Fate?

The film began with a sunset that blazed across the Colorado sky, pulling deep reds and oranges into the world. Violet sat holding hands with Leo. His hands were clammy, hers were, too. And he turned to her, pulling at the edges of a frayed blanket to dust away the blades of grass. She knew what was coming when he stood. The film slowed down as he reached into his back pocket and knelt.

The proposal was perfect.

Violet beamed. Leo beamed back at her and they sealed their love with a kiss. The screen faded to black.

The next scene was of the two of them touring homes. Their words came out snippy and angry as they stood in linoleum kitchens with tiny bay windows. She didn’t want a yard; he said HOAs were dumb. Their realtor stood just outside of their conversation, raising his bushy eyebrows with each word. Everyone walked out wordlessly.

Apparently, they found a house because the third scene of the film was Violet and Leo leaning over a crib. Inside was a precious little teddy bear. Portraits of the two of them in black and white hung on the wall. She had a veil. He had a smile. She had a round stomach. He laid his hands on it.

The fourth scene was Leo hoisting a girl in a red mini skirt onto his desk. The diamonds of his wedding bland glinted from the shaft of light streaming through his office window. She was so very pretty. The words: THE END flashed momentarily and Violet wiped tears from her eyes. 

“It's not a guarantee of the future, Vi,” pleaded Leo as he lazily stirred his iced latte in the cafe fifteen minutes later. 

Violet scoffed, “Please, do you know of a single couple these days whose future didn’t come true just as the film predicted?”

“So I guess we’re done?” asked Leo as he pushed out his chair. Violet nodded. She pulled out her phone to check the time; Isabel would be arriving any moment. She waved at her (now) ex-boyfriend and he shook his head. She swore he whispered, “Crazy bitch,” before walking away from her forever. 

Isabel’s long black hair was in a braid. She stood in the line and provided her order before marching to Violet’s table where she sat in the chair still warm from Leo. “Why’d you dump this one?” she asked Violet who dramatically finished her work email before looking into her friend’s coal black eyes as she took a long sip of her coffee. 

“He cheats on me, Iz,” Violet said. Her friend’s mouth hung in a dramatic smirk. “With the secretary,” she added. Violet took a breath and said, “Who was barely 19!” 

Isabel rolled her eyes and stood to collect her coffee at the sound of her name. When she returned, she asked, “How do you know how old the girl is?”

Violet laughed and replied, “Because I remember what I looked like at 19.” Isabel took a sip of her drink and a deep breath. Here we go-here comes the lecture from the woman who has been married for over a decade and won’t shut up about it. 

“Hon, I just…worry you’re a bit obsessed with Living Theatre. How much money have you given them over the last five years?” asked Isabel. She was trying to put it gently, even though this was the broken record of their friendship.

“Five hundred dollars a film is cheap compared to wasting years of your life on the wrong guy,” huffed Violet. But she was wiping away tears with that napkin, not adjusting her mascara. And Isabel knew it. From behind the napkin, Violet added, “Plus, usually the guys are willing to go at least halvsies on it.”

“So you spend $250 on a predictive service of what your future is likely to look like,” Isabel enunciated each word as she quoted from the commercial that blared every twenty seconds on every social media platform or radio station. 

“But it has an accuracy rating of over 85%!” argued Violet. She began ripping the little paper cover that held her straw to bits. 

“That’s not 100%,” said Isabel. She frowned at her friend’s wrinkled brow. “I’m just saying, don’t you think you have a bit more control over your future?”

“Don’t you want to know when Aidan will finally give you a kid? Or if he just, straight up, never will?” Violet demanded. Her words stung and she wanted to take them back the second she glanced at Isabel’s red cheeks. The silence was deafening in the loud cafe.

“So I guess I’m back to the drawing board,” babbled Violet. Her voice cracked on the very last word and came out softer. “I just…I want what you have…” she sighed the words like a child who couldn’t bear to make eye contact with their parents after breaking the rules. “You make it look so easy,” she said. 

Isabel resisted the urge to argue that marriage was, in fact, not easy at all. She thought on all the sleepless nights after arguing over when to finally start trying for a child. She mused on all the moments of miscommunication, all the bad days, all of the times her husband just wasn’t the soul mate she met all those years ago. Then again, neither was she. 

Instead, she smiled at Violet and patted her hand. “Give it another go, Sweetie. He’s out there. Just waiting for you,” she assured her friend and they made a plan to go out to dinner in two weeks to talk. Isabel offered a quick hug before running off to work, leaving Violet with her own thoughts. 

Violet, for her part, tried her darndest to see the world in a more romantic light. She eyed the nice man with the long beard when he held the door open for her at work. She laughed longer at Simon’s joke at work because she knew he was single, once again, just like her. She even stopped by the local bookstore on her way home to give the world plenty of opportunities for her next “meet cute.” But it didn’t come that day. And Violet returned to her empty apartment-sans Leo. She heated up a bowl of soup, had a bigger bowl of mint chip ice cream, and fell asleep.

Her dreams were snippets of all of the disasters she saw while sitting in that dark screening room. There was Sam who would likely be hated by her parents, Lee who would be a dud at every party they go to, and Patrick who was just a little too obsessed with cats. That was a secret that she was thankful to have out of the bag by month two. 

But somehow, the real life memories were worse than the films. Violet couldn’t shake the way Sam had let her pick where to go for date night every time, or the way Lee wrote a little joke on a napkin for her lunch each day, or how Patrick made her feel like the luckiest girl alive when they kissed. Leo had laughed at all her jokes, he had always bragged about the work she was doing to the whole world, he had held her all night long when she had to put her childhood cat of fifteen years to sleep.

When she awoke, she half expected a text from her ex, asking that they try again, promising that he wouldn’t sleep with his secretary. It was a text never truly fated to arrive. Violet walked to work, without her ear buds in, in case a cute guy was going to compliment her on her dress. But instead, she just heard a few whistles from the construction crew a block away from her office. She brought an extra cup of coffee to Simon, but found Lizzy was already sitting on his desk, twirling a lock of flaming red hair around her finger. 

Violet considered re-starting her online dating profile. She logged in and read through her bio. She thumbed through recent photos and even sent a few to Isabel to approve. But she just couldn’t bring herself to click the green “update” button. She knew what was awaiting her: endless hours scrolling through bullshit filled resumes on people who weren’t that serious, anxiety filled evenings when she didn’t get any messages, or worse, hot tears rolling down her cheeks when her date doesn’t even bother to show up at the bar after she spent 90 minutes perfecting her red lip in the mirror. No, she decided it just wasn’t worth it. 

Violet so desperately wanted to meet a guy “like the good old days.” She could picture it now: he’d be tall, dark, and handsome. He’d open with a joke. She’d counter with a good story. And they’d spend the next few weeks building the anticipation that comes from knowing you’re about to go on a first date with the love of your life. She’d do something stupid like spill red wine on her blouse, but he’d offer her his jacket so she’d go from embarassed to flattered. He’d use it as an excuse to see her again and show up with flowers the next week. They’d go to carnivals and amusement parks and the drive-in movie theater. He’d ask for her hand in marriage, which her father would gladly give since he “was the first decent guy she brought ‘round the house.” They’d spend their engagement picking out the perfect flowers for the best day of her life. 

And the wedding would be perfect. It’d be on the beach. Isabel’s little one would be the perfect flower girl. His friends would crack the best jokes during the toasts. And they’d move into the little blue house(the one Violet always dreamed of living in) on the corner of Lynn Drive that magically went on the market just as fate intended. They’d have two boys and a girl. They’d get a chocolate lab to keep the kids entertained. And most importantly, all of this would be shown in vivid color in the screening room of Living Theatre which he will insist they go to, just so they all know exactly what they’re getting into. 

Violet relayed this great life plan to Isabel over cocktails at dinner that evening. Her friend offered a coy smile and a proposition. “What if I told you…Aidan has a friend who is newly single?” asked Isabel. She watched with glee as Violet lit up with glee. “His name is Tucker and he has one rule…” Isabel dragged her words out cautiously, holding up her index finger. She’d make a great mom one day.

“I can take it. I’m willing to adapt,” Violet insisted. 

“No Living Theatre,” chirped Isabel over her cocktail glass. Violet sunk back into her seat. All of the gears began turning slowly. “He thinks it’s made up,” she said; her words were more for herself than for Violet. “Which I agree with because every time you have ever gone there, it ends up being, like, some dramatic plot twist you swear you could have never predicted. But like, they’re always totally cliche, too?” her voice raised an octave at the end, indicating a question that she didn’t really view as a question. “Like, seriously, sleeping with a secretary? How cheesy can you get?” she asked. “But my point is, he wants to just throw caution to the wind and fall in love for the sake of falling in love,” she said. She grabbed Violet's hand saying, “Please, give him a chance? His name is Tucker.”

“Tucker,” repeated Violet. She finished her cocktail and told Isabel, “Give him my number.”

It was halfway through their first date that Violet decided she was in love with Tucker Lewis. She loved the way his eyes twinkled when he told a really good joke. She was flattered by the way she managed to keep his gaze off the waitress with longer legs than her. She held her breath when he asked if she’d like to linger for dessert and didn’t bat an eye when she cleaned her plate. Instead, he offered a hearty grin and said, “I like a woman who isn’t afraid to eat.”

That was when she, imbued by alcohol’s warm embrace, asked, “So why don’t you ever pay for Living Theatre?”

He sighed and she was sure he wouldn’t ask for a second date when he stood, mumbling that he needed a bathroom break. She slumped in her chair like a deflated balloon. But he returned-Tucker Lewis returned-pink cheeked and all. He pulled out his chair and took a sip of water, choosing his words carefully, “I think it’s unethical.”

“Unethical?” she exclaimed. Then, lowered her voice upon noticing the sets of eyes that suddenly found their little corner booth. “How could it be unethical? It just gives you the answers that you need to make accurate choices in the world of modern dating.”

“They’re not answers. They’re predictions,” he hissed his words through gritted teeth and reached for his water. She watched his Adam’s Apple bob with every gulp. “Damn,” he cursed, “You should work for them.” He shook his head while staring down at the remnants of creamy garlic mashed potatoes. 

“I would,” she replied indignantly, finding herself reflexively sitting up in her chair a little straighter. 

“Ha!” he scoffed. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he said-eyes remaining on the plate.

“And you do?” she asked. 

“I do!” he shot back. This time, raising himself a bit straighter in his seat as well. His eyes found hers and bore into them.

“Oh,” she said. 

The waitress returned with a lava cake. It was decadently garnished with the perfect amount of whipped cream and a cherry on top. She flashed her pearly whites while encouraging the couple to enjoy another cocktail, but they both shook their heads. Neither party reached across the table for the cherry until the whipped cream was a bubbly puddle at the bottom of the plate. Their current drinks remained untouched. Their laughter, which had seemed so easy before, seemed to evaporate.

“I was one of the original engineers,” Tucker said. “I helped design the code; I helped pitch the company, I was a fuckin’ founder. And paid handsomely for it, too. ‘Never work another day in your life,’ they said.” It seemed his words weren’t for her. 

“What happened?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“Money. Greed,” he answered. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were just helping people see if they would be compatible.”

Violet’s eyebrows furrowed as she considered the array of questions that leapt to her mind. She knew she had maybe three before Tucker would be walking out that door, “But it works. Your algorithm works. You’re a genius.”

Tucker Lewis laughed. But it felt like the guffaw of a man over the edge. He threw his hands in the air as he protested, “No, no, no. My algorithm was designed to just give couples a percentage-a single idea of the likelihood of the success of their relationship. But then, the more people wanted, the more money the company could make. People are willing to sign over their whole lives just for a little more information.”

Violet’s quizzical look gave him all the information he needed. “Oh yeah, you didn’t know that, huh? I can tell,” he began laughing like a maniac again. “When you signed on the dotted line all of those legal waivers full of words no normal human could understand, when you let them take your thumbprint? Yeah, that gives them the right to all of your digital data. Every purchase you’ve ever made, every ad your eyes linger on, every post on social media you’ve ever scrolled past, much less liked! They have all of it. That’s how they create the movie, Vi.”

Her name sounded like poison in his mouth.

The couple sat in silence again for a few minutes. The waitress stopped by the table. She offered the check which Tucker took. He reached for his wallet to pull out his cash. It was a foreign sight to his date. “Huh,” she muttered. He gave her a chuckle and watched as she sat up in her chair, reached her hand across the table, plucked the cherry from the dessert, and popped it in her mouth. She smiled appreciatively saying, “So I guess we’ll just leave it up to fate.” He reached for the silver spoon and nodded before taking a bite of the sweetest dessert he’d ever tasted.