Chapter 3 Ellis #2
“Oh!” Mom squeaked again, dancing on her feet. “Someone liked it already? Of course they did. You’re gorgeous. Click into it. I want to see my potential future daughter-in-law.”
“Mom!”
Mom huffed behind me impatiently as my finger hovered over the mouse, hesitant to click the notification.
My heart felt like it was beating a little too fast. It completely irrational, considering this was how the app worked.
Obviously. So why was I panicking now? It wasn’t as if someone had just proposed to me.
This was just a match.
A simple stamp of digital approval.
Katie M – 22 – She/Her – Professional dog mom, part-time artist, full-time disaster.
I frowned and looked at her photos.
She had short dark hair that curled around her ears, warm brown eyes, and a friendly smile. She wore a striped shirt and cute blue overalls, holding a tiny, scruffy-looking dog in her arms.
She looked nonthreatening… safe.
I wasn’t sure about the “full-time disaster” bit, though.
I could practically feel Mom waiting on bated breath as I clicked the matching heart.
Match made! Say hello?
“Oh!” Mom squealed, clapping her hands.
I flinched at the noise. “Shit, Mom!”
“Oh, look at you! My daughter is flirting on dating apps!”
I groaned loudly and rubbed my eyes. “Please calm down.”
She ignored me completely.
“This is so fun! What are you going to say to her? You should compliment her first. She’s adorable. And look at her little dog! You like dogs, Ellis! What’s your strategy here? Oh, I have so many ideas for you—”
“I hate this,” I muttered, burying my face in my hands. “I hate this.”
“Come on,” Mom urged gleefully. “Say hi!”
I peeked at my laptop, my stomach twisting as I tried to take a steadying breath. I could do this. It was just homework, nothing more. The entire course of my life wasn’t going to change because of one stupid assignment and a dating app.
Grow up, Ellis, I told myself gruffly, adjusting in my chair.
Hi.
I sat alone at a small table, watching condensation slide down my glass of water, wondering how the hell I had gone from messaging “Hi” to someone to, a day later, sitting in a café that was far too trendy for me, waiting for the girl I had matched with to show up.
I wanted to pass out, vomit, maybe, and next week, when I saw Dr. Mason, I was going to unload so much trauma from this one moment that I’d keep her busy for at least a month unpacking it all.
I thought this stuff was supposed to take ages. That’s what all the Reddit forums had said the moment my mother left me alone and I started getting insight from other people in the online dating world.
You were supposed to go round and round with meaningless conversation and then maybe go on a date and get ghosted.
I bit my lip. Maybe that’s just what happened in the straight world of online dating.
I glanced around, taking in the artsy vibe of the café Katie had picked.
Local paintings lined the walls and I knew they were local thanks to all the signage that said they were.
A chalkboard menu stood proudly with fairy lights draped around it.
Dim lighting glowed over the space, and a song played softly in the background, one I swore I knew but couldn’t quite place.
This was so stupid. Why was I doing this to myself? I could have lied to Dr. Mason. I could have said I’d gone on a date, even though I hadn’t.
No. I couldn’t.
I was a useless liar and too anal-retentive. When someone gave me a task, I had to complete it.
Well, at least I’d ticked the “Friends” box when signing up, I reminded myself, though it offered little comfort. Katie would have seen that. She’d know I wasn’t looking to date.
The bell above the door jingled, and my heart spiked as I glanced up.
A girl entered the café, and I knew immediately it was her.
That same short, curly hair was gathered atop her head, and once again, she wore overalls—mustard-colored this time—with a deep red sweater underneath.
She wore glasses, something that hadn’t been in her profile.
They were thin and round and glinted under the light.
I noticed her black combat boots and the way her overalls were rolled just above them.
She was fashionable, I decided. Aesthetically, she had her own style.
I glanced down at myself.
Blue mom jeans, a crop top that wasn’t cropped enough to show skin, and a pair of white sneakers. My red hair was tied back in a boring ponytail.
I had never really developed a style.
She looked exactly like her pictures, which somehow made this worse. I couldn’t even get out of this by accusing her of catfishing.
I didn’t know if I was meant to call out to her or wait for her to spot me, but I watched as she nodded to the barista—who grinned and waved—and my cheeks flushed. Did she know people here? Were we going to be under a microscope this entire date?
No. Not a date.
Her eyes landed on me, and she smiled wide. Genuinely.
I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
“Ellis!” Katie greeted warmly, like we were old friends, and started toward the table.
I was hit with a jarring thought. Was I supposed to get up? Did we hug? Stay seated? Was it rude if I stayed seated?
An internal scream echoed through my head at the uncertainty, and for a moment, actual spots dotted my vision.
Somehow, my legs snapped to attention, and I stood—awkwardly—just as she reached the table. She grinned wider and pulled me into a quick hug. I tensed for the briefest second, unprepared for the contact and not exactly used to it from anyone outside my family.
She let go just as quickly and slid into the seat across from me.
I sank back into my own chair, trying not to visibly exhale with relief.
“Thank God you actually showed!” she said brightly, leaning on her elbows, her eyes sparkling. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I get ghosted. Like, why say yes to meeting up if you don’t want to?”
“Yeah…” I said, voice wobbly, offering what I hoped passed as a commiserating smile. “That sucks.”
“Well, I had a good feeling about you,” she said with a soft laugh.
The waiter came over before I could respond, and Katie ordered a matcha latte with oat milk like she’d been doing it her whole life. I, having zero aesthetic—and at this point, zero personality—ordered a black coffee.
“So,” she said, eyes eager as she looked at me. “Tell me about yourself. What brought you to Femme?”
You know in movies when time just... stops? The camera zooms in on the protagonist’s face, wide-eyed, panic-stricken, as everything slows down?
Yeah. That was me.
In real time.
Blood rushed through my body, roaring in my ears. My palms were sweating so badly I was rubbing them on my jeans beneath the table.
Why hadn’t I prepared for this? Rehearsed some sort of script?
No. Instead, I sat there like an idiot, staring at her expectant face, trying to think of something—anything at this point—to say about myself that didn’t revolve around death, illness, or existential dread.
What had my assignment been again? Don’t talk about death, or don’t research it?
I couldn’t remember.
My head pounded.
Her smile faltered at my silence, and I latched onto the first thought that crossed my mind, my mouth blurting it out foolishly.
“Well, I nearly died a few times.”
“Oh!” she said quickly, her voice lifting an octave. “Wow, that’s, um... intense.”
“Yeah.”
Silence.
Oh God, it was all going to shit already, and I hadn’t even had my coffee yet. It felt like watching a glass tip over in slow motion, knowing I was too far away to stop it.
Katie cleared her throat and adjusted her smile. “So, um... if you don’t mind me asking, how did you almost die? A few times?”
“One oat milk matcha!”
The waiter appeared like divine intervention, setting Katie’s drink down with a flourish before turning to me.
“One black coffee!”
“Thanks,” Katie said warmly, wrapping her hands around her mug with a soft smile.
The waiter walked away.
Her expectant gaze returned to me.
I suddenly felt like I was standing at the front of a classroom, being asked to find x.
“I had a little bit of cancer growing up. And then I needed a heart transplant,” I rushed out, my cheeks heating.
How the hell does someone have a little bit of cancer?
“Oh. Wow…” Katie echoed, her eyes widening slightly. “I mean, that’s... huge. It’s incredible, though. I mean, not the cancer or the transplant part, but the... surviving part.”
I nodded.
Another beat of silence passed between us.
Come on, Ellis, I begged myself. Say something normal. Literally anything.
Ask her a question!
“So… uh, what do you do for work?” she asked, trying to move the conversation along, her eyes still hopeful.
Okay, this was a normal question. I couldn’t mess this up.
“I make content online,” I told her, squeezing my mug a little tighter.
Katie perked up at that, her eyes sparking with interest. “Cool! Like TikTok?”
I nodded and released my mug slightly. “Yeah, and YouTube.”
She grinned and leaned in a little. “What sort of content?”
“Oh, well… it’s mainly about my experiences… with cancer, and then being a transplant recipient,” I murmured, clearing my throat. “Discussing the psychological effects of… prolonged medical trauma.”
Damn, Ellis, you sound so hot. Who wouldn’t want to date you?
Katie’s mouth opened slightly, and she blinked. “That’s, um… cool. Really specific.”
“Yeah.”
Oh God. Jesus, if you’re real, just smite me now. Take me out.
She took a long sip of matcha. I took a long sip of black coffee, ignoring the fact that I was actively burning my tongue.
I inhaled slowly, searching for a conversational lifeline.
“So, you said you’re an artist?” I asked.
She brightened considerably. “Yes! I do digital illustrations and commissions. I love it.”
“That’s cool,” I offered weakly.
I mean, it was cool. Drawing was a talent. Creating anything was a talent. And while plenty of people did it, not many could do it well.
“Thanks!” she beamed. “Do you draw?”
“No, but my ex did.”