Page 18 of Fan Favorite
“I just sort of tried to meditate, too? Because then of courseIwas anxious, like I’d done something wrong. But he was totally fine until he came!” Edie dropped her head to the table in shame. She peeked up at them. “Do not put that on TV, my mother woulddie.”
“We would never,” Jessa soothed, patting Edie’s hand while looking at Peter bug-eyed. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. But you’re going to feel so much better when you hear mine. Ready?”
Edie sat up and nodded.
“So I went out with this guy who was an agent for C-crowd celebs, maybe B-crowd on a good day, and he took me to thisindustry party, definitely D-crowd, and then we went back to his place, and he couldn’t get hard. But look, it’s no worries, I’m supportive. And then he’s like ‘play with my nipples,’ and again, I’m cool, I’m playing with his nipples, and he still can’t get hard, so he starts swiping on Tinderwhile I’m in bed with him.”
Edie clutched her throat in horror. “How could that happen to someone as beautiful as you?”
“Please,” Jessa said, nonchalantly adjusting her ponytail. “It’s swiping culture; it happens to everyone.”
“You know all the apps are complete garbage, right?” Peter interrupted. Jessa and Edie paused their tête-à-tête and turned to him. “Not only are the people on them full of shit, but I’m positive a significant percentage are dead.”
Jessa rolled her eyes. “Ignore him, Edie. He gets offended by ‘men are trash’ commentary. Even if it’s true.”
Peter shrugged. “Statistically it’s a fact.”
“Likedeaddead? Like dead-body dead?” Edie asked.
“Look, even if you delete the app, the profile remains. Unless you go deep into the settings to remove it. But most people are too stupid to do that, so I figure half of the people you’re swiping on aren’t even there. One person dies every twelve seconds in the US—you do the math.”
“You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this,” Jessa said.
“Actually, it didn’t take me long at all.” He picked up some papers and tapped them efficiently against the table. “So, Edie, let’s cut to the chase. Why are you here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Lonely? Always a bridesmaid, never a bride? Don’t want to die alone?”
“What?” Edie said, looking confused. “Are you asking if I want to die alone?”
“Sure.”
“I mean, of course not?”
“So, you’re one of those.”
“One of those what?”
“People who think you can avoid the hellscape of human experience through love and marriage.”
“Slow down, Pete, your divorce is showing,” Jessa interjected.
“I’m confused,” Edie said, disregarding the camera completely to look at him. “Is this a trick question? What does ‘the hellscape of human experience’ have to do with anything?”
“I’m just trying to understand your worldview.” Peter kicked back in his chair. “And when people are afraid of dying alone, typically it exposes a lack of fundamental understanding of human experience. What’s more alone than death? It’s singular.”
The tips of Edie Pepper’s ears were getting red. “You talk about death a lot, you know that?” she said. “Let me guess, you were a philosophy major back in the day. I know your type—I’ve definitely dated your type. The philosophy major who thinks Billy Corgan’s solo career was underrated. Where’d you go? Yale?”
“Brown. And it was English. And it was.”
“Then you should know the phrasedie aloneis hyperbolic. You have a really dark way of looking at things. Who wants to live like that? You don’t want someone you love to be with you when you die?”
“To do what?”
“I don’t know, comfort you?”
“You’ve seen too many movies,” Peter replied. “Real life is notThe Notebook.”
