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I look at her and see the miserable expression on her face. She means it, and I feel a stab of guilt. “You just…you seem so hollow, like you’re just going through the motions to get through every day, and it’s harder and harder to watch every time I come over.”
I frown. “I’m sorry, Bex, I don’t mean to scare you.”
“I know you don’t, but I just…I don’t know, I want to see you happy again, living life like you actually want to live it, not like you’re just trying to get through until you can crawl back to hiding, you know?”
She’s not far off. Honestly, I have felt pretty stagnant lately. My job is fine, everything’s fine, but it’s just kind of…there. Nothing really seems to excite me anymore. I feel like I have my routine and I don’t really give myself time to be bored, but if I did, I think I’d probably have lost my mind by now.
“I bought you a membership,” she blurts out, “There’s this new dating app, and-”
“Bex,” I protested, “That’s very sweet and all, but I don’t need you to-”
“I know you don’t,” she interrupts me, “But you wouldn’t have done it yourself, would you?”
“No,” I admit.
“Exactly. So I signed you up. It just went live like a week ago and I’ve heard some really amazing things, my friend Kelly was in the beta test and now she’s engaged. It’s really cool, and the concept is really unique and interesting.”
She goes on to explain this app, MysteryMatch, and how it basically pairs you up with someone based on some elaborate evaluation. Suddenly I realize that this must have been the explanation for some of the weird and random questions Rebecca had been asking me lately; she’d been filling it out.
She also goes on to explain that when I’m matched with someone, I don’t message them on the app. Or at all. All I get to see about this person is their name and a single profile photo.
The whole concept of it is sort of like being set up on a blind date with the person of your dreams, the way Becca describes it. Admittedly, I’m a little intrigued. But I’m also incredibly wary. “That sounds a little intense, Bex, wouldn’t anyone on an app like that be looking for something serious? Maybe I’d be better off trying one of those more casual ones.”
“Those are so sketchy and full of bots and junk,” she says, making a face, “And the questionnaire asked about that anyway, you can mark that you’re just looking to meet people and have fun. And who knows? Maybe if you meet the right person, you’ll actually be interested in pursuing something real.”
Part of me wants to protest immediately, but I see the hopeful look in her big brown eyes and can’t bring myself to squash it. I sigh. “Maybe,” I grit out.
Fuck. The smile that spreads across her face just makes it even worse. “Good! Give me your phone, I’ll download it and log in for you,” she holds out her hand.
I pass her my cell phone and she sets to work excitedly. And who knows? Maybe she’s right and it won’t be terrible, I suppose I could stand to meet someone new.
I’d gone on a handful of dates over the last five years, but never with the same person more than once. Not since, as Becca refers to him, “The Douche King.”
Also known as Gary, “The Douche King” was my bisexual awakening. We’d actually met on a flight seven years ago, seated next to each other, and had pulled out the exact same Stephen King paperback.
Maybe I should have figured a relationship built on the foundation of a horror novel would end badly, but hindsight’s 20/20, and at the time, I was lovestruck. In fact, I was pretty lovestruck for the next two years after Gary and I rapidly fell into a romance that changed my life.
I’d always kind of questioned my sexuality, having dated and thoroughly enjoyed the company of women up until then, but Gary opened my eyes to a whole new side of myself, and suddenly I was a new person. I was bisexual, and free, and life felt too good to be true.
Turned out, it was. A few days before our two-year anniversary, I’d taken off work early to go ring shopping, with plans to propose to him. I went back to our shared apartment to find a good hiding place before he got home, only to find him already there. Snuggled up in bed, with the guy he’d been cheating on me with for over a year and a half.
I came to find out that guy wasn’t even the only one. There was at least one other, plus a slew of women on the side. How he managed to keep it all hidden from me for so long, I don’t think I’ll ever know, but I felt so impossibly stupid…
I was devastated, and I’ve balked at the idea of getting serious with anyone ever since. If I could be fooled so easily once, how can I trust my own judgement?
So it’s just easier to keep myself at arms’ length. Better to know what’s coming than to risk having that rug pulled out from under me again, right?
Becca leans over and shows me the phone screen. “Okay, so here’s your profile, you can tweak whatever settings here, and then down here is where you go to find your matches.”
My brow furrows in confusion. “What’s that ‘Mix n Match’ setting?” I ask her, pointing to it on the screen.
“I only skimmed it, but it seemed kind of weird and swinger-y, I don’t know,” Becca shrugs, then taps on a little icon for more information.
“Here, it says ‘Mix n Match’ is an exclusive MysteryMatch feature open to singles, couples, and more, designed for those who practice polyamory and all other forms of ethical non-monogamy to find potential partners. We employ all the same safety features as on our base site to ensure a safe, fun, and unique experience for all.”
“That’s kind of cool,” I admit, “If that’s what someone’s into, more power to them, right? Kinda nice that they’ve got something for everyone.”
“See? I knew you’d like it,” she beams proudly.
