Life With Nia | ONC 2020

Chapter 2

March 4th, 2019

I woke up this morning and checked my phone. I had 99+ matches now, which was to say that I'd hit the limit and PoliDate wouldn't give me the exact number to help inflate my ego unless I paid for premium. I'm not paying for premium.

I scrolled through my matches and through the dozen or so messages I'd received, mostly cute pickup lines that I knew I wouldn't respond to. I archived them all until I got to the final message, which was associated with a familiar name; but then again, half of them were.

I felt the anxiety creep up on me as I read his name in my head – Jake. Jake, who I'd dated for a year and a half. Jake, who had dumped me on national television on New Year's Eve.

Despite my better judgement, I tapped on his profile to enlarge the picture. Sure enough, it was him. I quickly tapped back to the message, which read simply, "Hi."

I deleted the app, set down my phone, and finished getting ready for work.

I had lunch with Leo today.

It's funny how we couldn't stand each other as kids, but now he's the only person I can trust, and we spend time together whenever we can.

We went to Manny's, a chicken finger restaurant in Logan Circle. It's my favorite restaurant.

We talked about the wedding and his job, mostly. He's in town not only for the engagement party, which they had here because Vanessa's family is from D.C., but also for a new piece he's writing with a senior reporter. They're investigating the agenda-setting function of the news media in politics. Thus far, they've interviewed eight senators and representatives, including Senator Harris, but they haven't been able to get anyone from the news.

"It's like they're afraid they might say the wrong thing and lose their jobs," he said. He was visibly frustrated, wagging a ranch-drenched chicken finger in front of his face. "But the American people deserve to know how the media decides what they want the public to care about."

"You can't expect someone to just admit that they're mind-controlling people," I said. I'd finished my chicken fingers and was sipping on my water. I only drink water.

Leo shrugged. "I guess." He finished eating, and I paid the bill before he could take out his wallet.

"Aw, c'mon, Ni," he whined. "I get a very big, very important paycheck from the New York Times twice a month, and you refuse to let me use it. What am I supposed to do with all of that money?"

"Pay for your wedding," I offered. "Also, is that your way of saying 'thank you'?"

He rolled his eyes into a smile. "Thank you, sis."

I smiled back. "You're welcome."

He went to use the bathroom before we left.

I took advantage of the time alone to take the hand sanitizer out of my pants pocket and squirt it onto my hands. Washing my hands with soap and water is preferable to using hand sanitizer, but I hate using public restrooms and, besides, there are times when the restroom soap is so weak that I have to use hand sanitizer, anyways. Might as well cut out the middle man.

I rubbed the hand sanitizer into my hands until it lathered. There's a satisfaction in seeing suds, in knowing that you're Getting Clean.

I sighed contentedly and looked up at the tv screen mounted above the wall on the other side of the restaurant. It was switched on to CNN. I remember moving to D.C. a few years ago and finding it strange how all the restaurants seemed to have political news on all the time, except during football games, but it's part of life now.