The Soulmate Equation by Christina Lauren
FOUR
FIZZY WAS CALLING.
Fizzy never called.
So even though it was 8:13, and Jess was supposed to have Juno at school in two minutes, and had yet to feed her child or have a single sip of coffee, and had a meeting downtown at 9:30, and was barely dressed, she answered.
“You never call,” Jess said.
“This app is insane,” Fizzy said.
Juno ran out, still in her pajamas. “I’m ready for breakfast!”
Tilting her phone away from her mouth, Jess whispered, “You need to wear actual clothing, my love.”
Her daughter groaned as she stomped back to her bedroom.
“I’m—” Fizzy said, and then paused. “Okay, good point. This shirt is pretty transparent.” Another pause. “Wait, how did you know what I’m wearing?”
“I was talking to my kid,” Jess said, laughing. “What is this about the app being insane? What app?”
“I’ve gotten twenty-three matches since my DNADuo results came in this morning.”
Jess did the quick mental math—it’d only been two days since their visit to the site. Either GeneticAlly was insanely efficient, or it wasn’t running many samples these days. She had to admit, begrudgingly, that any company that invested in a unique neural network was taking its data seriously.
“Twenty-three?” She poured a cup of coffee, and Pigeon wound her way between Jess’s legs, purring. Jess made the mistake of briefly looking down at the cat, and her cup overfilled, pooling coffee on the countertop. Cursing, she leaned over to open the front door, letting Pigeon out, then dug in a drawer for a dish towel. “That’s a lot of soulmates.”
“I cast a pretty wide net,” Fizzy agreed. “I said anything above a score of thirteen.”
“Thirteen?”
“It’s fun to just see what happens when you date guys with no expectations.”
Coffee dripped from the counter onto the floor, soaking through Jess’s lucky socks. “Goddammit.”
“It’s just a potentially terrible date, not plastic surgery.”
“I wasn’t goddammitting you, I spilled coffee.”
“Think of it as a character study,” Fizzy waxed on. “What happens when you put two completely incompatible people together? Will they beat the odds? Or come out fighting … each other?” She paused, and Jess imagined her friend reaching for her notebook. A weird alert sounded in the background. “Twenty-four!”
Juno wandered into the kitchen dressed for school, but her hair remained a bird’s nest. “Mama, can I have a smoothie?”
“Baby, go brush your hair.”
“I assume you were talking to Juno again,” Fizzy said distractedly.
“Can I, Mama?”
“I was,” Jess said to Fizzy, and then, “and yes, Junebug, I’ll make one, but go brush your hair and your teeth, too, please.” Back in the kitchen, Jess glanced at the clock and groaned. She pulled a basket of strawberries from the fridge.
“Okay,” Fizzy said, “I have a lunch date today with Aiden B., a Base Match with a score of thirteen, and a dinner date tomorrow with Antonio R., also a Base Match, twenty-one.”
“Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re not adventurous.”
“Mom,” Juno called from the bathroom. “Remember, don’t let Pigeon out because the gardener is here today!”
Jess whirled around and stared out the front window, across the cat-less courtyard, and down the path to the open gate.
“Fizz, I’ve gotta jet.”
ONE EXPLODED BLENDER, one four-block cat chase, two changes of clothes (Jess’s), one impossibly double-knotted sneaker (Juno’s), and one tardy drop-off later, Juno was at school and Jess was finally hustling her ass downtown. A huge meeting with Jennings Grocery that morning, two potential new clients in the afternoon, and then a school meeting at six. Marathon, but doable. But why was it the nature of the universe that on the day Jess was already running behind, there was an accident on the 5, a detour at her exit, and not a single parking space to be found? She passed row after row of luxury sedans and was beginning to wonder whether every rich person in San Diego was in the Gaslamp at the same time, but then, huzzah: her prayers were answered by a flash of reverse lights to her right. She rolled forward, flipping on her blinker. Relief pumped adrenaline through her bloodstream like there was an actual prize for parking, rather than an intense meeting with some clients she was fairly sure wanted to cherry-pick their data to match their annual projections.
But just as Jess moved her foot to the accelerator to pull in, a black sedan swerved around the bend from the next row over, gliding into the spot with an impressive Fast & Furious screech.
Smacking the steering wheel, Jess yelled an aggravated “Oh, come on!”
She threw her hands up passive-aggressively, hoping the driver saw and felt like an asshole for taking the spot from a woman who’d never done anything more selfish than eat the last Ding Dong and blame it on her grandfather. Exaggerations aside, Jess—always able to keep her cool behind the wheel—was on the verge of laying a heavy hand on her horn. But then the car door opened, and one impossibly long leg stretched out, wrapped in pressed charcoal trousers and capped by a shiny leather shoe. There was something about the shoulders that emerged, the poise … and then it hit her. Jess didn’t need to see his face to know, because this wasn’t just any black sedan, it was a black Audi. His black Audi.
River Peña stole her parking spot.
She leaned out her window, shouting, “Hey!” But he was already walking briskly down the sidewalk and didn’t bother to turn around.
Jess spotted another car backing out a few rows away, and winced at the audible squeal of her tires as she bolted around the turn. Ready to lay on her horn lest anyone dare take this spot, she pulled in, shoved her car into park, grabbed everything she needed, and shuffle-jogged in heels and her fitted skirt toward the entrance.
Nearly ten minutes late now, but last time Jennings had been running fifteen minutes behind, and she could already see the elevators on the other side of the glass doors. She just might make it …
And who was standing at the elevator but River Peña? Jess watched him reach forward, pressing the button.
The light above it blinked on, the doors slid open. He took a step forward, and Jess clutched her laptop to her chest, breaking into a sprint.
“Hold it, please!”
Turning, he glanced over his shoulder and then disappeared into the elevator.
“Motherfucker!” Jess mumbled.
Jennings Grocery headquarters was only three floors up, so instead of waiting, she took the stairs. Two at a time. Visibly out of breath when she jogged from the stairwell into the hallway, Jess immediately collided with a brick wall of a man. For the record, he smelled amazing. It was infuriating.
“Careful,” he murmured, eyes on his phone as he stepped around her, continuing down the hall.
But Jess had reached the boiling point: “Americano!”
Hesitating only briefly, he turned. His dark hair fell over one eye and he brushed it aside. “I’m sorry?”
“Apology not accepted. You took my parking spot.”
“I took your—?”
“And you didn’t hold the elevator,” she said. “I’m running late, you saw me, and you didn’t bother to hold the door.”
“I didn’t see you.” He let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Maybe you should leave a little earlier next time.”
“Wow. You really are an asshole.”
He frowned, studying her. “Do we know each other?”
“Are you kidding?” She pointed to her chest. “Twiggs? Spit in a vial? Entirely average? Any of that ring a bell?”
Comprehension was a weather front that moved across his face. Surprise, recognition, embarrassment.
“I …” His eyes flickered over her and then down the hall as if there might be reinforcements coming at any moment. “You were … completely unrecognizable. I didn’t know it was you.”
For the life of her, Jess couldn’t figure out if that was a sick burn or a backhanded compliment.
“I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name, Ms. … ?” he asked evenly.
“You’ve never known it.”
And there was the look that delighted her—the one that said he was barely tolerating the conversation. Breaking eye contact, he finally glanced down at his watch. “You said something about running late?”
Shit!
Jess pushed past him, jogging ten feet down the hall to Suite 303, the offices of Jennings Grocery.
THIRTY-ONE PERCENT OF California households are run by single parents, but Jess would never have guessed that from the people streaming into the Alice Birney Elementary Science-Art Fair meeting. Being a solo parent at a school event was like being a single person at a couples’ party. Minus the wine. If Nana or Pops wasn’t with her, Jess was made intensely aware that the other parents had no idea how to interact with a single mom. The longest conversation she’d had with someone there had been at the first-grade holiday recital when a mom had asked if Jess’s husband was going to be sitting in the empty seat next to her. When she’d said, “No husband, free chair,” the other woman smiled awkwardly for a few beats before rolling on breathlessly for five minutes about how sorry she was that she didn’t know any nice single men.
But for the first time at one of these events, she realized as she walked into the hall, Jess was relieved to be alone; she wouldn’t have to small-talk. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to do that tonight; every meeting she’d had today had been a dead end. Well, except the Jennings Grocery meeting. That was a complete disaster.
One of the biggest sins in statistics is cherry-picking—choosing which data sets to include in analysis after the study is finished. There are plenty of legitimate reasons to drop outliers: the data isn’t collected correctly, etc. But if a data point affects both results and assumptions, it must be included. And just as Jess suspected, Jennings Grocery didn’t just want to exclude a few data points in the set they sent her; they wanted to eliminate enormous territories entirely in their report to shareholders, because the numbers didn’t fit their projected sales targets.
She refused—even though she’d spent four months meticulously designing the analysis, writing the code, building the program. During the meeting, the executives had exchanged extended periods of silent eye contact, and eventually shooed Jess out of the room, saying they’d be in touch.
Was it stupid to be so inflexible with her biggest account? She couldn’t shake a sense of panic. If she lost Jennings, she would lose a third of her income for the year. Juno might need braces, and she’d be driving in eight years. What if she wanted to start doing dance competitions? What if she got sick? Nana and Pops weren’t getting any younger, either.
Movement in her peripheral vision pulled her attention, and Jess watched Juno’s second-grade teacher, Mrs. Klein, and the principal, Mr. Walker, come to the front of the room. Mrs. Klein was dressed as some hybrid of a scientist and artist: lab coat, goggles, beret, paint palette. Mr. Walker was dressed as, Jess supposed, a kid: baggy shorts, knee-high socks, and a Padres baseball cap. They sat in chairs facing the assembled parents.
The principal-child crossed his arms and pouted dramatically, and the room fell to a hush. “I don’t even get what a science-art fair is. Do I have to do it?”
“You don’t have to do the science-art fair,” Mrs. Klein said, hamming it up for the crowd, “you GET to do the science-art fair!”
The room rippled with polite laughter, and the rest of the second-grade team passed out handouts with information as the little play went on. Jess scanned the stapled pages, skimming instructions for helping the children find an art project that was based in some area of science: plant life, animal life, engineering, chemistry. A papier-mâché plant with various structures labeled. A painting of a dog skeleton. A house made out of Popsicle sticks. It was one of the things that Jess loved about this little school—the creative curriculum, the emphasis on integrated learning—but with the murmuring voices rising from the crowd, she was pulled out of her little bubble. In the seats all around her, heads came together in excited conversation. Husband-and-wife teams brainstormed fun projects for their kids, and the dread in Jess’s stomach curdled with loneliness. She was flanked by an empty seat on each side, a little buffer zone to protect the other parents from the infection of singlehood.
Mood still low despite—she had to admit—some pretty solid jokes from Mr. Walker and Mrs. Klein, Jess practically crawled across the parking lot. Her car was parked next to a pearl-white Porsche that made her red 2008 Corolla look like an old roller skate missing its mate. Jess couldn’t feel ashamed of the clunker, though; this car had driven her home from the maternity ward and then to her college graduation only a month later. It took them on various outings for Try Something New Sundays and road trips to Disneyland and—
“Jessica!”
She jerked around at the sound of a trilling voice and turned to find a tall, thin blond woman waving her down. Dawn Porter: PTA President, Mother of the Year, Zero Gag Reflex, probably. Jess braced herself to feel like a shitty mom for at least five minutes.
“Dawn! Hey.” Jess winced in preemptive apology. “It’s been a long day and—”
“Oh God, totally. I know you’re—like, frazzled all the time. Poor thing. If I can just get one second? I wanted to check on the auction site you were going to build? The fundraiser for the new playground equipment?”
Crap.
The site Jess had been working on when Juno threw up at school and needed to be picked up, then when a client had a last-minute shareholders meeting and needed her to spend twelve hours in LA, then when she’d been interrupted by a phone call from her mom asking for some help making rent.
The site Jess had then forgotten about until this second. Good job, Jess.
“I’m totally on it, Dawn,” she said. “Just been a little slammed lately.”
“Ugh, I know, we are all so busy.” Dawn pressed a button on the key fob in her hand. The lights on the gleaming Porsche winked and the tailgate drifted open with a delicate chime. Hanging from Dawn’s back seat were neat little organized totes, each monogrammed with her children’s names—Hunter, Parker, Taylor—and words like Snacks and Books and Car Fun!
In the trunk of Jess’s car was a pair of badly tangled bedazzled cat leashes, a dozen mismatched grocery bags, a chain of tampons Juno had constructed while they waited with a flat tire, and at least thirty-two other items she fully intended to take inside … someday.
Dawn placed the packet of school papers in one pouch, moving some dry cleaning on a hook out of the way, then pressed the key fob again to close the hatch with a whisper.
She turned back to Jess. “I only ask because Kyle—you’ve met my husband, Kyle?” She gestured to a man chatting with two other dads across the parking lot. “Anyway, he said he could have one of the paralegals down at Porter, Aaron, and Kim whip something up. It wouldn’t be a problem—they love helping out, and every time I look at you, I think, ‘Poor Jessica is just running herself ragged!’”
Her defensiveness rocketed out: “I’ve got it.”
Dawn tilted her head, surprised by the force of this reaction, and Jess wanted to reel the words back in. It had required some pretty intense blending with her drugstore foundation stick to get the dark circles under her eyes to disappear this morning, and she was sure the parking lot’s sodium lights weren’t her best lighting. Today had been hellacious, and the last thing Jess wanted was to become the subject of Mom Gossip. She thought of the dozens of things she could do with that time because, really, what did she care who built the stupid site?
Because I want to be a good mom, she thought. I want to be present for Juno, even if some days I feel like I’m failing.
“Really,” Jess assured her. “It’s nearly finished.” Thank God. “I should have something for you soon.”
“Well. That’s great then! I’ll let the board know so they stop fussing at me!”
“Great,” Jess repeated as Dawn popped into the passenger side of her car. “Great.”
“I’M HIDING INthe bathroom, crying on the toilet,” she said when Fizzy answered an hour later.
Jess’s friend barked out a laugh and an “Aww, I love it when you ignore boundaries. Usually that’s my wheelhouse.”
“I had a terrible day.” Jess swiped a hand across her nose. “I’m lonely. And I feel like such an asshole complaining, but you’re always going to be a bigger asshole than I am, so I can complain to you.”
“I swear, Jessica, you know just what to say to make my heart melt.” The funny thing was, Fizzy meant it. “Let me have it.”
Jess closed her eyes, leaning back against the water tank. “It all seems like such little stuff. After we got off the phone this morning, my entire day fell apart. Pigeon escaped, my blender blew up all over my shirt, we were running late. I had a meeting at Jennings Grocery, but Americano stole my parking spot—”
“You saw Americano in the wild?”
“I did,” she said. “He continues to be terrible. Then my big meeting went horribly, and I had to jet to the school for this science-art thing, and I sat in the back and just stared at all of these happily married couples who were seeing each other at the end of the day, and I swear to God, Fizz, I’ve never felt so lonely in my entire life. And then PTA Dawn reminded me to finish the fundraiser website, and I just did but it’s probably a holy mess and I cannot find a bone in me that cares.”
Before Fizzy could speak, Jess added, “And don’t say anything, because I know how this sounds—like ‘poor me, and I’m all alone.’ I know I’m lucky. I have the best kid, and I have Nana and Pops here to help me whenever I need them. I have you—”
“Cutting in now,” Fizzy said. “Yes, you have Nana and Pops, you have a great kid, you have me. I am here for you every day, for forever, but please, Jess. It isn’t the same. You’re talking about wanting to have someone to come home to, to talk to, and yeah—to get naked with. It isn’t selfish to want that. You aren’t somehow putting Juno second by occasionally putting your needs first. Juno needs a happy mom.”
“It isn’t only that,” Jess said quietly. “Do I worry about introducing Juno to a man someday? Yes, completely. But the idea of putting myself out there is honestly more exhausting than anything. I had to change my shirt twice this morning for the meeting, first for the smoothie explosion, and second when I drooled a glob of toothpaste on my chest.”
“Reason number one why I always brush my teeth naked,” Fizzy joked, and Jess laughed. “And PS? You probably looked straight-up gorgeous, regardless of what you think.”
“Thank you—”
“I’m serious,” Fizzy pressed. “Listen to me. You’re so beautiful, it’s stupid. Your eyes? Like, I try to describe that blue in books, and it just sounds cliché. You have the cutest little bod, and literally the best lips. And for free! People usually have to pay for mouths like that.”
Jess laughed through a sob.
“If I didn’t know you were such a head case, I’d ask you out myself.”
“You see me through that lens because you love me,” Jess said, chin wobbling. “Dating in our thirties is different. It requires us to get our shit together, and most days just being a mom and hustling my ass off to keep my head above water takes everything I’ve got. Where am I going to find the time and energy to hunt for a good guy when most of the dudes on Tinder think a quick drink earns them sex?”
Jess could practically hear Fizzy’s gape on the other end of the line. “We just went to a presentation at a company that asks you to spit in a vial and they’ll hand over a list of potential soulmates.” She enunciated the last word so it stretched for three long syllables. “No one is asking you to hunt.”
“Even the DNADuo still requires dating!” Jess told her, laughing. “It’s not like I get a name and we elope! There’s still trial and error.”
“You could specify only high-level matches,” Fizzy argued. “You don’t have to do what I’m doing and take whatever comes your way. Hell, tell them you only want matches of seventy or higher. What do you have to lose?” She paused, and then added more gently, “Put yourself first tonight, Jessie. Just for ten minutes. Consider it an early B-day present for the big Three-Oh.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Fizzy laughed. “You don’t have to answer any of the matches if you change your mind, but for tonight, just imagine a world where you find someone who’s perfect for you, and is there for you, and is the head you can lean yours against at the end of the day.”
When they hung up, Jess’s eyes landed on the DNADuo box Fizzy had pushed into her hands as they’d left GeneticAlly.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she reached for the box, tore it open, spit into the vial, sealed the whole thing in the enclosed envelope, and walked it out to the mailbox.
