Fiction: Matches

What’s your favourite book?

Hm, one I recently read that I liked was The Quiet American.

What about you? I think my favourite book this year was Firebrand.

It’s written by a Canadian author as well!

Cool, what’s it about?

Timothy mindlessly exited the conversation and then clicked back into it. It has been two days since Jessica had responded. Did he hazard a double text? Why did he ask what it was about? He should have just responded that he had heard of it. What did he do now? He always seemed to fall in love with girls on dating apps two lines into the conversation, prior to knowing anything about them. He had several new messages and DMs, but wasn’t interested in any of them at the moment.

Well, he decided, I might as well read the book.

The plot was driven by a narrator who was madly in love with an alt girl who treated him like dirt on her Docs, and was pretty engaging. She was hot and cold, and flitted just outside of his reach despite his meticulously planned dates to court her. The only issue was, Jessica still didn’t respond to his message, even after he told her he had read the book. It wasn’t technically a lie; he had read the book, but still had a third left before he finished. He could finish it if she ended up responding, he reasoned.

It was a week and a triple message later, and Timothy had already written Firebrand off when he saw a Bumble profile of a girl holding that very book. Her name was Lily.

Hey, did you like Firebrand? It was one of my favourite books of the past year.

Hey yourself. I’m glad to hear you enjoyed it.

Guess it wasn’t a total waste of time.

As Timothy and Lily chatted, he felt himself being increasingly drawn to her, at the risk of falling in love even before a first date. Lily had what books referred to as a magnetic personality: he was attracted to her, he felt pulled in, the first time Tim felt the metaphor in real life. Once again, he stopped responding to all his other messages. They set up a date later that week.

Just grabbed a table at the back patio, texted Tim.

He felt the familiar thrill of a first date tinged with some unexpected anticipation. He wore what he always wore to first dates: dirty white sneakers, washed jeans, an indie bank t-shirt, and red flannel. He was starting to get worried that the bouncers at dive bars around the city would start recognizing him. Then he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Lily dressed the same as him, but with the black and white swapped: white shirt and black shoes, with silver jewelry and blood-red lips. His breath caught in his throat.

Hey you, she said.

Timothy stood up, and Lily gave him a hug.

How are you?

Good.

Want to get started with some drinks?

As they made their way across the dark café over to the bar, Timothy breathed easy. Just like any other date. Greeting, drinks, and then a basic introduction.

What will it be?

I’ll have a Collective Arts IPA, said Timothy, looking over to Lily.

Can I get a Vesper, equal parts vodka and gin?

The bartender and Timothy both looked over to Lily. She looked behind the counter first.

This is a gin bar, right?

The bartender nodded.

Okay, so a shot of vodka, a shot of gin, and then half a shot of Lillet if you have it.

So we don’t have Lillet, started the bartender.

Then St. Germain will have to do.

Timothy watched in awe as Lily instructed the bartender on how to shake the three liquors into the concoction she desired. When he looked at the receipt, he had only been charged for his beer, a shot of vodka, and a shot of gin. He tipped twenty-five percent.

Hey, want to try some? asked Lily, waking Tim from his stupor.

Timothy took a sip, and had to hold back a gag. It tasted exactly like gin and vodka. Lily giggled.

So what do you do for work?

I’m a barista.

Oh, that’s cool, where?

The Library, have you heard of it? It’s on Dundas, at McCaul.

Oh yeah, I’ve walked by a few times. I’m mostly a Starbucks guy myself.

A silence descended upon the conversation. Timothy had been to The Library twice, both for dates. It was cheaper than bubble tea, and was close to Grange and the AGO. Tim shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about that now.

Think of something to ask Lily, he thought to himself.

How did you come across Firebrand?

Timothy saw Lily’s expression change, and she was silent for a moment. Then she sipped on her drink.

Honestly, the author is an ex of mine.

That’s kinda cool.

Did he write you in?

Yeah, the love interest is actually based off me.

He wrote it after we broke up.

There was another silence as Timothy fumbled for words and Lily grinned.

Don’t worry, I don’t bite.

That was the last thing she said before she grabbed his face and kissed him.

It had been a couple of weeks since their first date, and they had seen each other three more times since then. God, Timothy was in love. Lily occupied his only operating braincell. He couldn’t work without thinking of her and their date that evening. He spun himself around on his desk chair. As he slowed down, his eyes settled on his copy of Firebrand again, and he decided to finish it up.

As he read it this time, he couldn’t help but picture Lily as the love interest in the novel, or Flora as she was called. God, the author did such a great job of capturing her idiosyncrasies: the twitch of her eyelid before she raised her voice, or the drumming of her fingers on the tabletop. He lost the rest of the afternoon reading, only stopping when he got to the end of the novel, where Flora set the protagonist’s house on fire with a box of matches and a canister of lighter fluid. Intrigued, Tim went to Lily’s Instagram and looked for the author among her followers. Sean Hu, Sean Hu, Seanwho93 seemed promising. He opened the page, and it was memorialized already. Sean Hu was dead. He looked nervously back at Firebrand.

Act cool. Be casual.

Timothy waved at Lily outside of the theatre. They were watching the Barbie movie out of all things.

Don’t sweat. No way she killed Sean.

The movie ended, and they started filing out.

Oh, by the way, do you still keep in touch with Sean?

You mean my ex?

Yeah, the one that wrote Firebrand.

No, he killed himself a few months after I broke up with him. No relation.

Timothy watched as she pulled out a pack cigarettes and tried to strike the flit with a Zippo. When that didn’t take, she rooted around in her bag until she found a box of matches, and lit her cigarette in a practiced motion. When she saw him staring, she grinned at him. Timothy found himself smiling back