Page 73 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

"How is that possibly relevant?"

"Because you tried so hard to make everything perfect. Calculated every dance move, optimized every moment... And then the music skipped, and you had to improvise, and it was the first time I'd seen you really smile all day."

"I don't see how that's?—"

"You're doing it again," she interrupts. "Trying to turn everything into data points." She hands back my phone. "Some things aren't meant to be fixed."

My phone buzzes again. Emily Hanning:Sources say SecureMatch's latest algorithm updates were inspired by your relationship with Ms. Carpenter. Care to comment?

"You know what you have to do," Natasha says.

“Enhance my AI's communication security?"

"Talk to Roz." She stands, gathering soup bowls. "Before you both overthink yourselves into another decade of terrible matches."

"I don't overthink. I analyze thoroughly."

"You once created an algorithm to calculate ideal soup temperatures.”

“Christ, no one in this family forgets anything, do they?”

“Nope,” she pops out the word, bowls in hand as she heads back to her kitchen.

I leave her house with cold soup in my stomach and uncomfortable revelations in my head. My phone buzzes one final time as I reach my car.

CORA:Sir, based on current behavioral patterns and elevated stress indicators, I calculate a 92.1% probability that you're experiencing what humans call an "emotional crisis." Would you like me to compile relevant data on optimal coping strategies?

"No, CORA." I start my car, thinking about bugs in systems and soup delivery. "I think I need to figure this one out myself."

Very inefficient, sir.

"I know." I turn out of Natasha’s driveway, heading into an unknown part of myself that may need more exploring. An unknown part of myself that may need someone like Rosalind Carpenter

20

THE UNINSTALL

The Collective on Yale,Seattle, WA

ROSALIND

Three days until Valentine's Day, and I'm watching Grayson Dixon navigate Seattle's tech elite in a converted warehouse space turned wedding shower for the smug and rich.

The Collective's industrial-chic aesthetic somehow makes him look even more devastating – all clean lines and perfect tailoring against exposed brick and steel beams. String lights crisscross the soaring ceiling, casting everything in a warm glow that I’m 87.2% sure isn’t helping my attempt to maintain emotional distance.

Joel and Samantha’s wedding shower has spared no expense. And neither have I.

Using Olivia as my emotional crash-airbag, I try not to count down until the minutes until we can leave this shin-dig for the shittily betrothed.

"Your face is doing that thing again," Olivia observes, appearing beside me with two glasses of champagne. "The one where you pretend you're not watching him."

"I'm not watching anyone." I accept one of the glasses,definitely not tracking how Grayson's laugh carries across the room. "I'm appreciating the architecture."

"Right. The 'architecture' in that custom suit." She studies me with the kind of focus that comes from fifteen years of friendship. "You know what's interesting?"

"The way William's sourdough starter is apparently experiencing past life trauma?"

"The way you can't seem to finish a sentence without mentioning him somehow." She nods toward where Grayson's charming investors. "Three conversations today - you've brought up the cabin, his AI, and that thing he apparently does with his hands when he's thinking?—"

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