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“I’m beginning to think you do this as a way to get me to come over,” I told him. “It’s like you’re baiting me.”
“Normally, I’d just call and invite you,” he said, “but I had some news to share.”
“News?” I asked.
A timer went off and he ran into the kitchen, putting on oven mitts and removing the pan. “You came just at the right time. How did it go with Leo?”
He was merely pretending to have not heard my question. It was always his way to ask about me before sharing important news about himself. Kiefer was handsome and charming and, in his own way, a perfect man, but a perfect man for someone else. He was great to have as a friend, but he was also a musician. A bassist, to be precise. And if I'd learned anything from life, it was to steer clear of musicians. They were bad news in love.
To his credit, Kiefer never came on to me or tried to make anything start. Well, that’s not entirely true. He was a bit flirty when I first moved in, but he dropped that as soon as I told him I wasn't interested. But I was glad to have him as a friend, because you could have musicians as friends.
"Fine," I said. "You could have warned me that he was so good looking."
Kiefer laughed at that. As the guy who recommended Dr. Maxwell, I was thankful for him. In normal circumstances, I can't imagine that I'd talk to anyone about these kinds of things — other than my sister Sloane- it was too personal — but I came home in a mood one day after learning about Dr. Edwards’ death, worried that it meant I’d have to start over with the whole in vitro process. It turned out that Kiefer had an acquaintance who was an obstetrician and, from what he'd heard, quite a good one. Normally, it might have taken me months to get an appointment, but Leo apparently owed Kiefer a favor and was able to squeeze me in. So Kiefer really saved my ass with that one.
"I've heard that a lot," he said. "I don't really see it. He's, you know, attractive in that kind of plain, boring Don Draper kind of way, I guess."
Looking at Kiefer, I could see why he thought that. After all, between the beard and sleeve tattoos, Kiefer's appearance was well-accessorized. Dr. Maxwell was clean shaven and had no visible tattoos. Put another way, one could tell from looking at Kiefer that he probably dropped out of college to join a band (which, by the way, is exactly what he did), whereas Dr. Maxwell clearly had a degree that got him a job with a six-figure starting pay.
“Ah yes,” I said, “famed pussy-hydrator Don Draper.”
“All I’m saying,” Kiefer said, “is I don’t understand the appeal.”
“You’re not a woman,” I told him. “Any woman would get the appeal right away.”
“I could do better when it comes to understanding the mind of a woman,” he said. “By the way, your app is giving me some very strange matches.”
I’d let him into the beta testing phase of the Matchmaker Plus service. He was single and looking, and I needed feedback on how well the algorithm was working.
“I’ve gotten everything from a retired kindergarten teacher in Temecula to a petroleum engineer out in Ventura.”
The problem with beta testing an app designed to foster connections is that it was hard to find local matches. “Did you at least try talking to them?” I asked.
“Nothing in common,” he said. “Red flags left and right. I’m a night owl, they’re early worms. I like to play loud music, and they prefer quiet museums. I ask them their favorite Beatle, and they can’t even name a single Beatles song.”
I nodded. “It might be an artifact of the type of people who volunteer for the beta testing. You tend to get more left brain people in the tech world and you’re more of a…” I struggled to find the right words. “...free spirit.”
He walked over to the cooling pan and began slicing the lasagna.
“I went to school for business,” he said. “I’m not as much of a hippie as you peg me as.”
“You dropped out,” I told him. I couldn’t imagine him in business or even a classroom. Kiefer was a man who made his own rules. He hated being told what to do.
“Yeah, you didn’t know me back then. There’s more than one side to me,” he said. “I pursued the band thing, but I could just as easily have finished if things had gone another way.”
“My point is that the limited playing field may be affecting your matches,” I said.
He shrugged. “Look, this is your job, so I guess you know what you’re doing, but this thing doesn’t make dating easier. In fact, it makes it significantly harder to the point I wonder if I’d just be better off single.”
I’d reached the same conclusion a long time ago. Maybe I was the wrong person in charge of this kind of app. My inner romantic was often stifled, and so I couldn’t fully embrace it. At the same time, my cynical side was tempered by that little girl who still occupied real estate inside my head, waiting for her prince to come. A true cynic would love the opportunity to exploit people for profit, and I just couldn’t commit to it.
Kiefer cut a large piece of the lasagna out of the pan with a surprising amount of finesse and put it on a plate before handing it to me. I was practically salivating, which got even worse after I put the piece under my nose, fully appreciating the aroma before he handed me a fork, and I allowed myself the tiniest of bites. It was absolutely heavenly, and I knew that I needed to exercise an appropriate level of restraint. Without that, I would have just shoved the whole piece in my mouth.
“What was the news you mentioned?” I asked. “Good news, I hope.”
“It’s wonderful news,” Kiefer said, “but there’s a bittersweet element to it.”
He pulled a bottle of wine out of the cabinet and looked at the label, considering it. “We’re going with the good stuff tonight,” he said, putting it back before pulling out another bottle and handing it to me.
