Get ready to ask, “Excuse me? Are you so-and-so?” because users have to uncomfortably guess who their dates are. Give or take a few profile prompts that are supposed to capture people’s personalities, the awkwardness of meeting in person is heightened by the fact that due to the no-photos-allowed policy, we have no idea who we’re actually looking for.
Personalities aren’t one-size-fits-all. They’re a combination of the temperament we have from the beginning and the character that we build for ourselves through our choices and behaviors. ZodiaCupid doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.
Full Moons, New Moons…this is just a replacement for the anxiety-and judgment-inducing swiping. Won’t people just be biased toward their preferred animals?
To Bennett O’Brien, real people become users, line items in an Excel spreadsheet, and money in his pocket.
ZodiaCupid is a digital identity crisis. It doesn’t know who it is or what it wants to be.
“A digital identity crisis,” Bennett says, the brightness in his face dulled. “Ouch.”
“Brutal,” Elmer says. The rest of the team shake their heads. “This person didn’t even have the nerve to use her first name. CakeGirl. What are we, in fifth grade?”
Long gone are the days of AIM screen names, yet here we are.
“You know you’re doing it right when people have strong reactions,” Bennett says in a forced upbeat tone. There’s a smile on his face but it’s obvious he’s not happy. “Eighty-two percent of our surveyed users have been happy with the service overall, and that’s what matters. Not this personal attack on us.”
“This CakeGirl is just trying to get attention,” Elmer says with a genuine look of empathy. “This is just the first of many who will try to tear us down. Don’t take it personally, man.”
“It’s personal to me,” Bennett says quietly, his mood deflated.
The article worked. It worked better than I thought it would. I was successful.
Shit.
I shouldn’t feel upset. I should be thrilled that my little plan is working. But the look on Bennett’s face makes me feel otherwise. He has his hands stuffed into his pockets and is slouching gloomily, and I wish I could take it back. Control+Z. Unsend. Delete. Something I did hurt this man, and for some baffling reason, that hurts me. I suppress a sick feeling in my stomach working its way up my chest and look away.
“That’s just one person,” I finally say, trying to lighten the mood and change the subject. “You said people are happy with the service. That’s good.”
“Bad press comes with the good. I should be used to this. It was only a matter of time,” Bennett says, pulling his attention from Elmer’s screen. “And yes. Happy users are always a good thing. Are you happy with the service? When you use ZodiaCupid, or apps in general, what do you like to see?”
Right. Back to business.
I think for a moment. “I want to see lots of pop-up ads. Ask me for reviews as often as you can. The more cookies the better. Give me lots of push notifications. Multistep login? Yes, please!” I say, listing the worst things I can think of off the top of my head.
A genuine smile appears on Bennett’s face, accompanied by a small laugh. I’m relieved by the sound. I feel too powerful being able to make him both sad and happy. He raises one of his eyebrows. “Cookies, got it. I’ll make sure we add all that in,” he says in the warm tone he had before reading my soul-crushing listicle.
“Well, thanks for the tour. I should get going,” I say, waving to everyone. “Nice to meet you all.”
“Don’t want any trouble with the boss,” Bennett says.
“She’s not too bad,” I start to say, forgetting for a moment that the boss is in fact me and not Auntie. “Actually, she’s tough and has high standards and expectations. So I really should get back to it.”
Bennett walks me out to the front of the building. Midday traffic speeds past us as we stand facing each other on the sidewalk, lingering.
“Before you go, I know our first date was a bit…unexpected. Normally, I’d just let it go and forget about it, but ever since first meeting you at Lucky Monkey, I haven’t been able to make myself forget. About you.” Three shades of pink bloom across Bennett’s upper cheeks. “I had a great time with you, but I was hoping we could have a redo?”
I bite my lip hesitantly. “I don’t know about that…”
“I don’t like making bad first impressions. I felt completely off guard and unprepared. I know I can do better.” Bennett runs his hand through his hair, the strands landing in all the right places despite the breeze from the passing cars. “Of course, it’s your call. I could take you to the place where I get my best ideas. Or is that weird?”
For the life of me, I can’t think of anywhere this could possibly be. Maybe it’s in his car, where he drives around looking for other fifty-year-old small business ideas to steal. “I’ll admit I’m intrigued, but…”
“It’s up to you,” Bennett says. He shyly grins, and my heart rises in my chest like a soufflé.
I debate this. I’m trying to learn more about his company, not date him. But today’s impromptu office visit was actually fruitful. Now I know there’s a big feature coming. That’s something the press releases didn’t share. After this article debacle though, it feels wrong to keep seeing him. Unless I can use that time to tell him who I am. A guilt weed has started growing roots within me, and I need to rip them out. I just hope the damage isn’t irreparable.
“Okay. Sure. Let’s do it,” I say apprehensively.
My agreement wins me a dimpled smile from Bennett, and my choice feels like the right one. “Really? Okay! How about I pick you up tonight, let’s say at Lucky Monkey? Seven thirty p.m.?”
“Tonight?” I ask. “I didn’t realize it would be tonight.”
“We could do tomorrow night if that works better?” Bennett suggests.
I’ll be exhausted after tomorrow’s podcast interview. If we do it tonight, I can use what I learn to craft better talking points and explain to him who I am before my identity is revealed on the podcast.
“Tonight’s fine,” I say.
Bennett exhales and smiles. “That’s really great! See you later.”
I wave goodbye, my breath catching in my chest. Saving Lunar Love is going to be like trying to grow peonies in the winter. And I’m no gardener.
Chapter 8
That night, Bennett picks me up from Lucky Monkey as promised. He drives us out past Pasadena in his old Ford Mustang convertible that looks like it should still be in the shop with its half-painted and patchy body.
“Is this car road-safe?” I ask, gripping the front of my seat. My waved hair lifts in the wind as we fly down the highway.
“Of course it’s road-safe,” Bennett says. “Just remember when you eject through the windshield, you want to go headfirst. You don’t want to slow things down because then there’s a chance you might survive. And you don’t want to survive something like that.”
I tighten my seat belt over my lap.
“That’s just to keep up appearances,” he jokes.