“Maybe you’re right,” Josie sighs finally, “I shouldn’t have asked you. I just don’t know who else I can trust to give me the kind of feedback I’m looking for, you know? And it’s not like I can test it out firsthand; even if I could, it seems unethical to be part of my own beta testing process.”
“I don’t think it’s unethical,” I shake my head, “Lots of places play up the whole ‘I’m part of the business, but I’m a client, too!’ thing.”
But even so, I know testing it herself is out of the question. Like me, Josie doesn’t date. And her reasons are just as valid, if not more so. At just 26 years old, my best friend is a widow.
Toby was her high school sweetheart, and the two of them were perfect together. I actually met him before I met her because he was helping her move boxes into the dorm, and immediately, I was bracing myself for an absolute nightmare.
I figured he’d be over all the time, that I’d end up walking in on the two of them, or just generally that they’d be nauseatingly couple-y. But instead I’d befriended them both and while yes, he was over a lot, it was usually because we both wanted him there so we could binge-watch shows together when we weren’t helping each other study.
While they were clearly deeply in love, they hadn’t been obnoxious about it, and I only walked in on them once. And it was my own fault, so I didn’t hold it against them.
While they knew they wanted to get married and they’d discussed it, even planned some of the details, they were patiently waiting until they’d graduated and gotten situated in life before they tied the knot.
At least, that was the plan, until Toby’s doctor found an inoperable tumor growing in his brain and told him he had less than a year to live.
So instead of the fall wedding they’d talked about having years down the road, they eloped over spring break at 20 years old.
The three of us, and especially the two of them, made some truly beautiful memories over the eight months they were wed, and he passed peacefully in his sleep with her in his arms.
She has no regrets, even now, and it’s not like she avoids dating because she’s in some deep, dark pit of mourning. She still misses him, certainly, but she knows he’d want her to keep going. The reason she doesn’t really date, though, in her own words, is that “Buying lottery tickets after you’ve already won the jackpot is just setting yourself up for disappointment.”
“What about Gene?” I ask, referencing a mutual friend of ours.
“He’s dating that surfer girl, remember?”
“Wait, still? Huh. Good for him.”
“And I mean, not to sound like a choosing beggar, but I’m kind of hoping to get a female perspective if I can. Don’t get me wrong, the safety features are for everyone involved, but…”
She doesn’t have to finish. In general, dating’s definitely riskier for women, although there’s some danger to it no matter who you are or who you’re dating.
“And I guess I just figured you’d be more aware than most, so you’d be able to point out any potential holes,” she adds, then grimaces, “But now I feel kinda shitty, like that’s using you as bait or something.”
“I wasn’t thinking of it like that,” I assure her, “And I know you’d never do something like that. You’re just trying to make sure everything’s the best it can possibly be.”
“I’m probably just being too micromanage-y with it,” she sighs, rubbing her temples, “The whole point of beta testing is to find the bugs and stuff, that’s why I’ve got volunteers who want to do this.”
I can see on her face that even though things are progressing well, she’s worried and stressed. And I feel a stab of guilt. She really has worked hard on this, and she listened so carefully to all of my input to help reduce the risks to the absolute zenith of her ability.
“Wouldn’t it be kind of fucked up to have me do it anyway, though?” I ask, “I mean, I assume your beta testers are interested in an actual relationship, and I’m not. Feels kinda deceitful to go under that false pretense.”
“Not really, I mean, this is still a dating app like any other, and just because my algorithm says it’s a great match doesn’t mean they’ll actually click and have that chemistry the very first time,” she says, “And actually, that would kind of give me the opportunity to have a guaranteed test of the follow-up options.”
I hadn’t thought about that point. While she’s sure her algorithm is going to lead to some successful matches right off the bat, she also knows that realistically, sometimes people just don’t mesh, so the app keeps trying other matches for you.
“And you know,” she adds, “All of the beta testers got background checks run and I’ve got files with their information and stuff, so-”
“So what you’re saying is I have no excuse, basically,” I reply drily, a smile creeping across my lips.
“You don’t need one, Sof,” she says, shaking her head, “You can just say no. It’s fine, believe me, I understand.”
I can’t believe the words that are about to come out of my mouth, but I love my best friend, and I want to help her. I want to contribute to her passion project, and while it feels like a huge deal, realistically, it’s a pretty small favor she’s asking of me.
“I’ll do it.”