The Denouement
I’d been ke eping my pregnancy news from my clients, convincing myself that while a quick flash of my
engagement ring might feel aspirational for some, a baby bump might be a st ep too far—at least for
women like Callie who desperately wanted children. (Fertility clinics are known to ban kids from their
waiting rooms for this very reason.) I couldn’t hide my good fortune at the next industry meetup I attended,
though, especially because an in-the-know colleague had already spilled the beans to everyone before I
even got there. Normally I might have been upset, but thanks to the welcomed subsiding of my raging
hormones in the second trimester, I only felt positive energy that day. In fact, I barely cared when Dana
started peddling more hot air about her still-super-topsecret technology, and even chimed in when Melody
started bragging about a recent magazine profile. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?” I heard myself gush about
her. (And I didn’t gag after.) I was particularly delighted to see Daliya, a redheaded
comedian-turnedtherapist who was a couple of months away from pushing out a baby herself, and planned
to mine her for advice. International Jewish matchmaker and a US
Dating Awards’ “Best New Dating Personality” winner, Jessica from Fass Pass to Love, was also present,
along with Jenny from Jenny Apple Matchmaking. Those two were the first to immediately embrace me in
the community and offer valuable words of advice. Jess, who always left a memorable impression with her
signature glasses and Mayim Bialik–style delivery, sat across from me, and I listened amusedly as another
matchmaker complained to her about an industrywide “problem.” “Can you believe it? I matched her
successfully after two months, and now she wants a partial refund because she still had time left on her
membership! I’m like, girl, are you kidding me?” “That’s ridiculous,” Jess agreed. “Next thing you know,
she won’t even tip you when they make it to the chuppah!” She referred to the canopy Jewish couples
customarily stand under when they get married. Some matchmakers go so far as to make tipping a
requirement in their contracts, provided they make a successful match. Tips are another way for a
matchmaker to optimize revenue, but one that leaves me feeling conflicted. In a twisted way, forcing a tip
feels like “punishing” someone for finding love, and the last thing I wanted to do was disincentivize
anyone. (I imagined a male client being on the fence about a possible second date with someone, but rather
than considering the near future only, he opts to reject her, because he can’t imagine a world where she’d
be worth the thousand-dollar tip later.) That said, I’m a bit envious of those who insist on tangible proof of
gratitude for our Herculean efforts, and I’m constantly reevaluating. “Hopefully she’ll at least let you post
about it,” I willed. “If they end up getting married.” I considered that a win, since most couples I’d
matched over the years didn’t even want their names mentioned on my website. Some people feel a stigma
about being introduced by a professional dating service, the way some early adopters of online dating used
to. “We met through a friend,” they’d tell others. Or “at a bar.” But I could sense all that starting to change.
We had a couple more spirited discussions, including one about the “Three- Day Rule.” (The theory
stipulates that waiting three days after a first date is optimal before contacting a romantic partner. Reaching
out the next day supposedly makes you appear too eager, and experts claim texting or calling on
the second day feels calculated, making the third day the “sweet spot” to reach out.) I smiled, recalling a
similar conversation I had with Kent. “Why wait three days when you can make ’em wait five?” His eyes
twinkled, as they often did when he was soliciting a reaction. “Make ’em sweat a little, don’t you think?” I
doubted he intentionally made Rita sweat in the anxiety-inducing kind of way since they started dating.
Meeting her had helped him become the best version of himself, and last I heard, he was in the process of
moving into her Calabasas home with her and her cat. While I think the “Three-Day Rule” could work
with someone on the fence about you, if you have an obvious connection with someone, and they’re ready
for a relationship, they’ll be glad to hear from you sooner rather than later. I’d also encourage you not to
write off someone who didn’t contact you “soon enough.” It’s possible they were preoccupied with
something else important, or were given bad advice! Before we could settle the debate, Bianca—who, I
have to say, was wearing an especially chic pantsuit today—broke in to boast about the newest client she’d
just signed: a former news r eporter who’d been married to a professional athlete. “Wait, you’re not talking
about Kimberly, are you?!” I exclaimed mirthfully. “Oh my gosh, yes!” Bianca squealed with a mixture of
excitement and surprise, like a pirate who stumbled upon a treasure box only to discover some coins had
already been taken. “Don’t tell me she tried you too.” “For a short time, but I ended up referring her out.”
“Same, same!” Jessica interjected. “Oh no.” Bianca frowned, realizing her “amazing” new client was
already known in our community. “I loved her during her intake. But now I feel like I should be worried.”
“No,” I assured her. “Kim is great. She’s just exc eptionally picky.” “I know.” Bianca groaned, recalling
the specifics. “She said no short dudes, liberal ones, or men who live west of the 405. Even though her
mom does.” “I’m just glad she’s your client now and not mine,” I chuckled, and meant it. From what I
could tell, Bianca seemed genuinely invested in helping Kimberly find a partner.
“What about that film publicist client of yours?” she asked me earnestly. “Did you ever end up finding her
someone?” I was shocked. I’d only briefly passed Meera’s photo around at the last gathering, and
wrongfully assumed that most of my colleagues hadn’t been paying attention. “I didn’t,” I shared
truthfully. “But she did meet someone on her own, and I’m optimistic.” “Was she a coaching client of
yours too?” I nodded. “Good for you, Jaydi. That has to feel so rewarding.” I couldn’t believe I was vibing
with the same woman from one of the matchmaking corporations I took such issue with only a year before.
Maybe Maria Avgitidis, Michelle Jacoby, and Laurie Berzack, cofounders of the Matchmakers
Alliance—a not-for-profit organization and powerhouse community for dating professionals to network
and collaborate—were onto something. We all have a lot to learn from each other. Some of us cling to a
traditional approach. Others perform shamanic water spirit healing or program their own computer
algorithms. But despite our differences, we all share a rare understanding of the incredible times when two
clients we’ve introduced get engaged or name a baby after us—and the soul-crushing days when it feels
like we’re getting berated by the very people we’re trying to help most. To celebrate the joys and—let’s
face it—to troubleshoot, we’ll always have each other.
A couple of months later, I was thrilled when Meera invited Dave and me on a double date. Her
suggestion, Shibuya—where we had our prior run-in—was intentionally comedic. I’d never been “asked
out” by a client before, and wasn’t quite sure how to respond. In the end, the temptation was too much for
me to ignore, and I excitedly took her up on the offer. The professor Meera was seeing was named Max, I
learned, and between Dave and me, we probably made one “Miramax” joke too many—fitting, if you ask
me, given that the happy couple met at the movies. Apparently, unlike some clients who “hide” their
matchmaker, Meera proudly shared with Max tidbits
about her journey with me, and he was the one who’d suggested including Dave and me in their
six-month-anniversary dinner. “Does it feel weird?” Max asked. “Running into Meera here on purpose?”
“Actually, it couldn’t feel more right—even if I can only eat veggie rolls.” I rubbed my now very pregnant
belly for added effect. As Max toasted to the exciting updates in all our lives, I felt incredibly proud. When
I first met Meera, she was walking around in a constant state of mourning for a life she felt she deserved to
lead, unsure whether she would ever have it. She was metaphorically unconscious, waiting for her Prince
Charming to rescue her. Now, thanks to rescuing herself, she was getting treated like a princess. While I
liked to think I played a small part in her transformation, she ultimately had to be the one to love the
person she was, and will continue to be. She also had to decide how she wanted to be treated. And like I
had decided after my drive home from Bakersfield, she had to be willing not to put up with anything less.
As the men got to know each other, Meera’s phone rang, and I noticed the name “Trevor” pop up on her
screen. If she seemed surprised, she didn’t show it. Instead, she angled the phone toward me and I
watched, delighted, as she blocked his number. Then, as quickly as she’d done it, she asked me what I
thought about the kanpachi.