Chapter 6
PIPER
Our attic flat above the old bakery runs hotter than Satan’s kitchen—great for Riya’s sourdough experiments, lethal for my laptop's will to live. I’m sprawled on the living room rug, wrestling with my dating app’s user prompts while my roommate perches on the sofa, looking like a gothic Disney princess.
Riya Patel, five-foot-two of pure confidence in a Spirited Away hoodie, currently demolishing a bag of shrimp chips while debugging machine learning models.
To the outside world, she’s that terrifying girl who made Professor Jones cry during office hours.
To me she’s the only person who’ll pause her true crime podcast to ask if I’ve eaten.
I would go to war for this woman.
My phone buzzes.
Mom
Don’t forget to text Meredith happy birthday!
I stare at the message.
Who the fuck is Meredith?
Who?
Jackson’s girlfriend! She’s turning 20!
Another buzz, from the family group chat.
Renner Fam
Mom
Happy Birthday beautiful Meredith. We’ve loved meeting you and we’re so happy you’re making our wonderful Jackson happy.
Jackson
Thanks for remembering Mom! Mer really appreciates being included in the fam
Meredith
I really do babe Thanks Tina. Oh! And you must share your granola recipe with me again. It’s to die for.
I groan and toss my phone aside. Of course.
Another one of my brother, Jackson’s, girlfriends has infiltrated the family group chat.
At this rate, we should just create a revolving door policy—you date Jackson for more than two weeks, you get added to the Renner family text chain.
Break up by month three, and we’ll delete you to make room for the next one.
“Family drama?” Riya asks without looking up. She knows my groans by category now.
“Jackson’s newest girlfriend is already in the family group chat. Mom wants me to wish her happy birthday. And she’s complimenting Mom's cooking, so she’s gonna be a new favorite.”
“Which one is this?”
“Meredith, apparently. Though last month it was Madison. Or was that Mercedes?” I rub my temples. “I can’t keep track anymore. He goes through women like Mom goes through wine on book club nights.”
“Ah, the investment banker special.” Riya crunches a chip thoughtfully. “Let me guess—blonde, Pilates body, thinks his stories about ‘crushing it on the trading floor’ are fascinating?”
“You forgot the part where she laughs at all his jokes and calls him ‘babe’ in the group chat like they’re already married.” I pull up Jackson’s Instagram. Sure enough, there’s Meredith—blonde, beaming, draped over my brother at some rooftop bar in Manhattan.
“Your mom must love this parade of potential daughters-in-law.”
“Are you kidding? She lives for it. Every time Jackson brings home a new one, she acts like she’s meeting royalty.” I impersonate Mom’s sugary voice “‘Oh, Meredith works in PR! How wonderful! Piper, maybe Meredith can give you some tips on presenting yourself better.’”
My phone buzzes again.
Mom
Piper, did you see the message in the family group? It would be nice if you welcomed Meredith to the family!
Jackson says she’s lovely. Very put-together. Maybe you girls could go shopping sometime when you’re in the city? She has such great style!
“Translation,” I tell Riya, “Meredith dresses like an Instagram influencer and Mom thinks I need a makeover.”
“Your mom’s kind of intense about the whole thing.”
“She just wants me to find ‘a nice young man’ to add to the chat. Someone who gets it.” I make air quotes. “Like that’s the pinnacle of achievement. Forget my 3.8 GPA or the dating app I’m building. The real success would be having someone with a suitable penis to add to the family group text.”
Renner Fam
Jackson
You guys are the best. Mom, we’ll definitely be there for Sunday dinner
“Sunday dinner?” Riya winces. “Yep. Jackson goes home every weekend. Which is easy when you live in the same state. But I’m a bad guy for not hopping on a flight for every Sunday dinner, even though I have no cash.
“Oh, it gets better.” I scroll up through previous messages.
“Look at this. Two months ago, he was bringing Mackenzie to dinner. Mom made her famous lasagna because ‘Mackenzie’s practically family.’ I think they’re insane. Or I’m insane. Someone is insane.”
“Does he warn them their group chat privileges are temporary?”
“Doubt it. He probably doesn’t even remember their names half the time.” I think back to high school, when Jackson and his football buddies would rate girls in the cafeteria, keeping actual scores. “He’s been treating women like they’re interchangeable since we were kids.”
My phone buzzes again.
I’m going to throw this thing in the ocean.
Jackson
Hey sis, just add her on socials and say happy bday. Don’t be a rude
Takes 2 seconds.
Also, Mom mentioned you’re single again? I can ask Mer if she knows anyone. She’s friends with a bunch of cool NY guys.
I show Riya the text. She makes a gagging sound.
“Again? When was I not single?”
I’ll do it later
I’m good for dating, thanks
Come on, don’t be like that. Mer knows tons of guys. Finance boys, lawyers, doctors. Real catches. Just say the word!
“And this”—I wave my phone at Riya—“is why I’m building an algorithm to remove all this bullshit from dating. No more wondering if you’re poor Madison or Mercedes or Meredith. No more getting added to family group chats just to be deleted three weeks later.”
“That’s pretty dark.”
“That’s reality. At least in Jackson’s world.
” I think about all the girls from high school who threw themselves at him and his football friends.
How they’d brag about their conquests in the hallways, rating them like cattle.
How I’d shrink into myself, already knowing I’d never measure up to their standards.
“They’re all the same. Every football player, every finance bro, every guy who peaks at twenty-two and spends the rest of his life trying to recreate it. ”
My phone lights up again. The family chat.
Renner Fam
Mom
Piper? Sweetie, are you there? Meredith’s birthday is TODAY
I grit my teeth and type.
Happy birthday, Meredith. Have a great day.
The response is immediate.
Meredith
Omg thank you so much babe!! Can’t wait to finally meet you! Jackson talks about you all the time!
“She seems nice,” Riya observes, reading over my shoulder.
“They always seem nice. That’s the point.
Marina seemed nice too. And Madison. And the one before that who lasted long enough to come to Easter brunch.
” I close the family chat. “Six months from now, Mom will be deleting Meredith from the group and adding whoever Jackson’s moved on to.
Probably another blonde who thinks his high school football stories are the height of entertainment.
They’re nice lovely girls unlucky enough to have met my brother. I don’t blame them; I blame him.”
“You really hate football players.”
“I hate what they represent. Jackson spent four years making my life hell with his teammates. They’d mock me for reading at lunch, call me ‘Robot Renner’. And now he acts like we’re best friends, like he didn’t spend my entire adolescence making me feel like a freak.”
“Hey.” Riya’s voice goes soft. “You’re my freak. And for what it’s worth, everyone I know who’s actually cool got shit in high school. It’s like a prerequisite for being interesting.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Is it working?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Maybe a little.”
“Good. Because Jackson and his meathead friends peaked at eighteen, and you’re out here building something that could change how people find love. I know which one I’d rather be.”
She reaches over and squeezes my shoulder before going back to scrolling on her phone, giving me space to process. That’s the thing about Riya—she knows exactly when to push and when to let me be.
I stare at the prompt that’s been mocking me for an hour—‘Tell your match a fun fact about yourself.’
For the fifth time today, Ethan’s voice invades my brain with its stupid optimism. Give them something unexpected. Like she’s allergic to strawberries. Little quirks make people care.
Which is ridiculous because Ethan’s probably just another Jackson.
Star athlete, center of attention, collecting girls like Pokémon cards.
Sure, he seems a bit different because he knows movies and is good at storytelling, but Jackson probably seemed different to all those Madisons and Merediths too.
I delete the prompt. Retype it. Delete it again.
This app needs to be logical. Clean. Algorithmic. Not... whimsical. Not full of unnecessary details that serve no matchmaking purpose. The algorithm doesn’t care if someone’s allergic to strawberries—that’s not a compatibility metric.
But his voice keeps echoing—People need something to connect to. Something human.
I reword it again… ‘Tell me a quirk about you.’
“You’re glaring at that screen like it’s your sworn enemy,” Riya observes.
“It may very well be. I just want to get this right. I don’t want to do this just for me. I want to do this for every girl who’s been fucked over by her heart. Who trusted it and then was crushed.”
Riya’s face drops to something sympathetic. “Is this about Mi—”
“No,” I butt in, “This is about every girl. No more Merediths getting their hearts broken when Jackson gets bored. No more getting distracted by abs or hair or whatever else our bodies are evolved to find attractive.”
“Why are you stuck on that prompt then? Everything else has come pretty easily to you?”
“Ethan.”
“What’s an Ethan?”
“My new tutor. He’s got in my head, that’s all.”
She waggles her eyebrows. “Sounds like you want him to get in your pants.”
I throw a chip at her. “Ew! No. Ethan Prescott thinks everything needs a story. Like data isn’t enough.”
“Ethan Prescott?” Riya sits up so fast she nearly launches her laptop. “Wait. Tall guy? Strawberry blond hair?”
“That’s weirdly specific. Do you know him?”
She’s practically vibrating. “Do you know who he hangs out with?”