I twist my finger around a lock of hair. “I don’t know…”
“How about we just make you a profile and you can see who’s on there? You’re not obligated to go on any dates with anyone.”
“Fine,” I concede. “Let’s do it.”
“Excellent.” He pulls his browser up and begins typing away.
“But what about when people message me asking to meet up and I don’t want to?”
He shrugs, his eyes glued to the screen. “Ignore them.”
“I don’t want to be mean.”
He stops typing and looks at me over the top of the computer. “It’s the internet. It doesn’t count.”
A couple minutes go by while he types and I twirl hair around my finger, imagining a dozen different scenarios in which Internet dating can go wrong. In the best situation, I meet my soul mate but have to spend the rest of my life admitting to everyone I resorted to internet dating in order to find my husband. In the worst situation, I end up dead, lying in three inches of water in the Los Angeles River, like that guy in Chinatown.
“You know what the best part is?” Eryk asks.
“What?”
“Supposing your boss has a profile on the site we pick, you two won’t match up.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say, letting sarcasm drip from the words. “And why wouldn’t we match up?”
Eryk crinkles his nose. “Well… how old is he?”
“Thirty-one,” I say, curling into a tighter ball. Dana told me, and I mentally filed it away in a compartment I’ll never lose. “That’s only nine years older than me. My parents are eight years apart.”
“Your parents are old as sin.”
I make a face at him. “They were younger when they met, thank you very much.”
“All right, well if you like that age, we can find someone else who is around there.”
“You lost it. You’re not being funny anymore.”
“I’m not trying to be. Don’t you have a type? Age usually is a factor in that.”
“No. Do you?”
“Naked.”
He types away for a minute. “Here. You need to log into your email and confirm the account.”
He hands the computer over to me. I settle it in my lap and go to my email. The link to confirm the profile is at the top of my inbox, but right below it is a way more interesting email.
“Wait,” I breathlessly whisper.
“What?”
I’m too busy scanning the two-line email to respond.
“Sydney. What is it?”
I read the email over again. “I just got a message from my ex-boyfriend.”
“O-kay… what does it say?”
My hands drop away from the keyboard and I stare at Eryk’s face. “He’s coming here.”
“You sound like a robot.”
I exhale heavily. “What?”
“You… sound… like… a… ro-bot. Are you hearing me at all?”
My stomach rolls and a wave of nausea hits. “I don’t feel good.”
“You say that every time we get Chinese takeout. I don’t think we should order from that place anymore. Let’s pick the one on Vine next time. Plus, you ate way too much fried rice.”
I rub the spot between my eyes. “My ex-boyfriend is coming,” I repeat. “This isn’t about the takeout.”
“He’s coming to visit you?”
I shake my head. “No, the email says he’s staying with his cousin for the summer in Venice Beach.”
Eryk sits up straighter. “Is it on the water? Find out if it’s on the water.”
I set the computer on the coffee table so I can collapse on my side into the cushions.
“Is this the boyfriend from high school?” Eryk asks.
“He’s the only boyfriend. I never really had one other than him.”
“You’ve been with other people.”
“Yeah, but not in the way I was with Brendan.” I twist my fingers together. “And I’ve only been with two other people, really.”
“Two and a half. Remember that guy that you…”
“Okay, okay,” I cut him off. “I remember. Jesus.” I run my hands through my hair. “I’m nervous, Eryk.”
“Ah, it’ll be okay.” He pauses. “When is he coming?”
“He said he’ll be here in two days.”
He pats my knee. “So how do you feel about this?”
“God. I don’t know.” I look over at him and then sit up. “Maybe I should go to bed.”
“You don’t want to finish your profile?”
“Can we do it tomorrow?” The bratty whine makes my vowels even longer than normal.