It sounded like a…wolf whistle?
Glancing down at my phone, I see it’s a notification from…
Rate a Date.
Mand.96 just sent you a message!
Frowning, I tap the notification, opening the app and waiting as the mailbox loads. Mand.96. Is that the person’s user name? What if this person is named…Mandy? That makes sense, what with the username. Did I state on my profile that I’m heterosexual? Because I am. Heterosexual. I mean, I did have that one moment when I was in beauty school and we all went out drinking right before we graduated. The night went on and on, and there was a lot of liquor consumed. At one point, I made out with that one girl, but does it really count? It was all in good fun.
She had soft lips and a shy tongue. Her name was Josie. She had pink hair.
Those were good times.
Oops, I’m distracted. Okay, so I open the message to see this person’s profile pic is of a football.
That’s it.
Frowning, I stare at the image for a while. It looks like the person actually took the photo. It’s not some canned stock photo you can find on the web—the angle is weird and the sun is too bright.
Maybe Mandy is really into sports. Though I hate that there’s no actual photo of her face. This feels like a trick.
I read the message.
Hey, you live in my hometown. You’re beautiful.
My heart does a little leap at the beautiful comment. That’s a very serious compliment, though I’m guessing it’s tossed around a lot more freely on a dating app. But still. I appreciate the kind words.
Unfortunately, there’s no name signed, so I don’t know if this person is an actual Mandy or…not.
Lifting my head, I watch Kelsey steadily drink from her new mimosa while she chats with Sarah. Caroline and Candice have their heads bent together, and from the tone of their conversation, I can tell they’re comparing wedding notes, since they’re both our upcoming brides. Stella is currently on her phone, and I think she’s talking to one of her brothers because her voice gets louder and louder, and she sounds angrier and angrier.
No one is paying attention to me. Meaning I can go ahead and chat this Mand.94 person up.
You grew up in Monterey? That’s amazing. What a coincidence!
I frown. Do I sound too excited? I mean, really, is it that much of a coincidence? With this app, I tried to keep my parameters to our local area, though Kelsey encouraged me to include the Bay Area just so we could widen our scope, as she said. The man of my dreams could live in San Francisco. Or San Jose. Walnut Creek? I’ve always found that area cute. Redwood City? Even cuter.
Okay again. I’m getting distracted.
I decide to start over on my message.
You grew up in Monterey? I don’t know how you could ever leave. This is my favorite place in the entire world. What’s your name?
There. That’s perfect. I go ahead and hit send.
“Kels mentioned you two joined a new dating app,” Sarah says conversationally.
“Oh. Yeah.” I set my phone facedown on the table. “I don’t know if it’ll work, but I’m trying to keep an open mind.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know if it will work?” Sarah asks with a tiny frown. “Why wouldn’t it?”
“I’ve never tried one before. I’m worried I won’t meet someone…worthy on a dating app. I don’t know how I feel about dating sites in general,” I explain.
I don’t use Tinder or Bumble or whatever the heck they’re all called. A lot of my friends have done so in the past, though of course, all the ones who are now taken met their men the old fashioned way—in person. I’m hoping for that. I want that.
But most of the guys I meet or get set up with never work out. It’s always a bad match.
Maybe I do need to try something different to make a better match.
“You do know one in four couples together right now originally met on a dating site,” Sarah says.
I’ve heard this stat before. Plenty of times. “No kidding,” I murmur, just as our server returns and starts taking our orders.
I check my phone to see I have another notification from Mand.94. And lucky me, I do. I open it.
Had to leave for college. And then my job. My name is Mitch. What’s yours?
Oh. It’s a guy. I’m actually relieved. And that makes sense, leaving for college and then his job. I wonder what he does?
What do you do? And my name is Eleanor. I’m a hairstylist in Carmel.
He responds almost immediately. Like, the-server-hasn’t-made-it-to-me-yet-to-take-my-order fast. Eleanor. I like that. It fits you.
Hmm. He didn’t answer my question. Is he an avoider? Most men are. They’re classic avoiders. They’d rather do anything else than face a question, a problem, head-on. I’ve had my experience with a few, and they about drove me out of my mind.
Once the server finally makes his way to me, I order eggs benedict and another mimosa.
“I’m bringing out a pitcher for the table to share,” the server tells me, and I let him know that will be fine with a smile on my face.
Of course they ordered a pitcher for the table. This is why they’re my friends.
I shove my phone into my bag and forget all about Mitch the avoider as we chat and eat and drink too much champagne. Well, I try to limit myself thanks to what happened last night, and I notice Kelsey restrains herself also. We don’t need to extend our hangovers, though I keep hairstylist hours and don’t have to be back at work until Tuesday.
Once we’re all pretty much finished eating and most of the plates have been cleared, Caroline rises to her feet and taps the side of her empty champagne glass with her spoon, silencing all of us.
“I have an important announcement to make,” she starts as we all swivel our heads in her direction.
“You’re pregnant,” Stella interrupts, causing the majority of the table to gasp and murmur among themselves.
Caroline sends her very best friend a dirty look. “Come on, Stel. I’ve been sucking back champagne the entirety of brunch. No, I am not pregnant.”
I think I see disappointment on some of our friends’ faces. I know I’m a little disappointed. Babies are so cute.
“No, this is about my…bachelorette party,” she says with a sly smile.
I sit up straighter. I am all about the fun, cheesy bachelorette party. Penis-shaped straws and gaudy bride to be sashes are my jam.
“I hope you didn’t forget to put in your time-off requests at work, because this isn’t just your regular ol’ bachelorette party,” Caroline says with a sly smile, her gaze shifting to Stella, who returns her smile. These two are conspiring together, I’m sure, since Stella is her maid of honor.
“What exactly are we doing?” asks Candice. She’s the sweetest one of the group. Even sweeter than me, and I’m pretty damn syrupy-sweet when I want to be, which is all the time. Together we make all of our cynical friends want to run away from us.
It’s actually pretty fun.
“Well.” Caroline hesitates for a beat, drawing the moment out, and I actually shift around in my seat, anticipation making me start to sweat. That, and the sun beating down on my face, even with the hat. I angle my head, the brim of my hat blocking the sun somewhat.
“We’re going to…Las Vegas!” More gasps and murmurs after Caroline’s announcement as she throws her arms up and makes a whooping noise. We all start clapping. People at the other tables are watching us like we’re on a wacky reality TV show. “We’re staying in the penthouse suite at the Wilder Hotel and Casino. Alex has already arranged everything for us. It’s going to be amazing.”