The True Love Experiment

I press my fingers to my temples, trying to will a million-dollar idea into existence. “That’s the problem, I don’t have any. I’m certain the world doesn’t need another one of these things.”

“Well, while the world may not need another, it certainly wants it: Ella watches every single one. What you need is a new angle.” He turns to glance around the bar, and when he does, I see the dry cleaning tag still attached to his collar. Has it been like this all day? With a sigh, I reach over and pluck it off. “Huh,” he says, examining it before placing it on the table and looking back to the TV.

I follow his attention to where the game has finished and the nightly news is on. It’s too loud in the bar to hear the voiceover, but the captions inform me that GeneticAlly, the biggest dating app in the world right now, has been bought by Roche Pharmaceuticals.

“Holy shit,” Ash murmurs, then narrows his eyes to read something on the screen. “That is an absurd amount of money.”

My jaw is on the floor. “No kidding.” Remembering something, I look over at Ash. “GeneticAlly—isn’t that how you and Ella met?”

He nods. “We’re a Gold Match.”

A couple to our right has just taken their seats. The vibe between them is heavy with disappointment. A bad first date. They glance at each other only when they think the other isn’t looking, and an accidental brush of hands leads to bursting apologies but no shy smiles. No spark. It’s presumptuous of me, but I could walk over there right now and tell them they’ve got no chemistry, no chance. Couldn’t we all? I’m not overly familiar with GeneticAlly, but I know they developed a system that matches people for compatibility based on signatures in their DNA. I’d give this couple a zero.

Lifting my chin, I say to Ash, “Think they’re a Gold Match?”

He glances over and watches for a handful of seconds before raising his drink to his lips. “Nope. No way.”

I look back up at the TV and an idea tickles the edge of my brain. I’ll have to make a few calls. Maybe having time to kill will be a good thing after all.





three CONNOR




Two hours later, I pull up in front of Natalia’s house. It’s a beautiful place—I should know; I cosigned the loan. The Realtor called it Spanish Colonial Revival, with white stucco walls, a low-pitched tile roof, and a gated courtyard Nat always goes all out decorating for Halloween. But where there was once a tricycle in the yard and pastel chalk animals scribbled on the sidewalk, now there’s a ten-speed and a row of potted orchids leading up to the front door. Natalia took up gardening after our divorce. Post-divorce she’s thriving, and so are the orchids.

Waiting for me on the front step is Stevie’s chocolate-brown labradoodle, Baxter. We are absolutely those parents who got their kid a consolation divorce dog. He barks cheerily to alert the house that an intruder has entered the premises and, tail still wagging, promptly rolls over for belly rubs.

“All that money for puppy camp and you are still a terrible guard dog,” I say, bending to pet him. “Where is everybody? Where’s Stevie? Can you go fetch her?”

The door is slightly open and Baxter nudges it with his nose and goes up the stairs.

“Hello?” I call out. It’s cool and quiet inside. Stevie’s homework is spread out on the coffee table and a basket of folded laundry sits on the couch. The walls are filled with photographs, some of Stevie and Natalia, a few with me. We’ve taken photos of Stevie in the same location and in the same pose on her birthday every year, and seeing them grouped together is like a time lapse of her childhood. She’s tall for a ten-year-old, and rail thin. She has her mum’s olive complexion and dark hair, but her eyes—my eyes—are as green as they’ve ever been.

Footsteps pound on the stairs and a second later, a body collides into mine, skinny arms wrapping around my waist. Baxter is right behind her. “Finally,” Stevie says into my stomach.

I bend, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Sorry, boss. Meeting ran late. Did you have fun with your mum?”

She flops onto the couch dramatically. “We drove everywhere. We went to the dry cleaners and to drop some things off at the post office for Abuelita and then to Mom’s nail appointment. I forgot my book, so she let me watch videos on my phone and we ordered Chinese food.”

Guilt—my constant weekend-only-parent companion—raises its ugly head.

“I’m sorry, Sass.”

“It’s okay. I got my nails painted.” She holds up a hand and wiggles her pink-tipped fingers. Stevie will pick pink everything if given the opportunity. “And I know you’re super important at your job.”

I sit on the coffee table facing her. “There were some things that couldn’t wait until Monday.”

“I bet they were a really big deal,” she says slyly. “You have the best ideas and make the best documentaries.”

I’m suspicious. Much like her mother, Stevie is a master negotiator. The problem is that I rarely know we’re negotiating until I’ve already agreed to something. “What’s the angle?”

“No angle. You’re just really cool, that’s all.” She pauses. “But I almost forgot!” She sits up, miraculously rejuvenated. “Wonderland is coming here!”

Wonderland, Stevie’s current obsession, is a pop group that’s taken over every chart and award show in the country. For birthdays, Christmas, and every minor holiday involving a basket, treat, or wrapped parcel, Stevie has asked for Wonderland merchandise. The members’ faces are on so many of her T-shirts I could spot them in a crowd without any trouble.

“Coming here as in for a concert?”

“Yes! Could we go? Please?” She takes both my hands in hers and makes her eyes as wide as moons. “It could be for my birthday.”

“Your birthday was in January. It’s May.”

“Hmm,” she says, recalibrating. “If I get straight A’s?”

“You already get straight A’s.”

Her wry expression says it clearly: Exactly. A sucker, I am. I pull out my phone. “Okay. Where are they playing?”

Stevie’s vibrating intensity dials up. “The Open Air!”

“Calm down,” I say gently. “I’m only looking. Did you talk to your mum about this?”

“She said it’s fine if you take me.”

“Of course she did.” When the site loads, a giant banner fills the top of the page: WONDERLAND: THE FORBIDDEN GAME TOUR. “A title like ‘Forbidden Game’ leaves me with many questions.”

Stevie rolls her eyes. “Dad.”

I scroll down to the San Diego dates and spot the red SOLD OUT flag over the buy link. I turn the screen to show her, and she immediately deflates.

“I’m sorry, Sass. Maybe next time round? Besides, it doesn’t even start till eight and you’re dead asleep by eight thirty.” Her bottom lip juts out and I bend to meet her eyes. “We’ll check if it’s streaming and maybe we can watch together.”

She’s disappointed, but rallies anyway. “Can we get tour shirts and order pizza?”

“Absolutely. Now go fetch your stuff so we can go.”

She leaps off the couch, long, coltish limbs propelling her to the stairs. I swear she’s taller than when I saw her on Sunday. The dog races behind her.

“Where is your mum, by the way?” I call after her.

“She was outside. Insu is building a shed in the garden and she’s watching.” She looks down at me from the top of the stairs. “He’s really strong.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Insu is Natalia’s boyfriend. He’s twenty-six… so there’s that. It took us a few years to iron out the kinks of divorced co-parenthood, but the care and respect we show each other now is better than when we were married. Watching Nat fall in love again eased a weight I hadn’t fully realized I was carrying. Having that person practically be a teenager (a slight exaggeration, but I’m the single one here, so let me have this) is a flavor of joy I couldn’t have anticipated.