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Chapter One
Alice
It’s Tuesday the twentieth of December, and a gorgeous early summer afternoon in Wellington, the capital of New Zealand.
I don’t visit the city much, so I’m glad my sister has chosen this café on the waterfront, not far from Te Papa, our national museum. We sit at a table outside, overlooking Lambton Harbour. The water is a sparkling blue, reflecting the clear skies. At the table next to us, a group of businessmen and women in smart suits chat over a working lunch. Families and couples on holiday stroll along the waterfront, while a teenager dressed in shorts and a hot-pink vest weaves between them on rollerblades.
“So,” my sister says once the waiter has delivered our meals and lattes. “Are you ready to get laid?”
“Charlie!” Giving an embarrassed laugh, I dart a glance at the people next to us, relieved they didn’t hear her. “For God’s sake, keep your voice down.”
She helps herself to the bowl of chunky chips in the middle of the table. “Relax, girl. Nobody’s going to be shocked by someone having a one-night stand in the city.”
“Maybe not, but I’d still rather not advertise my desperation.”
“I thought that was the point of coming to the city. To advertise yourself?”
“Well, yeah, but not via a loudspeaker. At least on Tinder, nobody knows who I am.”
“That’s true.” Grinning, she dips another chunky chip in the aioli sauce and eats it. Then as she looks at me, her amusement fades, and she reaches out to hold my hand. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t tease you. I’m glad you came to me. I think it’s great that you’re doing this, I really do.”
I study her purple nails, thinking about what different lives we lead. Charlie has just finished her third of four years at university. She’s been working in the city for a few weeks to earn some extra money, and I’ll be driving her home to Gisborne on the east coast in a couple of days. She’s embraced the student way of life with all her heart and soul and is loving every minute of it. Only four years separate us, but sometimes I feel a lot older, almost as if we’re a different generation. She uses Tinder all the time, and I’m sure she’s had a few one-night stands.
When she first suggested I download the app, I was excited at the thought of finally putting myself out there. I joined the Tinder subreddit on Reddit and read a lot of posts by people who’d used it to get an idea of how it works. At first, I have to admit I was surprised at how quickly conversations turned to sex. I’d expected people to take a while to sound each other out before they shared themselves in such an intimate way, but I soon realized how naive that was. Sometimes it only took them a few minutes before one of them mentioned hooking up.
I thought I’d gained a good understanding of how it all worked, and I thought I was prepared. Now I’m here, though, I’m beginning to have second thoughts.
But I’m not going to tell Charlie that. Instead, I say, “Thanks for helping me.”
“You’ve given up so much for me. I know I’ll never be able to repay you. So, helping you get a date is the least I can do.”
We smile at each other for a moment. We rarely talk about it, so it warms me to hear her say she appreciates the sacrifices I’ve made through the years.
“Come on,” she says, releasing my hand and taking another chip. “Get your phone out, and we’ll create your account.”
My pulse immediately starts to race as I pull out my phone.
“Have you downloaded Tinder yet?” she asks.
“Yes, I did it at the airport. But I haven’t created an account.”
“All right. We’ll start at the beginning. Hold on, I’ll come and sit beside you.” She gets up and moves around the table to take the chair next to mine, bringing her food and latte, and we huddle together, looking at the screen.
I open the app and tap ‘Create Account’, then connect it to my Facebook account.
Now I have to set up my profile. I input my name, my age, gender, and sexual orientation. “How much of this does the other person see?”
“Only your age and your first name. It uses the other information to match you with suitable people.”
“Okay.”
“Now, photos. You need to pick a great one for the main page of your profile, then maybe five or six others.”
“I got Mum and June to take some new ones,” I say, bringing them up. I flick through the recent collection they took of me in the garden wearing different outfits.
“Oh, that’s a nice one.” Charlie points to a shot of me from the chest up. I’m laughing at something June said, and my hair is up, although strands frame my face. “That jacket looks really classy, and you’re wearing red.”
“So?”
