I'm at my archaic sewing machine trying to piece together what's supposed to be a dress when Kat comes flying into my apartment.
"Your worries are over, my dear friend. I have found the most epic solution to your problem, and it literally landed right on my desk." She heads straight for my refrigerator and pours herself a glass from a pitcher of fruit-infused water I made the day before.
"Which problem might that be?"
She produces a wrinkled up piece of paper from her purse that's got scribbles and yellow highlighter all over it. "Your man problem," she says.
"Kat…no. I'm fine."
"You're not. You haven't gotten laid in three years, girl. You're twenty-five years old. As your best friend, I cannot let your vag suffer for another year."
Scowling at her in disgust, I pull the dress out from the machine. "My vag is fine, thank you very much."
"That material is fabulous!" she exclaims, fingering the soft, patterned dress. "You will have to make me something from this. And your vag is not fine; it’s a desolate black hole screaming for love and pounding."
"I'm pretty sure it's not."
"It is. I can hear it. But this—" she holds up the paper "—is going to change that. And so much more."
Rubbing my head as it starts to throb, I squint at the paper. "What is that?"
"This is the coolest social experiment I have ever heard of."
Anything with the word "experiment" in it cannot be good. "I'm already scared, but go on."
"Well, Dr. Hollister is heading up this project. I've been typing up all the notes and outlines for her, and I just got so excited, because this is the coolest thing ever. If I didn't have a guy already, I'd be begging her to let me join in on this."
"Dr. Hollister, your boss? The relationship expert?" Kat is basically a secretary and research assistant.
"She prefers relationship coach, but yes. So what they're doing is meeting with a bunch of single people like yourself and putting them through this crazy-ass interview process, and then they match you up with the perfect partner. Then, you marry them and live together for six months—like legit marriage, a wedding, all that shizz."
I stare at her in horror, completely dumbstruck by the mere idea of this, but she ignores my expression and continues. "During that time, you have to keep a detailed journal of everything that happens, even the juicy stuff. At the end of the six months, you can either stay with the guy, if things are working out, or you get a divorce. And, are you ready for this?" She steps closer to me. "You get paid fifty-thousand dollars. Asia, this could change your life. You might find an amazing husband, and you will finally be able to get out of this fucking ghetto! Either way, it's a total win."
Cringing at her ghetto comment, I stand up and carry my dress over to my worktable in the corner. "Or I could end up heartbroken. Or pregnant. Or with a total asshole. Or murdered, cut up, and left in a freezer somewhere. Seriously, it's a crazy idea."
She rolls her eyes at me. "Please. This is run by a team of psychologists and experts. Everyone will be evaluated before they are chosen. Dr. Hollister is very serious about her work. She's not going to let a bunch of freaks participate in this and cause her embarrassment."
Fifty-thousand dollars. That kind of money is the equivalent of living on Mars to me. It will seriously never happen. But if it did? Holy crap, I cannot even fathom how different my life could be, to have some financial stability. To live somewhere safe. To not worry about how I'm going to feed myself and my cat.