nine-year-old swiping virgin. Alright, let’s do this.”
Tavis
Restaurateur, 39
San Diego State, 2000
Swipe left.
Andre
BMX Racer, 36
Sonoma Community College
Swipe left.
TJ
Architect, 55
University of Wisconsin, Madison, 1984
“TJ’s not bad looking and he might be kinda interesting. And trustworthy since he’s a Midwestern boy.” Lola’s squinting at him two inches from the screen like she’s examining his pores. “Swipe right?” she asks tentatively, unsure of TJ’s qualifications to date her best friend.
“Swipe left, he’s fifty-five. I’m looking for a boyfriend, not a father. Can you change my age range to just below when a person qualifies for AARP?” A girl has to have standards.
Lola and I get a feel for the swiping thing pretty quickly and also for the hidden language of online dating. “Self-employed” means “Unemployed.” “Entrepreneur” means “three failed start-ups and no one wants to hire me,” and “looking for a casual relationship” means “booty call.” A picture that looks like it has been torn in half means the wife is on the discarded side. Sunglasses in all the pictures means serial killer. And then we land on one that takes my breath away.
“Oh shit, Jo.” Lola grabs my hand. I’m busy reading and not blinking.
Michael, 45
Environmental Lobbyist
Howard University, 1994
He’s as beautiful as I remember. Close-shaved head and beard, sleepy eyes, teeth so bright his smile is blinding. And in one of the pictures he’s wearing the Battistoni Roma tie I bought him on our trip to L.A. I had to come home and quit my gym membership for the year to pay it down, but seeing him wear it always made me smile and then rip it off him.
Looking at Michael makes my heart hitch. The only man I allowed to become part of Etta’s life, breaking my no men around my baby rule. I had been so certain he was “the one.” With a career on the upswing, money in the bank to put a down payment on a house, flawless manners with all the women in my life, and only eyes for me in the bedroom, he could do no wrong. I was ready to have eighteen more babies with that man, I was so sure he was going nowhere anytime soon.
I can’t stop staring at his picture and Lola knows better than to say a word. She simply grabs my phone, deletes the app, and holds my hand.
“Two whiskeys, neat,” Lola tells the waitress as she walks by. “Champagne’s not going to cut it today.”
SIXTEEN
I know people judge me and think I’m a bad niece because I don’t drive Aunt Viv to school. Truth is, she’s never wanted me to. Morning is her time. Don’t ask her what she’s doing, who she’s with, or where she’s going, just leave her be. Aunt Viv rises long before Etta and I even know the sun’s thinking about coming up. Our alarm clock is Aunt Viv slamming the front door. For the thirteen years Etta and I have lived with Aunt Viv, her routine has never changed.
Monday–Friday out the door at 6:15 a.m.
Saturday cards start at noon, rotating location
Sunday out the door at 8:00 a.m. to be at Glide Memorial Church early (Etta and I slide in the pew next to Aunt Viv on average five minutes late)
One morning a few years ago, curiosity got the best of me and I followed Aunt Viv out the front door at 6:15 a.m. into the dark of Outer Richmond. Aunt Viv walked a brisk six blocks past our favorite burrito shop, an Irish pub that closes at 2:00 a.m. but reopens at 6:00 a.m. for those who need a pint before work, and the You Like Beauty hair-care store. I don’t know how the Kwon family that owns the store does it, but they carry the best black girl hair-smoothing products in the city. I’ve been buying all the products I need for my crown from Mr. and Mrs. Kwon for as long as I can remember. Years of following me around the store as a teen and then a dozen credit card approvals as an adult finally convinced the Kwons I was no shea butter thief. Now, before any opening night performance Etta stops by You Like Beauty to show Mrs. Kwon her perfectly smoothed and shellacked bun.