Page 97 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

I don’t look back. My steps echo against the terrace tiles, each one final, resolute. Joel can stand there with his mistakes and his arrogance. It’s all he has left.

As for me…I’m still hoping I have something left. CORA seems to think I do. By the time I slide in the backseat of the waiting town car, my phone buzzes.

CORA: “Sir, based on current behavioral patterns and elevated stress indicators, I calculate a 89.8% probability that you're experiencing what humans call an emotional breakthrough.’ Would you like me to compile relevant data on reconciliation strategies?”

"No, CORA." I smile slightly, removing melting shards of snow from my shoulders. "I think I need to figure this one out myself."

“Very inefficient, sir."

"I know." I motion for my driver to drive, and the car starts to roll down the snow-covered street. "That's what I’m hoping will make it worth it.”

27

CONTROL-ALT-DELETE YOUR PAST

La Famiglia Restaurant,Seattle, WA

ROSALIND

Thursday evening rolls around like an unwanted guest.

Seattle's endless February snow creates a soft backdrop as I stand outside La Famiglia, trying to remember how to be a professional matchmaker when my own heart feels like a corrupted hard drive.

Through the windows, warm light spills onto the snow-dusted sidewalk, and I can smell Nonna Flora's cooking even from here. The familiar scents of garlic and basil that usually feel like coming home now just remind me of a certain tech CEO who used to steal breadsticks while pretending not to understand family-style dining.

My phone buzzes.

Olivia:You sure you're up for today’s group? Could always cancel. Blame it on snow. Or mercury retrograde. Or emotional sourdough.

Then Dani:Update: New boyfriend is actually normal! Finance guy who only wears suits. No medieval weapons or experimentalfermentation projects. Coming to group tonight to prove I can date like a grown-up.

That makes one of us, at least. I still can’t seem to date like one. My experience with Grayson just proved that.

Putting on my big-girl panties and my business owner face, I’m ready to walk into La Famiglia—sad, but with my head held high—when my phone buzzes again. And again. And again.

Glancing back at my cell, I realize the texts are coming from my group chat with Liv and Dani called “Sourdough Support Squad .” The chat, named aptly after the whole William sage, stuck, and now my phone is being bombarded with more texts than a pre-teen slumber party.

Dani:OMG OMG OMG YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED AT THE METROPOLITAN

Dani:JOEL AND SAMANTHA JUST IMPLODED IN FRONT OF SEATTLE'S ENTIRE TECH SCENE

Dani:Like, biblical levels of public meltdown

Olivia:Dani, breathe. Use your inside texting voice.

Dani:CANNOT BREATHE. Their "perfect optimization metrics" just crashed harder than Windows 95!

Me:What are you talking about?

Dani:Samantha was introducing Joel for some fancy investor award

Dani:But instead of his PowerPoint, her SECRET CALENDAR projected on screen

Dani:Full of appointments like "How to Escape Your Relationship Support Group" and "Therapy - Topic: Breaking Free from Marital Jail Something or Other”

Olivia:Don't forget the best part - "URGENT: Research How to Delete Partner's Efficiency Tracking Software"

Dani: She LOST IT. Started ranting about how he tracks her "spousal success metrics" and has a COLOR-CODED CHART for her "networking effectiveness ratios"

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