The One

The Test

Tom

"Dont open it!" Sally yelled down the phone to Tom. She sounded anxious. "Wait until you get home and we'll do it together." Sally admitted to Tom that from the moment her smartwatch had indicated an email arrived from Match your DNA, her stomach felt like it was trapped in a lift falling twenty flights.

She called him immediately and, after checking his inbox while she waited patiently on the other end, he found he, too, recieved a notification. At the media agency where he worked, Tom was supposed to be thinking of snappy, original ways to promote a new brand of intimate wipes for women, but he was instead wondering what the contents of the email might reveal. But it was Sally's insistence on taking the test in the first place that really concerned him. He assumed they were sure and in agreement that their future was together, but her need for scientific reassurance filled his recurring worry that he wasnt good enough for his wife-to-be, that their five-year age gap was too large and that he was, and always would be, too immature for her.

When Tom finally made it home, thirty minutes after Sally, she was already drinking her second glass of red wine, sitting on the kitchen island with her legs dangling over the side. "Sorry I'm late," he began. "I got held up in a meeting and-"
"It doesnt matter," Sally interrupted and took an anxious gulp of her drink. "Can we get this over with?" She was rapping her other hand on the countertop, clearly nervous.

"May I say something first?" Tom asked, and perched on the island next to her. "I dont care what these results say. I could be Matched with Jennifer Lawrence as far as I'm concerned, and it wouldn't make the blindest bit of difference. You are the one I'm destined to be with, no matter what these emails tell us." Sally smiled and hugged him, then picked up her phone and pressed the email icon. "Are you ready?" she asked, scrolling down and opening the message. Her face fell. "It says No Match..."

A silence filled the room. Neither of them knew what to say to the other. Eventually, Tom wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "We're going to make it work, I know we are," he said in hope. "Millions of couples have, and we'll be no exception. Just because we aren't DNA Matched doesn't mean we aren't meant to be together. You still love me, right? After reading that, you still do, right?"

"Of course I do." Her voice was muffled because she buried her face in his shoulder. "Then who cares what a bit of chemistry or biology says. Nothing is going to change my love for you."
Sally swallowed hard and began to cry. "I'm sorry," she sniffed out. "I just wanted to make sure we stood a chance.... that we were made to be together."
"Fuck that, lets make a punt instead."
Sally smiled, and they rested their foreheads against each other. She ran her fingers through his thick, spiky, but still soft hair and pecked him softly.

"Let's go out and get an early dinner," Tom suggested. "That new Turkish restaurant has opened on the high street. My treat."
Sally nodded, and Tom hopped off the island, making his way toward the coat hook on the back of the door to grab his black jacket.

"What about yours?" she asked.
"My what?"
"Your results."
"I dont care." He shrugged. "I know what I need to know."
"And I need to know what you don't.  Put yourself in my shoes. My fiancé is probably Matched with somebody who isnt me. I'd really like to know who my competition is... if they did the test."
"You dont have a competition."
"Nevertheless, please, babe, open it."
"Here catch," he said and threw his phone towards her. She caught it and searched for the email.
"Oh. My. God." She laughed out loudly. She put her hand over her mouth and looked at him with wide-opened eyes.
"What? Have I got a Match?"
"You certainly have." She was grinning widely.
"Oh Christ, please dont tell me I'm Matched with your mum."
"No dont worry, it's not my mum." Sally replied. "Your Match is man called Tord."