Chapter 3
CORA
Bion Marriage Match was insane. And holy shit, I should have signed up the day it came out.
I’d never made a dating profile on any of the apps before, so I had nothing to compare it to, but it felt super awkward to…
you know… describe myself? My answers to the guiding questionnaire were all short and boring, and the three required photos I uploaded were pretty plain.
A lot of women had gone all out with full makeup and professional-looking photos.
I obviously couldn’t afford a photographer, so I snapped a few selfies, changing my outfit a few times so it would look like maybe I didn’t take them all today.
I did put on a little makeup for one, because I didn’t want to look like a complete slouch compared to everyone else.
I kept it simple, though, with modest cat-eye liner and sheer red lip stain.
I wore a pencil skirt, a white blouse, and a pair of reasonable heels.
I looked like I was headed to a job interview.
But, whatever. It was the best of my selfies, so I made it my main photo.
I opted not to add a video. I had no idea what to say.
I listed my hobbies as reading, dining out with friends, and watching movies.
I had a hard time coming up with requirements for potential husbands.
If this were a regular dating app, I would have said he had to have a job, even if that was super hypocritical.
But I couldn’t see myself even pretending to be interested in marrying a man with prospects as bad as mine.
In the end, I went with must be respectful, and called it a day.
There was a section for special accommodations that asked if I required passage for any dependents.
I laughed and selected, yes, and listed Mr. Darcy as a minor.
“Not going anywhere without you, handsome fella,” I said, nosing into his fur and pressing a kiss to his grumpy little forehead. Mr. Darcy glared.
A message popped up that warned me to be prepared for this selection to weed out some applicants, since the cost of additional passage was prohibitive for many.
And? I wasn’t expecting to find anyone I’d leave the planet for anyway.
If I did, I’d still have to take Mr. Darcy.
That was non-negotiable. I finalized my profile and turned on a comfort show while I scrounged up some girl dinner.
Crackers, cheese, and a small tangerine.
That’s basically a charcuterie board, right?
I had a few hard seltzers in the fridge too, and even if I had gone through a few too many Bloody Marys at lunch, this was a day for drinking.
I settled in to watch two attractive police detectives butt heads for a while, and nibbled at my dinner like a mouse.
A minute or two later, I got the first notification.
It was an unusual sound, like a melodic drop of water plopping into a bowl.
I picked up my phone and saw that I’d received a message already.
Wow. That was fast. And it wasn’t just a quick pickup line, either.
It was a full-blown marriage proposal complete with images of the house I could expect to live in, and my would-be fiancé in many beautiful locations.
Before I even finished reading the first message, two others popped up.
Another proposal, and a message a little more in line with my expectations. That was the first one I responded to.
Caruth: You’re very beautiful. I would be honored to hear from you.
Me: Thanks. Um. Hi. :)
Another message popped up before he responded, this one just a picture of a terrified-looking daernir man holding a ring the size of a golf ball.
And so it went. I got way too many messages to respond to them all, but I did try to read them all, at least. Most of them were immediate proposals, which I did not answer, but enough of them were respectful attempts to start a conversation that I took the bait and responded.
I could see how someone could make a living at this.
Every message I accepted paid a small amount into my account, and the ones I responded to gave me more.
I felt a little guilty about it, since I knew I wasn’t looking for a husband.
But some of the nicer messages honestly just sounded like these guys were kind of lonely.
Even if I didn’t want to fly across space to have babies with them, maybe they’d be better for a little bit of conversation.
And, look, I had bills. Me and Mr. Darcy had to eat.
I couldn’t feel bad about putting food on the table.
And, it felt kind of nice to be appreciated for a change, you know?
Appreciation that was expressed politely for the most part.
I did get one inevitable dick pic about two hours in, but I wasn’t even mad.
It was my first look at daernir anatomy and, um, wow.
The guy was girthy, and near the base, there was a vertical ridge that ran up his abdomen a few inches.
Oh, and the whole thing was dark magenta.
I highlighted his message so I could come back to it if I wanted, and kept moving.
The conversation with Caruth fizzled out, but a few others were going okay. I still felt awkward responding to most of them, but one was standing out among the others.
Qhev K: Hey babe, I’m not looking for a bride, but I do wanna know how you do your eyes like that.
Me: My makeup?
Qhev K: Yeah. Your look is hot. Think I could pull it off? {Recording Attached: Qhev K}
A short video of a pinkish purple-hued daernir with long silver hair and no shirt popped up. He zoomed in on his dark, beautiful eyes. Don’t you hate it when men have naturally thick, beautiful lashes you’d have to buy at the store? He was one of those. He winked, and the video ended.
Me: Hell yes.
Qhev K: My translator says Hell is a bad place, but “Hell yes” is a good phrase.
Me: That’s correct.
Me: Can I send links? Hold on.
Me: [Outsourced Recording Attached: AmberJade]
Me: That’s the video that taught me how to do the look.
Qhev K: Babe, you’re my hero. You been on here long?
Me: First day.
Qhev K: No shit? What is it you say? You squished your fruit?
Me: Popped my cherry?
Qhev K: Yeah, that’s it. How’s it going then? Engaged yet?
Me: I’ve had several offers, but I’m holding out for the right one.
Qhev K: Not holding out for the credits? ;)
I squirmed on my couch, feeling guilty. I hadn’t expected to be called out on my bullshit so soon.
Qhev K: It’s cool, babe. Plenty of these males just want a pretty girl to notice they exist for a few minutes. You’re making their day just saying hello. Worth every credit.
Me: Yeah? This is eighteen messages so far. Is that expensive? Oh my god, I wasted your money sending you makeup tutorials. I’m so sorry. Can I pay you back?
Qhev K: Worth it. It wasn’t a line. I want the look. And it’s not cheap, but I’m one of the males who wants a pretty hello every now and then. Don’t judge. Females here are few and very distracted by too many suitors.
Me: That sounds pretty depressing on both sides. I couldn’t imagine having this many men approach me in a month, much less a day. And I did notice some of the loneliness.
Qhev K: Yeah, don’t feel bad if you’re not making love confessions. Just enjoy it, Babe. Hit me up again soon, please?
Me: I will.
Qhev K: I’ll let you know how the eyes turn out.
It wasn’t a love match, but it kind of felt like I’d made a friend, and that was unexpected.
I did feel a little better about the money side of things, though, after what he said.
I’d already been passing over the proposals and mostly responding to more casual messages, and that felt like the way to go.
No one else messaged back as quickly or as often as Qhev, but I figured that made sense.
I didn’t know the currency conversion rate, but just that one conversation netted me two hundred and fifty dollars.
With the handful of other messages I’d exchanged, I was already good for groceries and car insurance.
Now, if I could just cover my rent by talking to lonely alien men.
I sent Andrew a screenshot of my payout so far, and a text that said, “Best advice ever. Thanks, Andy.” He texted back a GIF of a gulping catfish.
I took a breather, taking a shower to clear my head.
I figured a little self-care was in order, so I put on a pineapple enzyme face mask that I was always tempted to taste; it smelled so good.
I settled back on the couch with a disapproving Mr. Darcy and began painting my toenails a shimmery shade of lavender that reminded me of Qhev K’s skin tone.
As my toes dried, propped up on the coffee table, I scrolled through the various messages I’d missed while I showered.
More proposals, of course. I had to wonder how often those worked to get girls talking.
It seemed kind of scammy to me. Like, maybe they were the ones catfishing.
But they were spending good money to do it, so maybe not.
There were a few messages I bookmarked to consider responding to later, but I was getting tired and didn’t feel like engaging much more for the night.
I was about to click out of the app and charge my phone when a new message popped up and caught my eye.
Yiri Ahlon: You’re the first woman I’ve messaged on here, but I think you’re my future wife, Aneah.
Aneah was underlined with a footnote translation. “A very personal Eissoi endearment for a female mate.”
Me: I bet you say that to all the girls.
Yiri Ahlon: You’ll have to trust me, but you’re the first.
Me: What’s Eissoi?