Fred would volunteer to do someone else’s taxes before he’d freely walk into a club. He’s quiet and contemplative and not into sweating all over strange women. Which is one of the many reasons I really wish he’d just date my sister already. He’s a stand-up guy and pretty much the opposite of everyone she’s ever dated. I’ve been angling for years to set them up, but Vera has told me to shove my dating suggestions up my ass in about a thousand colorful ways, and Fred has become very adept at changing the subject. I wish they’d stop being stubborn and just meet one another already. I’m positive I’m right about them being a match.

“I had . . . kind of a date?” I tell him by way of an explanation for my first club experience in half a decade.

“Really? With who?”

I give him the short version. “With a wrong number I didn’t mean to text. We’ve been talking a fair amount.”

“So you decided to meet up with her at a club?” He still looks like he has absolutely no idea why anyone would ever do such a thing. I almost laugh at the expression on his face.

“Well, technically we didn’t meet up.”

He cocks his head and waits for me to explain.

“Because, technically, I don’t know who she is.”

His brow furrows but still he patiently waits for me to continue.

“Because, technically, she won’t tell me who she is. Even though, technically, we’ve already met at some point before.”

“So . . . you went to the club . . .” He shakes the cobwebs out of his head. “To meet a woman you simultaneously know and don’t know. But you didn’t meet up with her. And then you came home.”

“Yup.”

“Well . . . okay?”

I laugh. “I like her.”

“Like, romantically?” He looks slightly unsure how to have this conversation. Fred doesn’t often talk about romance.

“I think so? It’s kind of hard to tell, since I don’t know who she is.”

“Right. That eensy-weensy detail.”