I want toto suesue Hinge

I’m twenty-seven and have only ever been in two relationships. The first I loved, typical for your high school sweetheart, but the second was a disaster (he was a narcissist but so fucking hot).

“Your biological clock is ticking, you know,” says every single mother ever. Including mine. It’s two days after my twenty-seventh birthday and I can still smell the smoke from the birthday candles I’ve just blown out. Two days later and she’s urging me to get a move on.

“There must be some nice guys down in London.”

“Zero.”

“What about Bailey? What’s he doing now? I still think it’s a shame that you had to break up over a matter of distance. The New Zealand thing was only temporary. He’s back home now, isn’t he?”

Bailey the high school sweetheart. We were together from year eight through to thirteen. After that he left to work on some farm in the New Zealand countryside, and the thirteen hour time difference was impossible to work around due to my hairdressing appointment times, and his work schedule. So we broke up. It was hard but like anything, you recover.

“I don’t know why you make such a big deal of it. You only met his mum one time. His dad divorced his mum when she was seven months pregnant with him. Difficult family dynamics. Remember what you said to me as soon as we split, about avoiding a disaster? How it’s never good to wrap yourself in complicated family ties. All the drama. I dodged a bomb, you told me.”

Bailey’s mum Sarah was like a Saint. She made the best cinnamon and raisin cookies and she treated me like I was her daughter. Small, she was – definitely under five foot so Bailey must’ve got his height from his runaway dad, but a sweetheart.

I know what mum is thinking. Bailey is the nice guy. His good skin complexion, height and good manners will promise good offspring. At this point, that’s all the woman cares about.

I roll my eyes, head to my childhood bedroom and begin typing in TikTok on my phone so I can dissociate for an ungodly amount of time. Trainline appears second on the search bar. Two minutes later, my train is booked back down to London.

Coming back up here to my hometown for my birthday was a bad idea.

Is one supposed to get the urge to fall pregnant at twenty-seven? I stare out of the train window and watch sunset mountains roll by at speed as the transport departs Cumbria. I’ve surpassed the age my mom was when she fell pregnant with me. My dad too. Jesus fucking christ. Kids. I’m not ready for that chapter. Birthing a child into the world will mean I’ll have to reduce my hours on my business. I’ll be unable to run a sub three-hours-thirty in a marathon again. I’ll have no abs. Probably no hair from the stress. I still haven’t visited Tokyo yet.

Hinge says hello on my homescreen. I bite my lip contemplating whether or not to open and do a bit of mindless scrolling. It’s always interesting to see what people are up to. Reassuring too.

First guy doesn’t disappoint. Thirty years old. Single. No kids. That uplifts my spirits. I scroll down to see what prompts he’s chosen.