Point, Click, Love by Molly Shapiro Page A

a freestanding single-family home. Almost ten years later, with a good job and plenty of money, she decided it was finally time. So she bought a house in an upscale development near her office. With four bedrooms, three and a half baths, and a finished basement, it was much more than she needed, but she couldn’t get over the fact that she could have such a huge house for the same amount as a nice studio in New York would cost. Besides, she would be able to host her family and friends if they ever decided to visit her in Kansas City, something that still hadn’t happened in almost ten years.
    Annie was also tired of hanging out with single people. She was tired of going to bars and clubs and cool new restaurants, tired of shopping for sexy clothes in expensive boutiques, and, most of all, tired of talking about men. It seemed to Annie that no matter the news of the day, whether it be a war, a mass shooting, a mishandled hurricane evacuation, or a significant election, all the single women around her preferred to talk about men. They talked about how to meet them, where to meet them, how wonderful they were, and how horrible they were. More often than not, they alternately characterized men as unevolved infantile bores or as sex objects. And yet it seemed to Annie that these bland pieces of meat took up most of their time and attention.
    So she found herself gravitating toward married women. The married women, particularly those with children, had a kind of calm about them that Annie admired. Yes, they appeared frazzled and stressed on the outside as they juggled their jobs, husbands, and kids, but they were free from the inner turmoil that seemed to plague so many single women in their thirties, free from the question mark that constantly hung over their lives.
    Her first married friend was Claudia, who worked for thePR agency that Annie had hired. While Annie had adapted well to the nice, polite, middle-of-the-road midwestern way, she was thrilled to meet Claudia, who with her brash, confident, lefty sensibility seemed to have been flown in directly from New York City.
    It wasn’t until their fifth meeting at the PR agency’s office that Annie finally worked up the nerve to ask Claudia to go out after work. “Would you like to go have a drink?” she asked shyly.
    “Um, sure,” said Claudia, sounding a bit hesitant.
    As they sat at the bar of a nearby restaurant in awkward silence, Annie realized: Claudia must think I’m interested in her. She decided to nip it in the bud right away. “I hope you don’t think I’m making a move on you or anything,” said Annie. When the words left her mouth she experienced a brief moment of mortification, but that quickly passed when she noticed Claudia’s entire body relax with relief.
    “Well, yes. I did.”
    “Oh, wow. Sorry about that.”
    “No problem. I have to admit, I was a little excited, because I’ve never been hit on by a woman before. I guess I still haven’t.”
    “So you thought I was a lesbian?” asked Annie.
    “To be perfectly honest, I’ve thought you were a lesbian for a while now.”
    “Really? Am I butch?” Annie asked, tugging on her long, straight brown hair as if to say: “This is not the hair of a lesbian!”
    “No!” said Claudia. “I don’t know. There’s something different about you.”
    “What is it?” asked Annie, clutching her face with both hands, turning from side to side so Claudia could see her from a variety of angles.
    “Maybe you don’t seem to be interested in men.”
    “It’s true, I’m not!” said Annie excitedly, impressed by Claudia’s first observation and eager to hear more.
    “Like that Jerry guy. All the women in your division are nuts for him. They get all flustered when they talk to him. They can’t look him in the eye. But you, you don’t seem to care a bit.”
    “Interesting,” said Annie. “You’re right. I don’t care.”
    “Maybe he’s just not your type.”
    Annie knew that Jerry was