Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
NICK
I’m supposed to be studying for my Consumer Psychology exam, but instead I’m deep in a ShareYourGlow rabbit hole, specifically the QueerWaystoFallinLove lightbeam. It’s research for understanding the human connection, I tell myself. Definitely not procrastination.
The Bobst Library is packed with students actually being productive, their faces illuminated by laptop screens full of legitimate academic content. Meanwhile, I’m reading about how some couple met because their cat kept stealing the neighbor’s underwear from the laundry line.
I scroll past stories about wrong number texts that led to marriage, people who met in hospital waiting rooms, and someone who apparently fell in love with their Uber driver during a traffic jam. Then one post catches my eye:
QueerWaystoFallinLove
Posted by u/joaquindav99 · 2 hours ago
How did you meet your partner? [Email mix-up edition]
We worked at the same large company and had nearly identical email addresses.
I kept getting emails meant for him, mostly work stuff, but also emails from his mother, who couldn’t come to grips with the idea of not sending personal stuff to his work email.
He got emails meant for me, including from my dickhead boss who couldn’t be bothered to get my email address correct.
Initially, we just forwarded the misdirected emails, then we started adding little comments. The comments got longer and more personal.
Everyone at work thought he was this grumpy genius, but for months, I learned who this guy really was through the emails sent to him and the comments he made when he forwarded stuff to me. And he did the same with me.
We never spoke in person. Just these email exchanges where we knew each other’s secrets but pretended we didn’t when we passed in the hallway.
Then I realized I was falling in love with someone I’d never actually had an in-person conversation with. And then something happened to change everything, and we did meet in person…
We’ve been married two years now. His mom still sends everything to my work email instead of his, but it doesn’t really matter anymore.
I read it twice. My stomach flips.
I was falling in love with someone I’d never actually had an in-person conversation with.
Cool. Great. Love that for this random stranger and his email husband. Totally not projecting my own situation onto their story at all. Not even slightly.
“You look like you’re contemplating the meaning of existence or trying to understand NFTs.”
I jump, nearly knocking my coffee over. Teddie slides onto the seat next to me, their messenger bag jangling.
“Just reading,” I say, minimizing the web page before they can see exactly what I’m reading.
“Sure. That’s why you closed that down so fast.” They pull out their laptop, then look over at me in anticipation.
“So, ready for the concert tonight? Do you want to go to Haven afterward?”
My heart rate spikes at the thought of after the concert. “I can’t go out after the concert, sorry. I’m meeting up with the guy I’ve been messaging.”
Teddie’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re meeting mystery phone guy? The guy who pretends to be Anthony Devine?”
I nod, suddenly very interested in the wood grain of the library table.
“That’s awesome.” They pause, studying my face. “Wait, why do you look like you’re about to throw up?”
Where do I even start to explain how I’m feeling? Is it the fact that I’ve developed actual feelings for someone who could be a forty-five-year-old catfish? That I’ve shared things with him that I haven’t told my real-life friends?
Or is it just the realization that meeting him could either be the best thing that’s ever happened to me or a cautionary tale people will one day use to warn children about internet strangers?
“Um…because I don’t know who he actually is? Like, I’ve been messaging this guy for over a month, and I don’t know his last name. Or what he looks like. Or if anything he’s told me is true.”
“He hasn’t shared photos with you?”
“No. Anytime I ask, he just sends me photos of Anthony Devine, as part of the running gag between us.”
Teddie raises their eyebrows. “Have you considered the possibility that he might actually be Anthony Devine?”
I laugh, probably too loudly for a library. Several people glare at us. “Sure. I’ve considered the possibility that a superstar who could have any guy in the world instead sits on his phone messaging me about how he apologizes to furniture when he bumps into it.”
Teddie shrugs. “Stranger things have happened.”
“Name three stranger things,” I demand.
“Uh…the Roswell landings. Bigfoot. And…uh…the Loch Ness Monster.”
“Aliens and mythical creatures that don’t exist don’t count.”
“Fine.” Teddie leans back in their chair, making it creak ominously. “But seriously, what’s your plan if he shows up and he’s nothing like what you imagined?”
That’s the question that’s been eating at me since I sent that message to AntD suggesting we meet. What if he’s disappointed in me? What if I’m disappointed in him? What if the magic of our conversations doesn’t translate to real life?
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I guess I’ll work it out tonight.”
“You want me to come with you? Like, lurk in the background in case he turns out to be a serial killer?”
“He’s not a serial killer.”
“That’s what everyone says about serial killers. ‘He seemed so normal. He made such good jokes about pretending to be a pop star.’”
Despite my anxiety, I smile. “I’ll be fine. We’re meeting in a café.”
“You’ll have to text me when you meet him. And if he does turn out to be Anthony Devine, I expect front-row tickets to his next show.”
“Deal,” I say, even though the possibility seems about as likely as Figgy Smalls suddenly thriving.
Teddie starts to study like a responsible student while I go back to scrolling through QueerWaystoFallinLove. But I can’t focus on the feel-good meet-cute stories anymore. All I can think about is that in a few hours, I’ll possibly have my own meet-cute.
For better or worse, I’m about to find out who AntD really is.
And he’s about to find out if I’m worth leaving the safety of our digital bubble for.
No pressure or anything.
My phone buzzes with a message. My heart jumps, but it’s just Jade asking if I’m coming home before the concert. I tell her yes, then impulsively open my message thread with AntD.
Our last exchange is still there: him suggesting a café to meet at after the show, me confirming. Such a straightforward interaction with enormous consequences.
I close the ShareYourGlow tab and open my Consumer Psychology textbook. Maybe I should actually study. Take my mind off the fact that in approximately six hours, I’m either going to have the best night of my life or add another chapter to my dating disaster anthology.
At least if it goes well, I’ll have a story worthy of QueerWaystoFallinLove.
How did I meet my partner? Well, we had a joke where he was catfishing me as a celebrity, and then we arranged to meet, and then…
And then what?
I guess I’ll find out tonight.
The lights dim at Madison Square Garden, and the crowd erupts. Twenty thousand people are losing their minds because Anthony Devine and his band have finished their set list and are taking a quick break, but hopefully coming back on stage for an encore.
My ears are ringing. My shirt is soaked with sweat from dancing. Teddie’s been screaming so loud they’ve probably permanently damaged their vocal cords.
My phone buzzes.
AntD
You still up for meeting up after the concert?
My stomach swoops like I’m on a rollercoaster.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
Are you sure you won’t be too tired? It’s been a big concert for you, after all.
AntD
And there’s still the encore to go.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
You think they’re going to do an encore?
AntD
Most definitely. I always do an encore.
I send him back an eye-roll emoji.
The crowd around me is yelling for an encore, that synchronized chant that happens at every concert where we all pretend the artist might not come back, even though everyone knows they will.
I almost shiver when I think that somewhere in this crowd is AntD, doing the same thing, breathing the same air.
He could be that cute guy over there who’s currently looking at his phone. Or the one in the vintage band tee. Or literally any of the thousands of people here.
AntD
So, Bleecker’s Café on Houston Street? I’ll try to get free as soon as possible, but it might be after eleven before I get there.
My heart thuds. It’s cute how he’s double-checking like this. Like meeting me really matters to him.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
Yep, Bleecker’s Cafe. And no worries about the time. I understand that you don’t want to disappoint your fans.
I cringe after I press send. Did that come across too desperate? That I’m happy to hang out waiting for him until he decides to show? What happens if he comes to the door, sees me, and decides to flee, leaving me waiting there for hours?
But then he’s seen a video of me. That probably rules out that “totally repelled by what you look like” scenario, right?
My phone beeps with his message.
AntD
Can’t wait.
And he sends me a picture of Baby Yoda all excited.
I smile at the phone. No matter what, this guy is someone fun to talk to. And worst-case scenario, if we find we can’t communicate in real life, we can always grab our phones and message each other instead.
The thing is, anyone can make jokes. But AntD makes jokes that feel like they’re specifically designed for my brain. And then, five minutes later, we’re talking about existential dread or childhood disappointments like it’s the most natural transition in the world.
That deeper connection is what gives me the most hope.
The crowd goes nuts around me, and I look up to see Anthony and the rest of the band have returned to the stage.