Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Cat
The late-afternoon sun is playing peekaboo with a fluffle of clouds by the time I exit Heartrender’s building. Parking myself in a sunny spot between a lamppost and a solar trash compactor, I contemplate the awkward amount of time I have between now and my next engagement.
I shouldn’t have let my older sister Sadie bully me into a date with—I check my phone’s calendar—Sally Jenkins. Sadie headed off any objections I could raise, though, by informing our parents she was setting me up with her law school classmate. After my parents got all excited about the possibility of their youngest child not ending up forever alone, I couldn’t exactly say no. Besides, Sadie also introduced me to Lou, who’s turned out to be the best roommate a transplant like me could have. Fingers crossed, Sally and I will hit it off, be each other’s Princess Charming, and live happily ever after.
Then again, probably not. Despite trawling through every dating app in existence, in all my twenty-nine years, I’ve never had a romantic relationship last longer than four weeks. Real, live people just aren’t that into me, no matter who I pretend to be. Sooner or later, my weird dribbles out, sending even the quirkiest significant other running. Which is another reason why video games are better than real life. By and large, non-player characters (NPCs) don’t break up with you unless you’ve done something egregious like cheat on them and then murder their entire family.
Better leave that tidbit off the list of first-date topics with Sally. In my experience, normal people get all skittish when you start talking about dating sims and otome games—as if they’re something perverted rather than the video game equivalent of a Choose Your Own Adventure romance. What’s wrong with creating an avatar, then saying and doing all the right things to successfully seduce a sexy catboy ( Nekopara ) or pigeon ( Hatoful Boyfriend )? Nothing, that’s what.
On second thought, I guess I can see why normies get weirded out.
Moving to an unoccupied bench far away from any overflowing trash compactors (melted ice cream plus sunbaked carnitas and cheese is not a good olfactory combination), I plop down and begin to inform the important people in my life that I’ve landed the gig with Heartrender. Unfortunately, no one in my family is a gamer: Sadie is an overworked product counsel with two kids and a loving husband of eight years, and my parents are both chemical engineers turned retirees turned full-time gardeners. As a result, I’m not particularly surprised when they respond with pretty generic emojis: a thumbs-up (Dad), a flex (Mom), and a pithy Nice (Sadie). I can’t complain. They still think Link is named Zelda. The only thing they care about, at least when it comes to me, is that I get married by thirty and don’t embarrass them at the annual Li Lunar New Year hot pot party.
It’s fine. Not everyone has to be close to their family. Besides, it’s not like I was neglected as a kid or anything. My parents said I love you , my sister looked out for me, and they took my coming out to them when I was sixteen in stride. Compared to lots of other kids, I was positively spoiled.
Overall, I like to think I turned out fine. I get a little awkward turtle now and then, but who doesn’t?
Andi. Andi probably doesn’t, with her sky-high cheekbones and her Lara Croft body and her permanently narrowed eyes. I shudder—even just thinking about her has my chest going tight as a fist—and scooch toward the opposite end of the bench, where the sun’s still shining. I’ve always detested gamers who treat other gamers badly. Like, aren’t we in the same nerdy boat together? And isn’t that boat named Pariah , jouncing off the coasts of Popular and Cool? Why be awful when you could be playing games?
No matter. Maybe she was having a bad day. And in her defense, I did start off our employer-employee relationship by shouting at her, which isn’t the most polite opening salvo. For now, I should give her the benefit of the doubt. I’ll send her a diplomatic but direct email, apologizing (again) for the mishap in the hallway and convincing her to let me write the love interests in Compass Hollow . From there, I simply have to repeat my success with Charon’s Scythe , and et voil à ! In a year, all people will be talking about is how the romance is the best part of Heartrender’s shiny new game.
The rich notes of a bow stroking the strings of a cello—the theme song from Journey , one of my favorite games—interrupt my thoughts. It’s my phone, giving me a heads-up that I’m due for my date with Sally in ten minutes. I’ve frittered away the better part of the hour ruminating on someone who’s definitely not thinking about me at all. With a sigh, I get to my feet, undo my usual ponytail in a halfhearted attempt to “volumize my look” (something Sadie advises me to do every time she sees me), and set off in the direction of the Bitter Bar.
“So what’re you looking for in a partner?”
Sally Jenkins watches me carefully, a ghost of a smile nudging up one side of her mouth. My own mouth goes dry, but I try not to react. She’s not only way prettier than Sadie prepared me for (thanks for everything and nothing, sis), her question is so straightforward and businesslike that I’m thrown off my game.
“Uh …” Someone to sit on the couch and play video games with ? I take a stalling gulp of my cocktail, a Manhattan that I ordered to come across as cosmopolitan but tastes far worse than any drink that pretty has a right to. It goes down funny, and my eyes well up with tears. I hope it makes me look enraptured rather than on the verge of needing the Heimlich maneuver.
Unfazed, Sally answers her own question. “I’m looking for someone who’s got a good head on their shoulders, who’s smart and capable and, most importantly, responsible. Family’s really important to me, and I’d like to start one with my partner within the next four to five years. I’m turning thirty-one this year, so …”
So … what? So I can expect her to want to be expecting within the next half decade? Or … oh no. Does she expect me to want to be expecting? But I can barely decide where to put my hands, on the bar or in my lap. Does this woman I just met really want me to decide whether or not I want kids—and in the near future, no less?
Not quite knowing what to say, I smile and nod along eagerly.
“Your turn,” Sally encourages, skimming her knuckles against the inside of my knee.
Wait a second. Is she flirting with me? On the one hand, sure, that’s what people do on first dates, but on the other hand, Sally looks like Mackenzie Davis except with red hair while I currently feel as suave as an inflatable tube man—silent and flailing.
Grasping, I latch on to the first thing that occurs to me. “I’m not that close with my family, actually.”
A wrinkle introduces itself between Sally’s eyes. “Wait, really?”
Sludgebucket. No way was that the right thing to say. Knowing Sadie, she probably talked me up, told Sally I’m a loving younger sister who’s still an accountant, and thought she was doing me a favor by doing so. How to recover, though? Don’t screw this up , I scold myself. Just pretend Sally’s a character in a game and you’re writing lines for the person opposite her.
That should be easy. I’ve been training my whole life for this moment, dating vampire princes and Japanese schoolgirls and aliens from the future. What’s one, very normal, human woman compared to all that?
I consider what I would say if I had a dialogue tree floating midair in front of me, then open my mouth and take the plunge.
“What I mean is, I want to be even closer to my family,” I say in my most genuine-sounding voice. Monitoring Sally’s expression, I continue. “Which is why what you’re looking for sounds like exactly what I want too. See, I not only want to be closer to my family, I also want to be close to my partner’s family.” Not true. “I know how invaluable family is in life, and I’m looking for someone I can build those sorts of connections with.”
I hold my breath and wait for Sally to either call my bluff or probe me on why I don’t consider my parents and sister my best friends. In games, you can save and reload if you say the wrong thing. No such luck in real life.
For a second, she gapes at me, her mouth parted in the shape of a perfect O. Then, to my astonishment, she throws her head back and laughs. The sound is bright and musical and a little cold, like a bloom of ice on glass, and several people along the bar turn to stare at us. More accurately, they turn to stare at her, a few of the men with interest in their eyes. I straighten and half bare my teeth at them, not because I think Sally needs defending but because that’s what the character in the video game I’m writing in my head would do.
“Lou was right. You’re funny.”
A record scratch rips down the inside of my skull. “Wait, Lou ? As in Lou Culper?” As in my roommate? I add silently.
“Yeah, your sister didn’t tell you? Lou and I work at the same law firm—Cords do you like working there? and What did Lou tell you about me? After a moment’s hesitation, I settle on the former, figuring it’s always safer to deflect and let people talk about themselves.
It’s the right choice based on the way Sally takes off like a shot, describing her favorite things about her day-to-day and how she’s hoping to grow professionally in the next five years. She covers enough ground on her own that we both finish our drinks and the bowl of peanuts between us. Throwing back the last of her old-fashioned, she gets up and dusts off her blazer. “Dinner?”
I’ve been on enough first dates to know this is a turning point. The original calendar event specified only drinks, not dinner. The fact that she’s asking to spend more time with me means I’ve cleared at least one hurdle with her. And while I’m not sure I like her yet, one does not simply say no to a dinner invitation. Especially if one is as perennially single as I am.
Plus, Sally’s nice. Friendly. Unlike someone else I met today.
With conviction and rye whiskey rushing through my bloodstream, I press X on the only correct dialogue option. “Let’s do it.”