“you’ve got nothing to lose”
Boy meets girl. In a cute way, like they reach for the same avocado at Whole Foods, or she accidentally takes his cappuccino at Starbucks and their hands meet. Overpriced edible goods are crucial. He asks her out, and even though that big work presentation is coming up, she says yes. “You’ve got nothing to lose,” her devastatingly-attractive-yet-platonic-male sidekick says.
Boy meets girl. It’s not cute, because she’s mindlessly swiping on Tinder while microwaving a Lean Cuisine. She sends him a GIF, and he responds with another GIF, and their conversation is GIF after GIF until he decides to break the pattern. His sarcasm doesn’t always register over text, but she decides to go out with him anyway. “Don’t get your hopes up for a boy from the internet,” her mom says.
They go on a date. The connection is instant—their brunch turns into a full-day affair, somehow visiting every farmers market in the tri-state area without having to stop to pee. But that big work presentation is coming up, so she departs. They go home to their respective roommates and declare they’ve found “the one.”
They go on a date. They don’t connect immediately, likely because she’s 20 minutes late, having gone to the wrong restaurant because he had misspelled his suggestion over text. Conversation flows eventually, though—they bond over their shared allergy to shellfish, and he shows her cool pictures from his trip to the Grand Canyon, and she likes that he doesn’t talk about it for the whole dinner. He walks her back to her apartment and kisses her on the forehead, which he thinks is sweet but she thinks is too paternal. Her roommate is asleep.
He texts her the day after to see her again. They begin dating regularly, and she appreciates his gestures of affection, ranging from a casual run-in with his cousin Usher to having family friend, Gordon Ramsay, cook them beef Wellington. She realizes that her big work presentation might not be the most important thing in the world.
He texts her the day after to see her again. She doesn’t like that he said he wanted to “hang out. “What is this, a playdate?” she asks her roommate, who doesn’t really care—but agrees. Soon, they see each other more and more, and when her mom asks if she’s with anyone, she says, “I think so,” and listens to her mom deliver the classic rant about labels.
They grow closer. She makes him dinner, and in that moment he realizes he loves her.
They grow closer. She makes him dinner, and in that moment he realizes he doesn’t like caramelized onions.
They open up to each other. She breaks down about her big work presentation. He consoles her, telling her he will be there for her and plans to help her rehearse every day.
They open up to each other. He admits his hypochondria and how he thinks he has arthritis. She tries to stop cracking her knuckles for him. She still does it, but he appreciates the effort.
Things take a turn for the worse. The night before her big work presentation, he won’t pick up his phone. She calls his best friend, who says he’s at pasta with Margot.
Things take a turn for the worse. She sees a picture of him on Facebook posing with another girl. She checks out the girl’s profile and sees past pictures of them together.
Still, she perseveres. Aided by the no-nonsense support of her sidekick, she does her big work presentation, and it goes well. He shows up at the end to congratulate her, saying that he didn’t help her the night before because he wanted her to find the strength within. They embrace and declare their love for one another. Due to a writer’s oversight, “pasta with Margot” goes unexplained.
Still, she perseveres. As in, she texts him to ask about the girl, and he explains that she’s his cousin. He sends her a heart-eyed emoji to express his thanks for her understanding.
They live happily ever after.
They break up a few months later when he falls asleep during sex.