Page 2 of Fan Favorite

E die got into an Uber bound for the too-big, too-expensive apartment in Roscoe Village she was supposed to be sharing with her ex-boyfriend, Brian, and his two-year-old son, Cayden (every other weekend, alternating holidays, and for six weeks in summer), desperately brooding over this latest dating debacle.

Fucking Dave Last-Name-Unknown! Why were men like this?

Sure, yes, Edie scrolled past articles about patriarchy and misogyny and emotional labor and the mental load on social media every single day, but sociological research didn’t interest her like the smiling photos of couples and babies and couples and dogs and couples at birthday parties and on New Year’s Eve.

She refused to believe that a loving, fulfilling relationship between a man and a woman was impossible.

What about George and Amal? Tom and Rita?

Barack and Michelle? Harry and Meghan! But keeping hope alive amid all this die-alone energy was getting harder and harder.

Edie was at the end of the line, and there were only two options: psychotic optimism or total spinsterhood.

“Hey, girl, hey,” Daryl R. said from the front seat of the Kia as they pulled away from the curb and headed north. He popped his chin at her. “Where you goin’ lookin’ so fine?”

“Sir,” Edie said with her talk-to-the-manager-hand in the air. “No, thank you. I’ve had enough for one night.”

Edie put in her earbuds and sighed as she collapsed against the back seat.

Perhaps being a spinster wouldn’t be so terrible.

Wasn’t it true that no one added stupid shows like MythBusters to her Netflix watchlist, forever tainting her algorithm?

And couldn’t she come home after work and throw her bra on the living room floor and watch all her reality shows with one or two or three glasses of wine without anyone criticizing her choices?

And couldn’t Edie order plain cheese pizza and not defend it to anyone or have to compromise and order half mushrooms or onions or olives that never stayed on their half and always contaminated her side?

And didn’t she sleep until seven thirty on weekdays while all her coworkers got up at like five a.m. to deal with their children and commutes from the suburbs?

And couldn’t she do absolutely whatever she wanted in her very own bathroom, including, but not limited to, staring at her pores in a magnifying mirror or periodically shaving her asshole?

And with nothing tying her down like a husband or children, couldn’t she drop everything at a moment’s notice and go on an adventure?

Sure, she’d never done that, but the point was, she could do that.

Maybe she’d spend Christmas riding elephants in Thailand. The world was her oyster.

Edie poked at her phone until the soothing voice of Oprah filled her ears.

“I’m Oprah Winfrey. Welcome to Super Soul Conversations , the podcast. I believe that one of the most valuable gifts you can give yourself is time .

Taking time to be more fully present. Your journey to become more inspired and connected to the deeper world around us starts right now. ”

But who wants to go to Thailand alone ?

Edie opened Bumble and started swiping. What was wrong with her?

Bad dates, bad boyfriends, bad choice after bad choice—until here she was, buzzed in the back of an Uber at 9:13 p.m. on a Tuesday, reckoning with the fact that if something didn’t change soon, she was absolutely going to die alone, most likely crushed to death by her bookshelf while reaching for a tattered copy of Little Women .

She’d be found weeks later, nibbled to the bone by cats.

Because surely by then she’d have multiple cats.

Left, left, right, left, right, right, left she swiped.

Guys who “just wanted to fuck.” Guys in “consensual non-monogamous” relationships.

Guys looking for someone “spontaneous” to travel and run with, #fitlife #vegan.

Guys in cars. Guys lounging against cars.

Guys holding fish. Guys holding a woman’s hand, the rest of her body amputated out of the photo.

Guys pulling down the waistband of their jeans to present the top of their pubes.

It was exhausting. But she was thirty-five years old, and as Dave had just reminded her, there was literally no time to waste.

Suddenly Edie wondered if a thirty-five-year-old woman who’d had the kind of one-night stands she’d had—where a man spooged in her hair with complete disregard for her wash cycle, or who’d penetrated her anally with his thumb after buying her a single Coors Light at a street festival—could even wear a white dress down the aisle.

Everything was starting to feel too late too late too late , and the more Edie felt her dreams slipping away, the more frantic she became.

She needed more wine.

“Learn from every mistake,” Oprah said as Edie trudged up the steps to her apartment, “because every experience, particularly your mistakes, are there to teach you and force you into being more of who you are.”

Edie paused and stared at her front door.

This apartment had been a real fucking mistake.

“If you’re still breathing, you have a second chance,” encouraged Oprah.

Edie sighed and unlocked the door, opening it directly into a tower of unpacked moving boxes.

She slid inside through a crack. The apartment was like a storage facility, crammed with boxes and bags and unplaced furniture, all of which Edie had fastidiously ignored since the movers dropped them off a month ago.

Edie threw her purse on the floor and stripped off her date-night clothes, leaving them in a puddle.

She plucked a T-shirt with brUNCH SO HARD printed across the chest from the couch, put it on, and made her way to the kitchen.

“Hey, Nacho,” she said to her cat Nacho Bell Grande, who was meowing and circling. She dumped food into his bowl and all over the floor.

Edie returned to the living room with her favorite CLASS OF ’03 mug filled to the brim with boxed rosé.

She made her way to the brand-new couch that she and Brian had ordered at IKEA on a blissful day in spring when they were drunk on the thirtysomething’s aphrodisiac—Swedish meatballs and plans for the future.

He’d held her hand and discussed plates and bowls like they mattered.

He’d pinched her butt with a pair of salad tongs.

And when they’d reached the display of sleek Swedish bathrooms, he’d unbuckled his belt and pretended to use the fake toilet, which was dumb— so dumb!

—but had made her laugh anyway because Brian had this way of making dad jokes seem sweet and original.

And when she pulled him away, laughing, he took her in his arms, right there in the middle of the aisle, with all the people rushing to make their own fresh starts swirling around them, and he’d buried his face in her hair and whispered he loved her.

But who wanted to think about that now? Edie threw herself onto the couch and turned on E!

. Was it too much to want to love and be loved in return?

To have someone to go to dinner with? Someone who’d have to text her back because vows ?

She gulped some wine and ruminated over what miracle of science had produced Kim, Khloé, and Kylie’s respective asses as they appeared on-screen.

Sure, of course Edie wanted an impossibly tiny waist. Of course she wanted to look like she’d shoved balloons down her bra and up her shorts, even if it did seem to make simple locomotion a challenge.

But how could she be expected to diet or exercise or get plastic surgery when she had a broken heart?

Edie opened her phone and stared at the last message Brian had sent her: I think Rachel and I are getting back together :/

Edie’s entire life decided by some rudimentary sad face emoji.

Like clockwork, the rush of memories flooded Edie’s brain, hot and shameful.

There she was at her office, six weeks ago, the fabric of her desk chair itchy under her thighs because it was a Thursday and she’d dressed up for the team meeting.

The overwhelming floral scent of Barb’s perfume when Edie burst into the bathroom.

The sweat that had engulfed her entire body as she stared at her phone, at that little colon and slash, wondering what the fuck was happening.

We are moving in together. We’ve just signed the lease.

The ensuing phone call, which he’d waited until the very last ring to pick up, Edie whisper-yelling in the tiny stall.

He was sorry, but this was what was best for Cayden.

It just happened . Brian had loved his time with Edie.

Edie was great. But, you know, Brian had a family .

Now Edie felt the tears coming in hot, so she turned her attention back to the TV, and that’s when, out of nowhere, the answer to all her questions—to where her life was truly headed—appeared.

Because right there on Edie’s TV was her One True Love.

But then the connection dropped, the television went black, and Edie was left rubbing her eyes, wondering if she’d passed out and entered some peculiar dream.

But then the screen flickered and he appeared again, inexplicably wearing a FREE TIBET T-shirt.

He was standing next to, of all people, Ryan Seacrest .

Edie sat up quickly, and the coffee mug of rosé she’d been balancing on her stomach plunged to the floor.

“Hey, guys, I’m Ryan Seacrest and this is E! News Now . The hunt for love is on as twenty of America’s most eligible bachelorettes descend upon Los Angeles to meet Bennett Charles—”

Edie felt dizzy as she crawled toward the TV.

Starring in a glossy montage of extreme sports and white-savior philanthropy was her high school boyfriend.

It seemed strange that Ryan kept calling him Bennett Charles when his name was Charlie Bennett.

And he was nothing like she remembered—her Charlie was shy and nervous and chewed his nails and read fantasy novels and wore weird clothes and was sort of chunky and splotchy all over.

But this—this was an unbelievably grown-up, Us Weekly cover version of Charlie.

There he was on Edie’s TV, skiing off the top of a mountain, hanging from a rock face by one hand, kayaking down a waterfall, photographing children in Nepal with prayer flags flapping against temple walls, playing an acoustic guitar for tribespeople in Africa, and, with his eyes closed and a beatific expression on his gorgeous face, taking an outdoor shower?

Edie, rising to her knees, was suddenly self-conscious. She adjusted the elastic of her giant underpants, which despite their ample coverage had ridden into her butt crack.

“—activist, adventurer, entrepreneur, amateur photographer, musician, wow, this guy does it all!” Ryan continued.

“Bennett, after scandal rocked The Key ’s incoming suitor, Wyatt Cash, it looked like this season might be canceled.

But then your popular Instagram @Sherpa4U came out of nowhere and landed you the job!

Are you ready to find love on this epic ten-week journey? ”

Wait, WHAT?

Edie’s eyes went huge, and she put her hand over her mouth.

Charlie Bennett aw-shucks smiled, just a humble everyman with an active CrossFit membership.

“Listen, Ryan, I’ve rappelled into active volcanoes, summited the world’s tallest peaks, even ridden a yak across the Nepalese tundra to deliver life-saving medicine to victims of the Tibetan diaspora.

And still, nothing’s prepared me for this!

Being on The Key is by far the scariest thing I’ve ever done, but I know”—he looked directly into the camera, and Edie felt her stomach flip—“I’m going to find my soulmate on this adventure.

And that I’ll give her the Key to My Heart. Forever.”

Their eyes met. He smiled, revealing that one crooked tooth she’d always adored, and suddenly Edie understood that their connection transcended space and time and knew, with absolute certainty, that Charlie Bennett was, and had always been, her One True Love.

“Holy shit.” She sat down hard in the puddle of rosé. “Fuck.”