The Buzzfeed article comes out a few days later, and it's like I predicted. Suddenly, I'm the villain of the day in romancelandia because I used someone else's book to try to find a guy.
I could've kept that to myself and made up some story about how I'd come up with the campaign, but I'd told too many lies about it in the first place, so I decided I had to come clean in the interview. I told my story like it is—the date I was supposed to be on, the date I ended up on, the plan I made to try to find the man that got away. I kept it short, but factual, but it was enough.
Before all this, I had 75 Twitter followers and I'd get a like maybe once a week. Now I have over 2,000 and my mentions are insane.
@ChloeBakerCincy Don't use authors to advance your personal life.
@ChloeBakerCincy It's hard enough to try to sell books these days without some desperate millennial using you for clout.
This girl should get Fi-red. #cancelchloebaker
@ChloeBakerCincy Bitch, bye.
Etc. No matter that the author of Most Wanted had been happy with the publicity and tried to defend me. No matter that it was getting people checking out the BookBox, which meant more book sales, which was good for romance writers in general. Oh, no. Chloe was actually trending in certain circles. My name!
I mean, it wasn't only my name. That's the problem with trends on Twitter. Sometimes it's just a lot of people tweeting about a bunch of different people with the same name. And there are more people named Chloe out there than I thought. But at least half of those tweets were about me and how I should be cancelled, and even though I should've been happy about that because it was increasing my chances of finding Fake Jack, I wasn't.
No one likes to be a villain.
And it didn't work, anyway. Fake Jack didn't appear. No one identified him. The Venn diagram theory was all for nothing. I almost lost my job, I earned the disdain of thousands of people, I even got my mother calling because of course some friend of hers had read the article in Cincinnati and told her all about it.
"Why didn't you tell us you were going to be in the paper?" she said after I let the phone ring three times and considered letting it go to voicemail.
"It's not the paper. It's just some stupid online article."
"About you dating a boy?"
"No." I sigh. This is the only thing my mother has been vaguely interested in in my life, it feels like, for what feels like forever—whether I'm dating someone or who. When I told her I was moving to New York to start a new job, all she said was, maybe you can find a man there. I had no idea why she cared so much about it. I wasn't under any illusion that she was hankering for grandchildren. Maybe it was the pressure she was receiving from her social circle—the ladies at the tennis club that she still went to on a regular basis, the only thing she seemed to take pleasure in.
"What about this other man?" she asked.
"Real Jack?"
"What?"
"Jack Dunne. The man I was supposed to go out with."
"Yes, that's right. Where is he?"
I turned my desk chair around from Jameela and Addison's prying eyes. "I've been on a date with him."
"And?"
"It was fine, mother. What's it to you?"
"Can't I call my daughter and inquire about her life?"
"Yes, of course." I took a deep breath. I was on edge, feeling near tears, something I hadn't let my mother do to me in a long time. "It's just embarrassing, Mom. Everyone's talking about this stupid thing I did."
"Well, I'm sure it will blow over soon."
"Yeah."
"Will you go on another date with this Jack?"
"I dunno. He wants to."
"Why not go then? You know I always said ..."
"Three chances. I remember. But if I know I don't like him, should I waste his time?"
"How can you know if you like him or not if you don't spend time with him?"
I wanted to say that when you know, you know, but I stopped myself.
That's the way it always had been with everyone else I'd dated, including Fake Jack, but where did it get me? Two high school boys, one who'd broken my heart and one that had fizzled out. One serious college boyfriend that hadn't survived past graduation, and Chris. At some point I probably thought I was going to end up with each one of them, but that didn't happen. In the end, whatever had attracted me to them had dissipated and what was left wasn't enough. So maybe that was my problem. Maybe my gut attraction was leading me down the wrong path.
"Maybe," I said, but I'd already decided I'd give Jack another chance.
So here we are, back on the Upper West Side at the breakfast place, sitting at Janie's table on a sunny Sunday morning. She gives me a quizzical look when I come in, and I try to give her a reassuring smile like everything is okay, and I'm not a total crazy person who dates men who have a superficial resemblance to one another every week. It's a lot to get across in a look.
"You want the eggs benny again?" she says, tapping her pencil on her pad.
"Again?" Jack says with a hint of amusement. "You have a good memory."
"Don't remember you, though."
"Oh, ah, Janie, this is Jack."
He frowns. "I used to come in here all the time."
"That's nice," Janie says. "I haven't seen him if that's what you're wondering," she says to me.
"No, no, thank you. Can we get a few minutes to look at the menu?"
"Sure."
She leaves as my face burns, cursing myself for another stupid maneuver.
"Hey, Chloe?"
"Yeah?"
"I read the article."
I look up slowly. Jack has a half grin on his face, a friendly expression meant to put me at ease. "You did?"
"I did."
"Why didn't you say?"
"I didn't want to embarrass you."
"I've done a pretty good job of that myself."
"No, don't worry. I get it."
"You do?"
"Yeah, I ... I dated someone for a couple of years. We broke up last year. I thought that was it, you know? And then ..."
"It didn't work out."
"Yeah. And it's hard out there, right? Like, when you're with someone for a long time, even if it's not the right person, you get comfortable. You're not thinking about should I call her, or how long should I wait to reach out, or does she like me—all the stupid things that go through your head at the beginning."
"Guys think like that?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Hunh."
He laughs. "What did you think guys thought about?"
"Is she going to sleep with me tonight or not?"
"Well, yeah, we think about that, too. But not exclusively."
"Good to know." I hold the edges of the menu, I'm not sure why. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about him."
"It's fine. Weird situation, I'm sure."
"Yeah."
"But he hasn't reappeared, right?"
"No."
"And I am here."
"You are."
"I like you, Chloe. I don't know where this is going, or if it's got legs, but I'd like to find out."
"That's a really sweet thing to say."
"But ..."
"No, but. That was the end of my thought."
He runs his hand across his chin. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Did you want to come here today because you might see him?"
Why lie? "That was part of the reason. But I did want to see you again. I ... I wanted to spend more time with you, to see if there's something here."
"And?"
"I don't know, yet, Jack. But I'm willing to spend a bit of time to find out."
"That's good."
I smile. "Should we order?"
"Eggs Benny again?"
"Um, no. I think I'll try something that is less likely to give me a heart attack."
"Bit young to worry about that, no?"
"It's never too young to think about protecting your heart."
We have a pleasant brunch, and when it's over, we make vague plans to see each other again. He says he'll text me in a couple of days and I know he will. Jack's a man of his word, despite the disaster of our non-first date. I already know this about him, and it's a good thing to know. We hug briefly, and then separate, he to his parents, me to the park.
For the third weekend in a row, I do the loop I did with Fake Jack. First to the Met, only this time I don't go in, I just stare at the façade and curse my life choices. Then back to the pond, where I watch the boats and don't fall in the water. Jim and Kenny are there again, and Jim waves to me from a distance. I wave back but don't approach. I have to stop coming here or Jim is going to think I'm stalking him.
I go to the picnic table where Jack and I had our lunch and sit down. It's another hot day, the humidity building and curling my hair. I remember this weather from last year—the air thickening through the day until there were thunderstorms most afternoons. It made it hard to plan outdoor events, but it was helpful for sleeping. I'd suffered through a few nights in the heat, then bought an air conditioner for my bedroom. Now I slept with it on each night, creating white noise, blotting out the city sounds. When it turns cold in the fall, I miss it.
I look around me. The park is full of couples, kids, young and old people walking solo. The table is shaded and it feels peaceful. I need to let that peace steep into me. To throw away my romantic notions about finding Fake Jack, about us being perfect for one another, meant to be. Maybe that really happens for some people, not just in books, but in life, but it didn't mean it was going to happen to me. Or maybe Jack is my guy, and this rocky beginning is just a hiccup. I won't know unless I put the time in.
I take out my phone to send Jack a thank you text. The furor about me on Twitter has died down, but my screen is full of Facebook notifications. Good lord, what now?
I open the app and follow the link. I breathe a sigh of relief. My friend Dave, who moved to New York after college, has gotten engaged. He had an engagement party last weekend and is posting about it now. I was invited, but I decided to skip it because I didn't really like Dave's fiancé, and I wasn't in the mood to celebrate.
Looks like I missed a good time, though. Dave and Krista are standing in the middle of a crowd with confetti and balloons streaming down around them. They must've got a professional photographer—totally something Krista would do. I recognize some of the faces, but then my stomach plummets.
Because, standing off to the side, on the edge, with his arm around another woman that I don't recognize, is Fake Jack.
I use my shaking thumb to hover over the photo. Dave's tagged everyone in the post including Fake Jack. Only his name is Ben Hamilton.
He was right there all along. In the middle of the Venn diagram.