Sorry, I'm Really Not an Eight-Figure Man

Chapter 2: The Aster File

I called Aster Matchmaking the next morning from the break room at work.

A coffee machine rattled behind me while I waited for Lydia's assistant to pick up. When she did, I asked for the person who had handled my profile.

"Lydia is with a client," the assistant said. "Can I take a message?"

"I need to correct my listing. I was labeled A8."

There was a short pause. "That's our highest asset tier."

"I know what Claire thinks it means. I'm asking how it got there."

"I can't discuss another client's file."

"I'm not asking about Claire. I'm asking about mine."

The assistant asked me to hold. I watched a coworker fill a mug, stir in cream, and leave with his phone pressed to his ear. A minute later, Lydia came on the line.

"Evan," she said brightly. "How was dinner?"

"I need you to change my profile."

"I was just going to call you. Claire said you had a lovely time."

"She also thinks I have eight figures."

"I didn't tell her that."

"You told her A8."

"Our tier codes aren't designed to be discussed over dinner."

"Then why did you give her the code?"

"We use categories to match clients discreetly. A8 means high net worth."

"That's exactly what she thinks it means."

Lydia made a small, patient sound. I pictured her sitting behind the glass desk at Aster's office, looking over the neat rows of files she managed.

"Your intake form indicated that you had substantial assets," she said.

"I filled out the form online. I checked the box that said I had more than eight hundred thousand dollars in combined assets."

"Which places you in the upper tier."

"The label is A8."

"Your home equity and retirement accounts brought you into that bracket."

"My home equity?" I was standing in the break room with one hand on the counter. "I rent."

"You reported a residence valued at eight hundred thousand."

"I entered the estimated value of the municipal pumping facility in the work history section. It asked for the value of the primary property associated with my employment."

Silence.

"My profile says I own a pumping station?"

"I can't access the screen from here."

"Then please check."

"Evan, it sounds like there may have been a misunderstanding. I'm happy to review your information."

"I'm not asking for a favor. I'm asking you to correct it before another person sees it."

"Of course."

"And contact Claire. Tell her it was an error."

Lydia's bright tone dimmed. "That could be awkward for her."

"It's already awkward for me."

"I can handle it delicately."

"Handle it accurately."

I ended the call after getting her promise. I stood in the break room for another minute, listening to the coffee machine finish its cycle.

When I got back to my desk, the workday waited exactly where I'd left it. A contractor had sent a revised plan set for the North Pier drainage project. My supervisor, Martin, had marked three pages for review. Pipes didn't care about asset tiers. They either carried the water or they didn't.

That evening, Claire texted.

Claire: I hope I didn't make you feel interrogated.

I read it twice before answering.

Evan: You didn't. I just want to be clear that A8 is a mistake.

Claire: I hear you.

I put my phone down. A few seconds later, the screen lit up again.

Claire: I'm not interested in your net worth. I'm interested in who you are.

I didn't know how to reply without sounding defensive, so I wrote:

Evan: I'd like to keep getting to know each other.

Claire: Then let's do that.

We met again two days later at a used bookstore near the harbor. I arrived ten minutes early and spent those ten minutes reading the back cover of a mystery novel. Claire came in wearing a green coat and a scarf with small yellow flowers.

"You look like a man who's trying to decide whether a book is worth the full price," she said.

"I'm trying to decide whether the mystery is more compelling than my student loans."

"Do the loans have a twist ending?"

"They keep coming back."

She laughed. We wandered through the aisles, trading titles. She showed me a book of watercolor techniques she'd used for class. I showed her a field guide to coastal plants that I'd bought for a project and never opened.

For an hour, we were simply two people in a bookstore. I caught myself relaxing.

Then Claire held up a glossy brochure by the register. It showed a cliffside estate surrounded by lawn.

"Would you ever buy a place like this?" she asked.

"No."

"Not even if you could?"

"I wouldn't want the upkeep."

"You really dislike the idea of having money."

"I don't dislike money. I like being able to pay my bills. I don't like pretending that a mistaken profile belongs to me."

She lowered the brochure. "I'm sorry. I was curious."

"I know."

"Lydia said she was going to call me."

"Did she?"

"No."

I felt the familiar irritation return. "I'll call her again."

"Don't," Claire said. "I don't want to make this more awkward."

"She gave you false information."

"I can make my own decisions about what I believe."

"You can. But I'd prefer you believe me."

She looked down at the brochure before putting it back. "I'm trying."

I wanted that to be enough. We walked out together and got coffee from a place next door. I listened to her tell me about the school's spring art showcase. She listened to me explain why the town had to replace an old flood gate before the next storm season.

When we parted, she kissed my cheek.

The warmth of it stayed with me on the ride home. So did the sense that we were building something on top of a story I hadn't told.