Page 7 of Tinder B@ng

Four

I can feel the steam literally coming out of my ears. No wonder Kate was acting like a bitch in season. She saw me on a dating app, she thinks I am out there trolling for a woman.

“Calm down, Dad,” Lycan says. The exact thing not to say to anyone who is about to go over to the dark side and murder your ass.

“I’m calm, but I suggest you start explaining. Before I’m not calm.”

“We signed you up to Tinder; we wanted to see if anyone would date you,” Tala says helpfully.

I rub the bridge of my nose, the headache that comes with having a cunning set of triplets starting to flare up. “I’m going to kill you.”

“It’s not that bad,” Fallon adds. Not convincingly, either.

“I was molested by a crazy woman at the golf club today!” My voice starts getting louder. “Because she thought I was on the market.” I pace up and down. “My dry cleaning lady wouldn’t make eye contact with me! What did you put on there?” Jesus! I can’t trust them to book their own air tickets, now they are selling me like a prize bull on the internet. “Are you all fucking insane?” I am having a hard time breathing, is this a panic attack? “I have a reputation, people fucking know me. Did you use my real name?”

“Of course, you have to if you want your account verified. No one swipes on accounts that don’t have a blue tick,” Tala says, like it’s a well-known fact. This is the part where I realize that I have failed as a parent completely. My almost-adult children are idiots, Ivy League educated idiots. “It’s not that bad, Dad. You’re not too old to get married again, you know.”

“I don’t want to get married again. Ever. That’s why I don’t date. Women dating men my age have certain expectations, and a big fat diamond is one of them.”

“Then just put DTF or FWB in your bio. Problem solved,” Fallon says.

“DTF? FWB?” I don’t talk teenage-moron.

“It means no strings attached, you can put that in there, too. All the sex, maybe some dates, but no wifeys need apply.” Lycan fills in the blanks. I’m still confused and steaming with rage. How do these children survive in the real world?

“And women actually fall for that?” I ask.

“Not everyone wants to get wifed up, Dad,” Tala says.

“Some just want their pipes cleaned on the regular,” Fallon chimes in. “It’s like a shop, you check out the merchandise, read the ingredients, and then you decide if you swipe left or right. It isn’t rocket science. It’s Tinder.” They make it sound like a meat market.

“Okay, well, if I am dating, then put the thing on my phone so it’s at least me doing the dating!” I throw my phone at Lycan. “And don’t add tok-tik and instafam or any of that social media shit. I just deleted all the crap you added at Christmas.” They laugh at me, and Lycan taps away at the screen of my iPhone like it’s second nature to him.

“I’ll show you how it works.” Tala plonks down next to me at the kitchen counter, and starts talking about super-likes and inboxes. She even has a chat about internet safety. Like I don’t watch crime-night on TV. At least this way I can just switch the thing off, and they’ll be none the wiser for it. I pocket my phone after a short course in window shopping for wives.

“While you three, I mean four, are here, we need to chat about your birthday.” That perks up the girls’ attention. “I have booked the basics for a party, but you guys need to get involved and tell me what you’d like.”

“I want a dress from Oakley Thorne, please, Dad. Please,” is the first thing Tala says with bright eyes and a giant smile. “Where did you book? Can I do the invites? Oh, and who’s catering?” I knew she’d love all the hullabaloo of a big party. They’re turning twenty-one. It’s a big one, their mother did all the other big ones — it’s my turn. I won’t lie, I am a little excited about that fact. Party planning does not excite me, but I have an ex-assistant to deal with it.

“You can call Sharon, and sit down with her. She’s arranged what she can. Then you have free rein to do the rest.”

“No budget?” Tala asks. Like they’ve ever had a budget for anything.

“It’s your birthday, just please include your brothers so they get what they want too.” The two girls bounce off together with an iPad and their phones, their excitement contagious.

“Do we get an after party? One where the actual adults are uninvited?” Lycan asks. I knew it would come up.

“Yes, I’ve booked a place in the city for you lot to stay after the civilized part of the night is over. So none of you drink, drive, or walk anywhere.” I am no fool, I know the rich kids will want to ‘sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll’ after the dinner and dancing is done with. I’d also rather know where they are so arranging for it was better than letting them lose in the city unsupervised.

“She can help!” Tala squeals with delight. I have no doubt over the dress that was her first thought. “And they do tuxes, for you heathens.” She points to her brothers, and then turns to me, “Thank you, Dad, I arranged for you to get one too. So we all match.” I get a hug, and while I know it’s a thank you hug, it feels great to have them close and be able to make them happy. We ordered in sushi, and sat around the living room. The party excitement keeps them all chatting, and texting friends, and making calls and fighting — of course — over who can and can’t come. Who knew that you could have that many enemies at their age? I listen to the party chatter, and excitement. Also I hear the wild gift requests, and decide that’s my exit cue. New polo ponies and sports cars top the list. Typical requests from children in our circles, a pony has been on Tala’s list every year since she was four, and I think she’s actually had nine since then. Since she plays polo-cross, it’s like getting Lycan a baseball mitt — she needs one every other year. My sons, however, don’t need fast cars or motorcycles they can kill themselves with. This year, I have bought them all an apartment. I think they need the lesson on investment.

In the quiet of my study, I open the envelope containing my newest stamp; I bought it from a collector in Europe. The courier delivered the package while I was at golf, but I didn’t want to open it until I was alone and could quietly appreciate the rarity of my purchase. I open the padded envelope carefully with a letter opener, careful not to tear or damage anything inside. I didn’t pay a fortune for this to rip open the package with the excitement that’s bubbling inside me. I didn’t finally get the ‘CIA Invert’ and pay twenty-five thousand dollars for it, to ruin it.

Patience, something I have loads of. I slowly unpackage the precious, one inch of paper. Not many people understand the currency of collectables, or the value of something like this — crypto-money isn’t going to last forever. Tangible things, those hold value. Gold, diamonds — stamps. If you know what you are buying, these things are where wealth can easily be hidden and moved.

Imagine world war — not hard these days. You need to flee the country, they’ll search you for money, metals, jewels. But, a one inch square of paper like my ‘Inverted Jenny’ is worth over a million dollars anywhere in the world, and no one will see it. I’m a planner, I like to have an exit strategy for every possible situation. I also just like the high of hunting down a rare stamp and buying it. The thrill of the chase.

I carefully put my new acquisition into a special acid free sleeve, and place it in the temperature controlled storage cabinet. Pausing for a moment to admire my collection before resetting the electronic lock. My phone is vibrating in my pocket, and I wonder why my kids are texting me from inside the house. They know where I am. I pull it out and sit in the big leather recliner near the windows. It’s not my children. I wish it was.