That spreadsheet must’ve been a doozy because she breaks much faster than I would have expected. The silence of the room seems to hum with phantom sound. Usually, the odds of us each giving in are evenly split, but given that I’m the one with the juicy information-and I know she’s spent the last eight hours doggedly running statistics on an enormous numbers thing-I’m confident I can win this one. We stare at each other in a silent standoff until I blink away, casually inspecting my nail polish. “With that kind of lead-up I make no such promises.” “Okay, I have something to tell you, but you absolutely cannot get mad at me.” “Why would he plan to watch it just with you?” “No,” I say, but the word sounds uncertain, like I might really mean Maybe.
“I just need to make sure that Connor wasn’t planning that I would watch it with him, but otherwise, yes.” “So are we watching the first episode together tomorrow?” She’s too busy living vicariously through my crazy dating adventures. That’s up to the audience to decide, I guess.” If Jess senses the subtext there-that even after only the first round of dates I’m already considering I might not fall for one of these objectively fantastic Heroes because I can’t stop looking over their heads at the executive producer in the background-she doesn’t show it. “And were there sparks? Fireworks? Bells ringing in the background?” “I seeeeeeeee.” She leans forward, eating this up. He was…” I pause for dramatic effect and give my head a shake to clear it. “So give me a rating, who’s the top pick so far?”
“ Or maybe things will be different this time without Bart Simpson standing between you.” “He’s great, and if all of these other men turn out to be duds, at least Evan and I can take a fun vacation together to Fiji.” But now I’m thanking past me for including him,” I tell her. I put his name on the list because my dating past is littered with land mines, and Evan is a good guy, if not the sexual savior I need. And yeah, Chinese American, played softball with my brother. “Is Evan the one with the tattoo you hated?” she asks. When I describe the hilarious moment my ex walked into the café, a knowing grin painted on his pretty face-and an even bigger grin painted on Connor’s-Jess nods in recognition. The Heroes’ faces, clothes, voices, jobs, whether I liked them, what we talked about, what kinds of jokes they made. For the first twenty minutes after I arrive at Jess’s on Friday night, I breathlessly download every detail I can remember about the eight dates.
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