Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You come in at 4:55 pm, 5 minutes before the bookstore closes.

Your clothing is loose- ripped jeans, and a button down, complete with a messy bun and an NPR tote bag. In short, you dress like every other aspiring hipster in this city, but there’s something different about you. Special, almost.

I’m already in the back, so I don’t notice you until you’re at the register, asking Ethan if you can use the phone. He says yes, probably because he thinks you’re pretty and is hoping you’ll give him your phone number.

I watch as you dial a number and wait for the other person to pick up. Do you not have a cellphone? Unlikely, in this day and age.

You tell the person on the other end of the line that you’ll be late for dinner. Who are you talking to? Boyfriend? Friend? Family member? I don’t know why I care so much- I don’t even know your name yet. But I want to. Fate brought you to my bookshop for a reason, I’m sure of that.

The bell chimes as you walk out the door. I emerge from the shelves, noticing with distaste that Ethan is still staring at the empty space you just vacated.

“Dude. Did you see the girl who just came in? She was so hot.”

“I thought you were still with Blythe,” I remind him.

“We have an understanding,” he says. “We both acknowledge the human need to appreciate beauty, and know that it doesn’t devalue our commitment to each other.”

I ignore him. For now, I have more important things to focus on, like finding out your name.

After I finish closing, I search the call logs of the shop’s landline and find the phone number you called. Do you know how easy it is to find someone based on their cell phone number? After a bit of searching (and a trial subscription to nationalcellulardirectory.com) I was able to get a name: Izzy Contreras, who, luckily, has a public Facebook account. And after a few minutes of scrolling through her pictures, I find you. You’re in a lot of her pictures, actually, the two of you laughing with your arms around each other, sometimes in groups and sometimes not, posing at museums and parties and bars. Unlike the other people in her photos though, you’re not tagged. I eventually find one of just you, half-smiling at the camera over a cup of coffee. The caption reads: My best friend, Sam, who still refuses to get a Facebook account.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. The robots are our friends.

After scrolling even further back on my new friend Izzy’s Facebook, I finally find your full name, listed under a graduation photo (you in robes, her and some of your other friends in fancy dresses): Samantha Lewis. Other than a Linkedin profile, which is private, you don’t seem to have any sort of online presence. You have no idea how refreshing it is, Sam, to finally find someone who is above degrading themselves online. You, like me, are separate from the crippling vanity that consumes our generation.

I go back to Izzy’s profile, with the hope that if I find her, I’ll be able to find you as well. And it looks like the universe is on my side- apparently, the two of you go to the same bar together every other Friday.

***

This is going much easier than I thought it would. You and Izzy arrive at the bar about an hour after I do, and it’s clear you’ve already been drinking. I don’t get too close- it’s important that you don’t see me just yet. The music is loud, and I can only overhear parts of your conversation, but I learn two important pieces of information. One, that you just got a teaching internship at a nearby elementary school, and two, that you had a bad breakup a few years ago and are hesitant to accept Izzy’s help with finding you a new boyfriend (despite her numerous offers). As the two of you stumble out of the bar, you offer to let Izzy crash at your place since it’s nearby, and so I’m able to follow you back to your apartment. After a quick inspection of the mailboxes, I have your address.

The next few weeks are filled with research. Your internship doesn’t start until the beginning of the school year, so for now your days are filled with working at a coffee shop near your apartment and volunteering at a local preschool. I see you reading, sometimes, either on your breaks at work or at the library. You don’t seem to have many friends, your inner circle consisting of Izzy and a few other girls you must have met at college.

That’s all good, but I still need to know more. I need to create a situation that’s completely under my control, so that I can talk to you and get to know you without outside interference.

***

Honestly, I have Ethan to thank for coming up with this idea.

“Have you seen that Netflix show, Love is Blind?” He asks from between the shelves. He’s moving the Ann Quin books to the Famous Authors section, for reasons that completely escape my comprehension but probably make perfect sense to him. “Blythe and I started watching it together. She normally hates reality TV, but she says that this show is interesting from a psychoanalytical perspective due to its exploration of the societal concept of matrimony and the coercive nature of our heteronormative and patriarchal society.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Personally, I like it because it’s interesting to see if people can actually fall in love without ever seeing each other. It would be nice if they included less conventionally attractive people though, and made the focus more on developing a relationship and less on getting married. Honestly, I don’t even know if it’s possible to fall completely in love with someone in less than-”

“What did you say the show was about,” I ask, finally starting to pay attention.

“Oh, you haven’t heard of it? It’s this show where people have to fall in love without ever seeing what the other person looks like. So the guys and girls have to live on opposite sides of this house, and they can only talk to each other in these pods, where they’re separated by a screen so they can’t see each other. Eventually, if they fall in love, they get engaged. And then there’s all this stuff where they go on vacation together and meet each other’s families and eventually get married.”

“Sounds interesting,” I say. Internally, I’m thinking that this might be the answer I’ve been looking for.

“Anyway,” continues Ethan, “what I really like about the show is…”

But by now I’ve stopped listening to him, too focused on my next issue- how can I convince you to take part in an experiment like this?

Chapter Text

I honestly don’t know why I signed up for this experiment.

Emily, one of the researchers, called me out of the blue and told me that she was looking for volunteers to participate in a study on how people fall in love, and that they were having trouble finding people so she thought to reach out to alumni and oh it would be wonderful if I was willing to…

Anyway, now I’ve been roped into two weeks of (literally) blind dating people.

“Thank you so much for agreeing to do this,” says Emily, as she walks me down a hallway. The motel I’m being put up in is nice, all things considered. She explains that the men in the study are living in the motel across the street, and she shows me the dating pods that have been set up in the lot next to us, where we’ll go on “dates” separated by an opaque screen.

“I’m looking forward to it,” I say. And I am. Well, I think I am at least.

***

I’m so nervous. Why did I sign up for this?? This was a mistake- okay, no, it wasn’t a mistake, I have to calm down, everything’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine? Yes. No. No, it’s not. Yes. No Yes. Fuck. Okay, deep breaths. It’s not going to be like before. I don’t have to date anyone I don’t want to. This is my decision. Everything is under control.

There’s a noise on the other side of the partition. Shit. The first one’s here. Should I say something? Or do I wait for him to say something? Why is this so hard??

“Hello?”

Oh thank god, he went first.

“Hi- nice to, well, not see you… hear you I guess...?” my voice trails off uncertainty at the end of the joke.

He laughs softly. He has a nice laugh. Maybe this will be easier than I thought.

“So tell me about yourself,” I say. This will feel less awkward over time, right?

“Well, my name’s Josh, and I’m a musician,” he says.

“Cool, what instrument do you play?”

“Guitar,” he responds. “I’m a songwriter too. I’m in a band- started the band actually, but we’re still thinking of a name.”

“Well, maybe I can help. What kind of music do you guys write?”

“Oh, you know, we take inspiration from a lot of sources. Country, pop, jazz, indie, reggae… we’re really our own genre.”

“That sounds interesting.” No it’s not. I definitely can’t date this guy. What if I had to come to one of his sets? I think I’d die if I ever heard him play-

“I actually have my guitar here, if you’d like to hear one of our songs.”

Fuck.

“Sure- I’d love that,” I’m shamelessly lying through my teeth, but on the bright side there’s a wall between us, so he won’t see me covering my ears.

“Okay so this one’s called “Twilight Solar Eclipse of a Dying Star with Love.”

Would it be rude to just leave? It would be rude, right?

After his terrible, terrible, song (he really should reconsider his career choices), I say goodbye and make a mental note to avoid a second date with him at all costs.

***

The second guy’s name is Michael, a political science student by day and an aspiring revolutionary leader by night (and also day).

On paper, we seem very similar. He also works at a coffee shop part time, and we have nearly identical opinions about education reform.

Unfortunately, by his second speech about the proletariat masses rising up against their oppressive government, it becomes clear that he cares about his causes first and everything else in his life second, and I have a strong suspicion that if we dated we’d end up spending every night either working or arguing.

***

“But that wasn’t even my biggest discovery. Just last year, I uncovered incontrovertible proof that the moon is flat,” says Chris, moving on to his fourth conspiracy theory in fifteen minutes.

“I’m sorry, the moon is flat?” I ask. “You don’t mean the Earth?”

“No, everyone with a brain knows that the Earth is round,” he retorts. “No offense, of course. I’m talking about the moon. Have you ever noticed that we only ever see one side of the moon? Well, I realized that the moon is actually a piece of really shiny cardboard or something that gets pulled across the night sky by a fleet of airplanes. It’s shiny enough that it reflects the stars, which is why the moon looks brighter when you’re far from the city and there are more stars outside.”

“Okay, but why would the government do this?” I ask.

“So they can spy on us, of course.”

***

“So, Matthew, what do you do for a living?”

Matthew seems normal, at least compared to men I’ve met so far.

“I’m a computer programmer,” he says. “I work for a startup over on 23rd street. My boss is actually a woman, which is great. You know, there are so few women in tech and it’s really a shame that…”

And from that point on, no matter what we’re talking about, he always manages to turn the conversation back to how feminist he is.

***

By the time Nick enters the box, I’m exhausted. I’ve talked to four people and so far there’s no one who I feel a particularly strong connection with. At least I’m not nervous anymore.

Nick, on the other hand, seems very nervous, and he stammers so much that I have to ask him to repeat himself.

“Sorry, uh, I was saying that, um, I work on the Intrepid. You know, uh, the aircraft carrier that got turned into a museum?”

“Yes, I’ve been there before,” I say. I actually mostly went because the space shuttle Enterprise was moved there, and I’ve always had a soft spot for Star Trek. “That sounds like an amazing job- do you like working there?”

“I love it,” he says, voice evening out as he gains confidence. “It’s a great museum; we have a space shuttle there and everything! Well, it was technically a test shuttle, but it’s my favorite anyway because it’s named Enterprise and I love Star Trek…” he trails off, sounding embarrassed. “Sorry, I should have told you, I get kind of nerdy about this stuff…”

“Don’t worry,” I assure him. I tell him about how my dad and I used to watch Star Trek reruns every weekend when I was a kid, and how I only went to the museum because Enterprise was there.

We keep talking, and for the first time today, I actually feel relaxed.

“I really want to get to know you more,” he says, and I smile. After Matthew’s overbearingness, Nick is refreshingly genuine.

“I want to get to know you too,” I respond. And I do. I don’t know whether I want to date him yet, but we have common interests, and he’s sweet and considerate and endearingly awkward.

***

My good mood lasts for approximately three seconds before my next potential date, Brandon, ruins it.

“I want someone in shape, obviously, and beautiful,” he says. “I mean we all agree that it’s what’s on the inside that counts and all that but I just hate people who don’t take care of themselves, you know?”

“You know, Brandon,” I say. “I really don’t think this is going to work out.”

***

The door opens and closes again. Okay, this is it. This is the last person I’m going to talk to today and then I’ll be done.

“Hi, I’m Joe,” says the voice on the other side of the screen.

“Hi,” I say. “I’m Sam. So, Joe, tell me about yourself. What are your interests, hobbies, deepest darkest secrets?”

“Books, restoring books, and my greatest shame is that last year I used a Kindle for five minutes,” he says. “But I’ve been talking about myself all day- why don’t you tell me a bit about you?”

“Well, I’m 23, and I live in New York but I’m from this really small town in Maryland. I just graduated, and I’m planning to be a kindergarten teacher- I’m actually about to start my teaching internship in a few months…” I hesitate, not knowing what else to say. Pretty much every one of the men I’ve talked to today had just talked about himself, and I’d build off whatever he was saying. Joe is the first one to actively ask me about who I am.

“You sound incredible,” he says. “May I ask, why kindergarten?”

“It’s such a pivotal age,” I say. “I used to volunteer at a preschool in my hometown, and I loved being able to connect with kids on a deeper level. At that age, they’re smart and inquisitive, and they’re not as self-conscious or worried about being wrong as they are when they’re older. They just want to learn and play, and that makes them easy and enjoyable to teach.”

“You’re incredible,” he repeats, and I blush.

We end up talking for hours, but it only feels like a few minutes. It feels different from any of the other guys. More real. More natural. It’s as if we already know each other.

“So when am I going to see you again?” I ask. I’m surprised at my forwardness, but Joe seems to welcome it.

“As soon as possible,” he says, and leaves, shutting the door softly behind him.

***

I return to my room in a daze, and collapse on the bed, completely exhausted. I wish I could call Izzy- I need someone else’s opinion on this. At least I can eliminate most of the others as potential dates. Brandon was horrible, and Josh and Chris weren’t much better. Matthew was okay, but I don’t think I’d want to date him- he spent way too much of our conversation trying to prove himself. Michael and I had a lot in common, but if I’m being honest he seems much more committed to his causes than he ever could be to a relationship. That leaves me with Nick and Joe. I definitely want to see both of them again, especially Joe.

I just hope he likes me as much as I like him.