“I’m so proud of you, babe,” Micky said. “And all the words of wisdom you have for everyone tonight.” She brought a hand to Robin’s neck and kept it there.

“It’s not exclusively for lesbians. Anyone can register, then you just set a preference for whether you’re searching for men or women,” Lou said.

“Which often means you have to go through a lot of fake profiles put up by men stupid enough to believe that’s a great way to bed lesbians,” Robin said.

“You seem to know an awful lot about Tinder, babe,” Micky said. “Should I be worried?”

“Of course not, my love,” Robin said in an exaggerated sweet tone. “But I recently helped Meredith set up a profile. She’s actually been on a few dates already.” She looked as if a lightbulb had just gone off in her head. “Speaking of Meredith…” Robin fixed her gaze on Micky, then on Lou. “We’ll probably encounter her on here, so I can save you the trouble of swiping if you like, and make something happen.”

“No, no, no,” Micky said. “Meredith is not for Lou. She’s a stockbroker, for heaven’s sake. And a CrossFitter like you. She hasn’t set foot in a yoga studio in her life.”

“So? Opposites can attract?” Robin said.

“Do your swiping already,” Micky said. “If we happen to come across Meredith, Lou can decide based on what she looks like.”

“Okay, here we go. Everyone huddle around,” Robin said.

As Lou made her way behind Robin’s chair, so did Micky, Martha and Amber, and she thought about the strange turn the night had taken. But no matter how strange, she was also touched by the interest in her love life—and ultimately her happiness—these four women had taken. Although she was well aware this whole Tinder thing was also just very entertaining for them.

Robin started swiping and the first ten profiles they encountered were either met with a resounding No from everyone or a fake lesbian from Robin, the expert.

“See,” Robin said then. “I told you.”

“That’s Meredith,” Micky said. “Left or right, Lou?”

“Just so you know, she does have a softer side and likes to recite poetry at the Pink Bean open mic nights,” Amber said.

“How’s her poetry?” Lou asked.

“Does it really matter?” Micky asked, agitation in her voice. She was getting very worked up over this.

Lou peered at the screen. Meredith had adopted the typical selfie-pose for her profile picture. It was taken from above to make her face look as skinny as possible and her lips were not exactly drawn into a smile, but more into what was meant to be a seductive sort of pout.

“How old is she?” Lou asked, figuring she could ask that sort of discerning question in the company she was in this evening.

“Thirty-six,” Robin said.