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She opens her eyes and releases her nose. “There! I said it. Finally! I can’t believe I kept it in so long. It was awful, the guilt. See, I had all this student debt. I was neck deep. I needed the money.”
I feel heat rushing into my cheeks. “So you… youfakedhis profile?”
“I needed the money. Desperately.”
I clutch my purse so tight, my knuckles turn white. Anger flashes through me, but I have nowhere to put it.
I can’t be angry at Jocelyn.
She drove all this way to come clean and in her condition, hours in the car are surely not enjoyable. I can’t even imagine how many times she probably had to pull over to pee.
Suddenly, it dawns on me that, while Jocelyn is not a suitable target for this anger surging in me, Mortimer is.
He lied to me.
From the get-go.
Hefalsifiedthe only reason I was with him to begin with. Our whole relationship was built on those compatibility scores.
When, out of the corner of my eye, I see another gaggle of men and women spill out through the revolving doors, I catch sight of a tall forehead, and wispy, thinning brown hair. Long nose. Sleek, expensive suit, and that stupidly big, flashy gold watch.
Jocelyn, beside me, gushes on. “...And I’d never forgive myself, if you said yes to his proposal based on those scores. It was bad enough that you guys dated for so long. I never imagined you’d stick with it like you did. I was so relieved when you guys split—thought I’d really gotten away with something, you know? But then all this stuff’s coming out about how you guys are going to walk down the aisle together, and I knew I had to confess.”
I’ll thank her for coming clean.
Later.
Right now I have a lying sack of bird poop to set straight.
I jump up off the bench with my eyes pinned on my prey. As I march up to him, it’s like I can’t even see all the other professionally-attired men and women around him. They fade to the background as I zero in on the man who cheated on his Right Match profile.
“You,” I say, pointing as I near him.
His smile’s wobbly and fearful. As it should be. He glances left and right nervously, checking in with his peers. As always for Mortimer, public perception comes first. “Hey, hon. I didn’t expect you until tomorrow. Looking beautiful, as usual.”
He opens his arms, like I’m storming in on him to hug him.As if.
“You lied to me. You sneaky, conniving, scumbag!” I keep my purse pinned under my arm, even though what I want to do is wallop him with it.
I’m only vaguely aware that the others around us have paused to watch the scene unfolding.
Mortimer holds up his hands. “Ah… haha… that? That was nothing, sweetheart. A testament to how much I loved you, don’t you think? I went to a lot of trouble to get a shot with you. Let’s talk about this in private.”
He swoops in on me, and hooks his arm over mine.
The smell of his aftershave makes me want to vomit into a nearby planter. I duck out from under his arm. “I was with you because we were a 93 percent match! The system can’t work when you totally falsify the data points. Everything we had was a lie, Mortimer. Every minute we spent together—I wish I could get all that time back. Iknewthere was something wrong, but because of that number, I didn’t trust my own judgment. Now I understand, finally.”
“Gemma, hon, you’re getting all worked up over nothing.” His gaze darts about frantically.
I spot a man holding a big, bulky camera, in the periphery of the crowd.
In front of me, Mortimer’s sweating. He pulls at his tie and collar as if they’re choking him. “I love you. Seeing you Monday reminded me how beautiful and successful you are. I was lucky to be with you, and I see that now. I know you want to get things back on track. Let’s do that. Hm…? What do you say?”
“No. No, no, no. We’re over. We have been for a long time. We will never,everget back together, and we definitely won’t ever get married.”
As I say those words, it’s like my heart’s a cage and the door’s suddenly been flung wide open, and doves are flying out.
I’m free.
