Liv had texted back some vague bemoaning of Ali’s refusal to give guys a chance or even pick one that might have a few words of sense to string together, which Ali disregarded, instead plunging into the pitcher of margaritas Tinder Sam had already ordered.
She had arrived at the burrito place in town first, affording her a good chance to appraise the merch from a distance when he arrived. He was well over six foot, lean but not overly muscular, with a sweep of dark curly hair. The whole picture was pretty appealing and his clothes weren’t completely mortifying either – this, however, struck Ali as slightly suspicious. Did he have a girlfriend? Not that Ali cared all that much – she thought of Tinder as a kind of orgasm dispenser. (‘It’s like a servicing for your vagina!’ she’d told Liv brightly the first few times she’d swiped. ‘It scratches an itch. You’re never going to actually like anyone on there but it serves a purpose.’)
As he approached, he raised a hand in greeting and an intriguing stretch of toned torso was revealed along with a teeny glimpse of boxers. They looked like SpongeBob Squarepants boxers – which probably ruled out a girlfriend. As he came closer she could make out a smattering of freckles across his nose, which was weirdly endearing, as was the awkward way he put his hands straight into his pockets after his initial wave, as though he was suffering from wave-regret. He was pretty cute.
As he made his way through the Friday-evening post-work crowd, Ali had felt a pleasant flutter of nerves at the thought of what he was taking in about her at this very moment. She was wearing a short leather skirt with an old Ramones T-shirt and flat gladiator sandals. She’d actually spent so much time on pre-date Insta-content (it was important to wring as much as possible out of these opportunities) that she had only just had time to lash on the prerequisite fake tan and was concerned that it was still a bit sticky. She tugged her skirt down and returned his wave.
She’d deduced from his profile on Tinder that he liked music, films and kite surfing. This revealed exactly zero, as every single guy on there listed almost an identical round-up of hobbies. His pics were the usual barbecue pic, some snaps from his year in Oz, his San Diego J1 – that kind of thing.
Ali had said yes to his offer of a date deep in a wine fog a few nights before. At the time it seemed like some human contact and affection might be a good idea – Liv had been away doing some wholesome activity with her running buds and Ali had drifted into a slightly unhealthy routine of solo wine andRoom to Improve(a guilty pleasure of hers).
‘I love your profile pic,’ his message began.
Ugh, not a very promising opener, thought Ali, peering at the phone. Who was this guy? A quick flick through his pics and she had to admit he was pretty attractive. He had exactly the kind of nerd-level that Ali liked. Nerds had gone mainstream, which was a boon for nerd-enthusiasts like herself. She called them Therouxs (after their leader, Louis) and they were a rare find in the wild like this. She’d screen-grabbed his profiler and sent it to Liv, who got back to her within seconds.
Oooh, a Theroux – what’s he doing on Tinder? I thought there was a mandatory order that male Tinder-users needed a baffling devotion to protein powder and a minimum nine gym selfies. If I was on a man-jag I’d nab him this instant!
Ali had swiped right but maintained a careful disinterest, as she always did these days. It was a personal policy not to take Tinder too seriously. She didn’t hold much hope of finding anyone she actually liked on there, and she didn’t really have time for dating in earnest – mostly it just gave her something to do and a bit of #datenight content. The guys had largely been a let-down. At the beginning, she used to get excited for every date, thinking this’d be the one straight out of a Zooey Deschanel movie, but usually the dates more closely resembled a crap episode ofNationwide: stiff conversation, chemistry non-existent, often with a bizarre focus on livestock – though this was perhaps a specific trait of Irish Tinder. And yet there she was wading into the murky, potentially venereal-disease-ridden water of Tinder once more …
Ali’s hand buzzed again. It was Tinder Sam – again – bringing her back from the unfortunate night she and Liv had affectionately dubbed the Tan Ram. Jeez, he’s freaking. Maybe I should be freaking? You should be freaking, insisted Rational Brain.
Still ignoring the persistent buzzing, Ali sat on the bed and tried to think. In a way it was too late to do anything – it was already out there. And besides, the Glossies were only a few months away. She could just roll with it and figure out what to do then. She could go on a big trip; she could say she’d been a surrogate. She could style it out. Influencers often talked about projects that never materialised and people didn’t grill them on every little detail.
Mini would never find out – she was old school and completely allergic to Instagram. And besides, she was so focused on her stable of artists that most of the time it was like the rest of the world didn’t even exist.
Liv would have an opinion, that’s for sure. But maybe Liv’s opinion didn’t fucking matter, Ali thought, feeling defiant. The Glossies was big for her, and Liv didn’t understand how bleak things had been since Miles had gone downhill. Well, maybe she did, but she didn’t know what it was like sitting with him day in, day out while everyone else was off living their stupid best lives. She deserved to have a bit of fun, and Liv would have to get on board.
Tinder Sam seemed to have given up for the time being, though a couple of messages dropped in imploring her to ring him as soon as possible. Ali took the opportunity to check back in with her rapidly growing following. She gasped. Four hundred more in the twenty minutes since she’d last checked. The bump effect was real.
Ali slipped into her Gmail and found 181 new messages. Whoa, usually the inbox was a barren wasteland of spam, random newsletters she’d forgotten to opt out of when buying stuff and the odd invite to a launch party. She and Kate usually pooled their resources when it came to getting in to these events. They had a loose agreement that they’d tell each other about any invites they received (most likely through some bureaucratic mishap on the part of the PR interns).
Kate had the edge as she did phones in one of the PR agencies, Keane Eye Branding, and Ali knew she didn’t always divulge when something good was on. Then a pic of her with some Five-Digit influencer (this is what they called the upper mid-level ones who’d broken the ten thousand followers mark) would be in the social pages and Kate would be sheepish the next time they talked. But Ali always let it go – it was a cut-throat game and she couldn’t begrudge Kate whatever machinations she was working. Ali had a few of her own, after all. She suddenly realised with renewed glee that she had now entered the upper echelon of the Five-Digit crew.
She scanned the subject lines of the emails. ‘Ambassador opportunity’, ‘Maternity Brand Proposal’, ‘Pregnancy supplement campaign’, ‘Invite: Spa opening’, ‘Invite: Babymoon in Killnavan Lodge’, ‘Invite: Pamper Mama Weekend’. Fucking hell, this was how those ’grammers seemed to be on a perma-holiday. A babymoon sounded very nice, she mused – just then the phone started up again. An unknown number this time. Ali, like every normal person, had a deep-seated fear of the unknown number. She hit Accept and held the phone slightly away from her ear in a bid to remain non-committal in the face of whatever dastardly cold call this might be.
‘Hello,’ she ventured.
‘Ali, hi, hi! How are you?’ The voice had the manic quality of someone accustomed to dealing with and managing people. It was the voice of a person required to be nice and tolerate bullshit in a professional capacity. In a word: PR.
‘I’m Holly from Green, Hilliard and Mason PR.’
Bingo, thought Ali.
‘You must be overwhelmed this morning? Everyone is talking about the Glossies wild card! And of course your fab news. I’m just following up on an invite I sent you a couple of hours ago. I know you must be inundated, so I thought I’d just give you a ring. We’re doing the most adorable event in a few weeks’ time in the grounds of Shanaghan House. It’s a real family destination and I’d love to introduce you to Siobhan, their brand manager, a good person for you to know! It’s going to be gorge. They’re transforming the grounds into a kiddie wonderland and there’ll be a marquee so it’ll be really cosy. It’s called the Daddy Bears’ Picnic. It’s just so sweet to get all the dads involved … So are you in? You and your other half, I mean? The dads are essential, as we all know!’ She laughed.
‘Ehhh …’ Ali tried to gather her thoughts, which Holly appeared to take as a lack of enthusiasm.
‘It’s a really exclusive event,’ she hurriedly continued. ‘The goody bags are fab. I know there’s some Crème de la Mer in there. And all the gang is coming – Hazel, Polly, even Shelly.’ She listed the preeminent Insta-mums, doling each name out like a form of currency – which, of course, it was.
Hazel, Polly, Shelly and Ali had a certain ring, thought Ali. It’d be a chance to get in with the mums that mattered. The lack of a baby daddy was a bit of a stumbling block, though. As if on cue, at that exact moment, Tinder Sam dialled in on the call waiting. She considered his name as the phone flashed and Holly could be heard continuing the hard sell on the Daddy Bears’ Picnic. Maybe she should see what he had to say. A ‘daddy bear’ (ick, by the way) could lend the whole thing a ring of truth. And he hadn’t been terrible. If it hadn’t been for the whole tan-cident she might’ve responded to his follow-up texts, but she’d reckoned he was just being polite. Trying to save her from being embarrassed about what had happened. Or worse: that he had a thing for scat. Ugh, even just the word ‘tan-cident’ was giving her a full body cringe. The call waiting stopped flashing and Ali made a split-second decision.
‘You know what,’ she interrupted Holly mid-flow, ‘count me in – it sounds fun.’
After hanging up, Ali regarded the missed calls from Tinder Sam. He was probably bricking it, thinking she was about to land him with a baby. The best thing was to meet him and suss him out. Maybe she could mine him for a bit of baby-daddy content and cut him loose. Easy.
‘Can’t talk right now but wanna meet Monday night and we can chat? It’s all good – don’t stress,’ she WhatsApped.
Ali lay back on the bed and switched over to Insta to check out some of her new followers. @HolisticHazel, one of the biggest Insta-mums, was among them. Amazing. Ali grinned, imagining herself in the VIP area of the next Insta-event. Her reverie was broken by Liv barrelling into the room, and Ali scrambled to look marginally more together and not completely hungover.
