Page 94 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

"Oh God," Connor mutters. "Speaking of complicated."

I’d figured Joel and Samantha would be here. What I hadn’t figured is that this event would be a round of ass-kissing for Joel as well.

I’d been to events like this before—with rich donors. Each one was determined to stroke the ego of narcissists like Joel Franklin, men and women who relished in receiving faux awards that made them feel like the wanna-be masters of the universe they believed they were.

Right now, Samantha Carpenter AKA Soon-to-be Mrs. Wannabe-Master of the Universe #17 takes the stage wearing the exact shade of blue that I recognize from too many investor meetings - the color Joel's research suggests projects "optimal spouse success probability." Everything about her is measured, calculated, optimized. Just like...

Just like I used to want.

"Tonight," she begins, her smile pitched to the precise tenor of ass-kissing that Joel loves, "I'm honored to present this award to someone who has revolutionized how we approach investmentin the tech sector. Someone who understands that success can be quantified, that even relationships can be optimized for maximum return on emotional investment?—"

The massive display behind her flickers. The tech running the system frowns at their laptop, clicking frantically as Samantha's personal calendar suddenly fills the screen.

I don’t understand what I’m staring at for several seconds. Not until the crowd starts to gasp.

"Tuesday 10AM: Divorce Attorney (DO NOT SYNC TO SHARED CALENDAR)"

"Wednesday 2PM: 'Healing from Algorithmic Love' Support Group"

"Thursday 3PM: Therapist - Discussion Topic: Breaking Free from Optimization Prison"

Clad in a suit that’s worth more than most cars, Joel Franklin, who's been approaching the stage with a shit-eating grin, stops dead. His presence only makes the murmurs amongst the crowd louder.

Each click from the panicked tech reveals more entries:

"RECURRING: Weekly Meeting of 'Yes, My Partner Also Tried to Quantify My Emotions' Anonymous"

"URGENT: Research How to Block Partner's Efficiency Tracking Software"

"REMINDER: Delete Browser History re: 'How to Fall in Love Like a Normal Person'"

"Well," Connor's grandmother whispers loudly enough for half the room to hear, "this is better than my bridge club drama."

But I'm barely listening.

Because even though Roz’s joke of an ex looks like he might shit his pants...

Even though Roz’s empty-headed backstabbing cousin is watching her engagement blow up in front of half of Seattle’s tech elite…

All I can feel is goddamned shame.

Shame because watching Samantha and Joel’s constructed facade crack feels like looking in a mirror.

And as the tech scrambles to get the projector working, as Samantha stutters and as Joel tries to interrupt, to regain control, to optimize his way out of this mess, I see myself. See every time I tried to reduce love to data points, to calculate my way through feelings that were meant to be felt.

The final calendar entry appears in bold: "Download Heart & Soul Connections App - Because Sometimes the Old Ways Are Better."

Samantha's measured smile finally breaks. "You know what?" She turns to Joel, who's now frozen halfway to the stage. "I was going to wait until after the ceremony to tell you this, but since we're all about optimization metrics - here's some data for you: I'm done. Done with the weekly relationship performance reviews. Done with having my conversation patterns analyzed for 'maximum networking efficiency.' Done pretending to want to be in this relationship!”

She yanks off her perfectly selected blue blazer, her over-the-top ditzy arm-candy mask popping like a champagne bubble as she turns back to the crowd, arms outstretched.

"Did you know he has a spreadsheet tracking the statistical impact of my wardrobe choices on his funding success rates? That he times how long I spend talking to each investor's spouse to ensure 'optimal social distribution'?"

The room is dead silent except for Connor's grandmother's delighted "Oh my!"

"I thought this was what I wanted," Samantha continues, her voice cracking. "To be the perfect partner. But you can't ploy your way into real connection. You can't mold your way into love. And I'm so tired of trying."

Something in my chest tightens as her words hit home. How many times had Roz tried to tell me the same thing? Howmany moments had I missed because I was too busy analyzing them?

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