Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
NICK
“Oh my fucking god, Nick, get off your freaking phone.”
Okay, so I might have just bumped into a stack of Campbell’s soup cans at the end of the aisle because I was too busy reading AntD’s latest message ranking zoo animals by how likely they are to hold a grudge—elephants are number one, obviously. We’re in complete agreement on this.
The cans fall to the floor in what looks like a modern art installation titled Gen Z Meets Reality.
“Sorry!” I scramble to pick them up while a store employee gives me the kind of look usually reserved for people who bring twenty items to the fifteen-items-or-less line.
Jade snatches my phone and holds it above my head, which isn’t hard since she’s got three inches on me. “No. We agreed. No phones during grocery shopping after what happened last time.”
“That was different. I was trying to calculate if the bulk yogurt was actually cheaper per ounce. That was responsible adulting.”
“You walked into a display of kombucha.”
“The kombucha was poorly placed. It was an ambush.” I make a grab for my phone, but she dances backward, nearly taking out an older woman examining bananas.
We’re at the discount grocery store three blocks from campus—the one where you have to check expiration dates like you’re a forensic investigator at a crime scene. I’m clutching our shopping list, which basically reads: Whatever’s on sale and won’t give us food poisoning.
“You realize that exchanging messages doesn’t constitute a relationship, right?” Jade asks, still holding my phone hostage as she tosses a bag of almost-definitely-stale bagels into our cart.
“Who said anything about a relationship?” My voice comes out way too defensive. “We’re just…talking.”
“You talk to him more than you talk to actual humans.”
“You’re an actual human. I’m talking to you right now.” I grab the cheapest pasta I can find—the kind that’s probably ninety percent cardboard, ten percent wheat.
“Only because I’m physically preventing you from checking your messages.” She eyes the ninety-nine-cent pasta sauce I’m reaching for. “Spring for the dollar twenty-nine one. We’re not animals.”
“Speak for yourself. My bank account suggests otherwise.”
We continue to navigate the store like we’re in the discount grocery Olympics. It involves dodging the suspiciously cheap meat section, debating whether day-old bread is worth the savings, and playing our favorite game of “Is this cheese supposed to be that color?”
“He’s probably a forty-five-year-old troll living in his mother’s basement,” is Jade’s helpful contribution as we wait in the checkout line behind someone buying nothing but cat food and wine.
“He’s not—” I start, then stop. Because what do I actually know?
“You don’t even know the basics of this guy,” Jade continues, unloading our sad collection of college-student sustenance onto the conveyor belt. “Like his last name. Or what he looks like. Or literally anything about him.”
“I think he’s in the music industry because he does seem to have some insider knowledge,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
“Or maybe he’s a girl.” Her eyes light up wickedly. “Using Anthony Devine photos because she knows your type.”
That stops me cold. I haven’t even considered…
I make a grab for my phone in her hand and manage to wrestle it from her. I immediately open my chat with AntD, ignoring Jade’s eye roll.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
You’re not a girl, are you?
The response comes quickly.
AntD
No. That’s a slightly random thing to ask me.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
Just Jade getting into my head. You know, because I don’t know who you actually are.
AntD
You know who I am, Nick. I think you know me better than anyone else.
I swallow, staring at the screen while the cashier tells us our total—forty-seven dollars and eighty-three cents for what will optimistically last us a week.
AntD is right. I do know who he is. I know he’s the guy who sends me philosophy memes in the middle of the night. Who remembered I had a presentation last week and asked how it went. Who makes me laugh when I’m stress-eating junk food at two a.m. while trying to finish an assignment.
I know him. I just don’t know his face.
“Do you know what? I think you’re spending all your time messaging that guy because he’s not actually real.” Jade hands over her half of the cash while I’m still frozen, staring at my phone.
My heart beats faster. “Are you saying I’m just talking to an AI bot?”
“No, I’m saying he’s a risk-free zone. You don’t have to deal with any annoying habits or worry he’s going to cheat on you or he’s going to make you feel like shit for having feelings.” She grabs our bags, and I follow her out onto the street on autopilot.
Is she right?
Why am I happy to spend so much of my time developing a relationship with someone who doesn’t seem inclined to actually ever meet me?
Maybe it’s because it’s the exact opposite of how I feel after a meaningless hookup. Those are all about the physical. Sometimes I feel like I’m simply a warm body, completely interchangeable. Any guy who showed up at the right time and said the right things would’ve been appreciated just as much.
But this? This is all about getting to know someone on a deeper level. There’s nothing physical about what happens between AntD and me. Our connection is all about our minds rather than our bodies.
We amuse each other. We explore each other’s thoughts. We actually care what the other person thinks.
What is it? A friendship? A relationship? A parasocial delusion I’ve constructed to avoid dealing with my trust issues?
I can say anything I want to him because he’s safe. He’s not part of my real life. He can’t hurt me the way Chad did. Can’t show up at a bar with a new guy. Can’t make me feel small or wrong or not enough.
We’re nearly halfway back to our apartment, me carrying the bag with the maybe-cheese and Jade hauling the rest, when my phone buzzes again.
It’s a photo of JFK’s tarmac sign. Because of course it is.
He’s really keeping up with his fake rock-star persona because I happen to know that Anthony Devine has just returned from his tour to Australia and New Zealand.
But my heart isn’t pounding due to his talent at maintaining our standing joke.
The photo is AntD’s way of letting me know he’s in New York City. The same New York City I’m in.
My stomach does something acrobatic.
He’s here.
It’s been easy to keep AntD in my phone, where it feels safe.
But what if there could be more between us?
The possibility feels real. It’s there in every late-night conversation, every joke only we understand, every time he remembers some tiny detail about my life that I’ve forgotten mentioning. He pays attention.
Jade’s struggling with the door to our building. I help her on autopilot while my mind absolutely refuses to calm down.
What’s the worst that could happen?
Option A: He’s a forty-five-year-old troll named Gerald who lives in his mother’s basement and collects toenails for a hobby. At least if I meet him, I’d know that. Closure is closure.
Option B: He’s actually Anthony Devine? Ha. Sure. And I’m secretly Justin Bieber.
Option C: He’s just…normal? Some regular guy who works in the music industry and likes to joke about being a pop star? Someone who might actually want to date me. Someone this could be real with.
Option C is somehow the scariest.
I follow Jade inside and dump the grocery bag on the counter. She starts unpacking, and I just stand there, phone in hand, heart hammering.
What would I tell someone on the ShareYourGlow advice lightbeam right now? If some stranger posted: I’ve been messaging this amazing guy for weeks. He gets me like no one else. He just sent me a photo that means he’s in my city. Should I ask to meet him?
I’d tell them to do it. Obviously. That the bravest thing you can do is let something be real, even if real means it might not work out.
It’s a lot easier to give advice than to take it. But I’m tired of being the guy who cheers everyone else on from the safety of a comment section while being too chickenshit to take a risk of his own.
So, I take a deep breath. And another one. And one more for good luck. Then I type out the message.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
If you’re back in NYC, do you want to meet up sometime?
My finger hovers over send. This could ruin everything. This could be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and I once tried to make ramen in a coffee maker.
But it could also be potentially the best.
I look at Jade, who’s watching me with a mixture of concern and exasperation. Her signature look, really.
“I’m going to ask him to meet,” I say.
She nods slowly. “About fucking time.”
And before I can talk myself out of it, I press send.