Matchmaker

What would a good dating app do?

George stopped on the sidewalk leading to the restaurant’s front door. It was just cold feet, he knew that, but he needed to remind himself that he’d be fined $300 if he didn’t show up before he started moving again.

As he passed through the door his phone chimed. He pulled it from his pocket. The screen ordered him, Take a selfie. George stepped to the side to not block traffic and put on a smile before pressing the button. It was the smile he’d practiced in the mirror for an hour yesterday.

As soon as it had taken the picture, the camera app was replaced by a picture of a young woman in a pink blouse. He lowered the phone and looked across the waiting area to see her looking up from her own phone. George gave her a relieved smile.

She was better looking than he’d feared. Not gorgeous, but he hadn’t been hoping for gorgeous. She was cute. And cuddly. He liked the cuddly part.

He held out his hand as they approached each other. “Hi, I’m George.”

“Barbara. Good to meet you.” They held the shake a long moment, looking at each other for the first time, then dropped it and went to the hostess station.

The hostess had their selfies up on her tablet. “Yes, we have your reservation. Right this way, please.”

They followed her. George knew neither of them had made the reservation. The matchmaking app had set up everything about this date, including the restaurant.

It was a nice table. Though all the tables at this place seemed to be nice. George hadn’t been to this restaurant before. He held Barbara’s chair for her, which she seemed to appreciate.

A waiter arrived right away. Sorting out drinks and orders gave them a few minutes to relax. Then the waiter went off and left them to really begin the date.

A few moments of silence proved neither one wanted to start, which they realized with embarrassed glances and a shared chuckle. “I guess I should begin,” said George. “Do you want the mini-bio?”

“Yes, please.”

He rattled off his background—family, school, job, when the job had brought him to this city, how he expected his career to go. Barbara seemed reasonably impressed.

She took her turn. She was local, had gone to a slightly better school, but was working in marketing and not sure if she wanted to make a career of it, but didn’t have any better ideas.

Their meals arrived. They’d both picked something without sauces, to minimize the chance of embarrassing spills.

The preliminaries over, they shared what they’d done the previous weekend—an art museum visit for her and a renaissance faire for him. “Plus the mandatory daily hour of exercise,” George added wryly.

Barbara laughed. “Oh, so the app doesn’t just do that to the girls? It’s amazing how many different ways it has to nag us if we’re not doing what we’re told.” She took a sip of her wine. The waiter kept both their glasses topped off.

“I don’t mind the exercise part. That’s like a personal trainer at the gym telling me how many reps to do and when to report in next. It’s micromanaging the rest of my life that drives me up the wall. I mean, every morning I have to take a picture of my bed to show I made it. Do you care if I made my bed?”

“Okay, that’s cruel,” said Barbara. “I don’t have to make my bed. I do have to get all the dishes washed before I go to bed.”

“Harsh. I can leave dishes for twenty-four hours before being nagged.”

They swapped more stories of how the matchmaking app kept controlling the details of their life. Steering them from trashy television shows and websites to ‘enlightening’ ones. Insisting on ventures to tourist sites.

“Oh, God,” said Barbara. “This is the part of the date where we complain about our parents. But it’s all about the app instead.”

That cracked George up. “It’s funny. But you’re right. It is being a controlling parent.”

Barbara described some differences between how her mother ran things and the app. George compared it to his own. They agreed the app was much more judgmental.

“Worst thing is,” said Barbara, “the damn thing doesn’t get tired. It’ll keep nagging us forever. If I made it clear I wasn’t going to do something, mom would give up.”

“It won’t give up. But we can delete it if we get fed up.”

“I’ve been tempted. But . . .” Barbara looked off to the side, flushing slightly.

George reached across the table to put his hand on hers. “But we’re tired of being lonely.”

She looked back at him. “Yes.” After a pause, she shifted to the lighter topic of the pros and cons of living alone instead of with siblings. Barbara’s younger sister couldn’t grasp the concept of clothes being ‘Yours’ instead of ‘Ours.’ “But she’d take a turn doing the dishes, so I wouldn’t have to do them all the time.”

“I’m an only child, so I’m safe from that one. But it’s nice to have some privacy instead of my parents barging into my room whenever they want to say something to me.”

The waiter swept their empty plates away. “Would you like some dessert?”

Barbara looked uncertain.

George offered, “I have some cheesecake at my place. We could watch a movie and have a slice.”

She smiled. “Sure.”

He looked to the waiter. “No, thank you, we’re ready for the check.”

“Oh, the check has been handled, including the tip. I hope you’ve both had a lovely evening.”

Something else the matchmaking app was keeping complete control of. No armwrestling over the check to spoil the mood.

They kept the chatter light on the autocab ride to his place. Once inside George’s apartment, the tension went up a bit even though they were sticking to casual topics.

“You keep your place really neat,” said Barbara.

“Eh. I have to, if I don’t want to be nagged. I took twenty pictures this morning for the app’s inspection.”

“I only get that once a week. Wait, was it expecting us to come back here?”

George shrugged. “It knows a lot about dating. So what do you want to watch?”

Both phones chimed with identical messages. ‘Of the movies you both enjoy, The Princess Bride has the highest rating.’

They both laughed. “I don’t know whether to believe that,” said Barbara. “I think the app is putting a thumb on the scales. I mean, it’s a kissing movie.”

“Yeah, but it’s not too much kissing, so no pressure. I do like it.”

“So do I. But almost everybody likes it. Doesn’t mean this is true love.”

George took the strawberry cheesecake out of the fridge and cut two generous slices. Then he poured two glasses of red wine. “It’s a good way to spend an evening.”

“I’m good with that.” Barbara took her plate and glass and followed him to the couch.

They both knew the movie well enough to quote favorite bits. They were rarely the same bits, which led to some discussions.

When the grandfather interrupted the final kiss, George paused the movie. He leaned in to kiss Barbara.

It wasn’t one of the five greatest kisses in history. But it was the best kiss he’d had in a few years. Barbara seemed to like it too. They followed it with more kisses, and hugging, and then wandering hands.

George stood, tugged on Barbara’s hand, and led her to the bedroom. They exchanged a few more kisses on the way.

Kissing standing up became a clumsy flop onto the bed with lying down kisses. The hugging became some awkward fumbling.

The matchmaking app’s tone chimed from the phone in George’s pocket.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” he exclaimed.

Barbara giggled. “Hey, it got us this far. See what it has to say.”

He stood up to make reaching his pocket easier, took the phone out, and read the message. “Hmmm.”

George lay back down next to her. He kissed Barbara on the lips. Then he took her hand, kissed the palm, the fingertips, and then the wrist. More slow kisses followed.

Things went smoothly after that.

In the morning, Barbara woke to the smell of pancakes. She padded out to the kitchen to find George naked in front of the stove. “Hi.”

“Hi, sleepyhead. Let me put some on a plate for you while they’re still warm.”

She accepted it and sat at his table. Butter and syrup were already there. “These are good. How’d you learn to cook so well?”

“I can’t cook much. The app taught me pancakes and a few other dishes.”

“Okay, I can accept the app judging my clothes and making me buy new ones, that’s pretty visual. How does it teach cooking?”

“Make four pancakes. Take pictures of both sides. Taste them and answer the multiple-choice test on the taste. App tells me what I did wrong. Repeat for three hours.”

“You spent three hours making pancakes?”

George sat down with his own filled plate. “Yep. When I was done I had to take all the untasted ones to a homeless shelter.”

“Well, that was nice. I still like the taste, so I guess the effort was worthwhile.”

“Thanks.” George suddenly flushed a bit as he buttered his breakfast. “Um, there’s something I should’ve asked about last night. What are you using for birth control?”

Barbara flushed in turn. “Rhythm method.”

He tried to control his surprise, but she noticed and glared at him. “That’s what the app recommends. It provides links to hormonal contraceptives screwing up relationships when you start or stop them, and barriers can ruin the mood. We’re safe, I’m not fertile for another nine days. The app tracks that.”

“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t want to push.” George didn’t think he needed to ask about STIs. The app had made him get tested months ago, and presumably had done the same to her.

“Besides . . . I think the app is favor of pregnancy. People will stay together for kids.”

George gave her a twisted smile. “There’s worse reasons to marry.”

“Lots of them, yeah. It’s just . . . are we really suited to each other? Or is the app just taking two people willing to settle and pairing them at random?”

He answered her in a serious tone. “We’re not just willing to settle. We’re willing to put a lot of work into being ready for a relationship. That says we’re willing to put effort into keeping a relationship going.”

George smiled. “And if we were assigned at random, I’m really damn lucky.”

That drew a giggle from her.

He held out his hand and led her back to the bedroom.

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Would you recommend this app to your single friends? Would you try it yourself? Let us know in the comments.

More stories by Karl K. Gallagher are on Amazon and Audible.