“Because I don’t want you to settle for anything or anyone who isn’t worthy of you.” She tucked a strand of my frizzy hair behind one of my ears. “Listen to me, Lulu Laurent: your happiness is the only thing I envision for you. I know what makes me happy—shallow and silly as you may think I am—but if you want to move to the Arctic and become a dogsled driver, so be it! I’ll buy a Moncler down coat and decorate the hell out of my igloo.”
I snorted, envisioning Muffin’s tongue stuck to the side of Mom’s imaginary ice hut. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Shhh.” She pulled me in for another hug and we stayed there for a long time, until finally a jealous Baguette started pawing at my leg. Mom bent over and picked up the pug in her arms, cradling her as only a mom could.
“All right. So.” She composed herself, standing up straight as Baguette licked her salty cheeks. “When do I finally get to meet this boyfriend?”
I looked down at my feet, my stomach twisting in knots again. “Honestly, I’m not sure he’s going to be my boyfriend for much longer.”
Mom nodded slowly, the memory of Theo’s takedown by Dad probably playing over in her mind’s eye.
“Hmmm. Well then, we have a lot of catching up to do. What time is it? Oh, perfect! We still have another twenty minutes until the Red Hots arrive. Sit down on the couch, and we’ll talk this whole thing out. Do we have any more rosé, or did I drink it all in my frenzy? Oh, Val’s getting Shell-tinis?? Thank goodness! I told Charlie that fake ID would come in handy!”
I guess it’s true what they say: you can never change the spots on a leopard-print robe.
SEPTEMBER 30
* * *
BBC NEWS REPORT
AMERICAN CITIZEN DETAINED IN INDIA LAUNCHES ONLINE CAMPAIGN AGAINST THE U.S. CENTERS FOR DISEASE CONTROL AND PREVENTION
In late May, Arizona native Natasha McPatterson contracted parasites on her academic trip abroad. After she had suffered from extreme symptoms for a month and a half, McPatterson’s illness caught the attention of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Now, McPatterson has started an online campaign against the CDC, asking for the U.S. government to interfere.
“After undergoing multiple Reiki and sound bath treatments, I was declared healthy by three different healers. However, the Centers for Disease Control refuse to acknowledge this as a proper diagnosis, and insists that I see a Western doctor before returning to my home in the United States. This is clear discrimination, and furthers the imperialist narrative that Western medicine is the only legitimate form of medicine. I call upon the U.S. government to release a statement in support of these ancient practices, and for the CDC to release a formal apology. Until that time, I will remain in India, parasite-free, separated from my friends and family. Please show your support by sharing my story.”
Thousands of people have been chiming in on Twitter:
* * *
@Vegan4lyfe
Natasha being denied entry into the U.S. is a slap in the face to all marginalized groups. Disgusted. #PrayForNatasha
* * *
* * *
@IsabellHix3
My yoga teacher does Reiki and swears by it. Haters gonna hate! Fight the good fight, my girl! #PrayForNatasha
* * *
Despite the flood of support, there has been equal backlash against Natasha and her campaign, many questioning whether Ms. McPatterson would pose a threat to national security:
* * *
@terryjohnson19
People are upset b/c she’s being asked to see a doctor? What if she’s contagious? Idk, just seems practical. #prayfornatasha
* * *
* * *
@WORLD_IS_ENDING
Another liberal crybaby pushing the gay agenda. I hope the parasites eat her ugly snowflake guts out. #dont #prayfornatasha
* * *
Month Six
Falling Back
OCTOBER 1
Mama Shell
OCTOBER 2
2:15 P.M.
* * *
After what was virtually a master class in absurdity, I’m happy to report that my mother is back to her old crazy self—and with a vengeance. She’s decided, now that Val is going to college, that it’s time to embrace her newfound freedom as a “renaissance of adolescence.”
“Fifty really is the new thirty,” she said, double-fisting a shot of algae and cayenne water. “And by thirty, I mean twenty-five.”
We spent most of yesterday refilling and reorganizing her closet, which was still a total shambles from her southern belle breakdown. The process was oddly therapeutic, and a wonderful distraction from my seemingly imminent breakup. I’m meeting Theo after work at PAREA today, per his request to talk in person. Mom and I decided on my game plan over Shell-tinis before The Bachelor, but what if Theo doesn’t want to listen? What if he’s already decided that he’s done with me? What if I pour my heart out and he rejects it, like Tyler Jacoby or Megan or the popular girls from my high school did??
Ugh, I simply can’t think about it, lest I get caught in a whirlpool of anxiety and nausea. I’d much rather focus on helping Val with her USC application, answering trivial, lighthearted theoreticals like “What would you do with a billion dollars?” or “If you could have dinner with one person, living or dead, who would it be?”
OCTOBER 3
1:15 P.M.
* * *
Well, if the events of last night prove anything, it’s that expectations are the poorly placed magnets under life’s compass.
I showed up to PAREA half an hour before closing, waiting in the car as super-hip patrons in bowler hats and suspenders lazily made their way out of the restaurant. Occasionally, I’d recognize one of them from the opening party—another chef or waiter Theo had introduced me to—and quickly duck under the steering wheel until they were out of sight to avoid reliving the humiliation. At five past eleven, I finally got out of my car and strode over to the double doors of the restaurant, opening one slightly and peeking inside at the remaining stragglers. It was mostly deserted, with the wooden chairs flipped upside down onto the communal tabletops. I heard Theo’s laugh before I saw him: he was chatting with a coworker in the kitchen, buck teeth on full display. My throat dropped into my stomach as I stared at him for a while, like a stalker, watching as his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He must have felt the heat of my gaze, though, because without any warning, he turned his head to face me—his neck clearly back to its full capability. His ears turned pink against his dark hair net as he mumbled, “See you later,” to his coworker, who swiftly left through the back exit.
“Hi there,” I called out, timidly stepping into the dining room.
“Oh. Hi,” he answered, a bit nervously. We stood in silence for a few seconds, unsure of how to proceed.
I cleared my throat. “How was work?” I decided on, not wanting to jump right into the fate of our relationship.
He nodded lightly, happy to indulge the casual topic. “It was solid. We’re starting to get into a rhythm here.”
“That’s great!” I replied, a bit too loudly. Theo made his way into the dining room, and I could feel my own cheeks burning red. “That’s really good; I’m glad to hear it.”
More silence. I could feel my heart thumping in my throat as I gazed down at Theo’s bright yellow shoelaces.
After what felt like an eternity, he opened his mouth to speak, but I quickly cut him off: “No, wait. I’m going to say something. And if you don’t want anything to do with me by the end of it, then there’s nothing I can do, but at least I’ll know that I said everything I could.”
His brows knit together skeptically, but he nodded. “All right. Go ahead.”
I swallowed hard, trying to push my pulse back into my chest. “Okay, here’s the truth: I didn’t tell my mom about you.”
“I gathered that.”
“It was awful, and I wish I could say it had nothing to do with you, but that wouldn’t be the truth, which is what I prom
ised.” I could feel my hands slightly shaking. I took a deep breath, purposefully keeping them by my sides as I spoke. “Mom’s always been highly critical of the people I’ve dated—few as they have been—and in both of those cases, she was part of the reason things ended…”
Theo crossed his arms, unconvinced. I pushed on, despite my mounting anxiety. “But you weren’t someone I was willing to take that risk with, because honestly, you are the most special person who’s ever come into my life. So, yeah, it had everything to do with you, but not because I was embarrassed. It was because you were important—and you still are.” Another thought suddenly occurred to me: “Also, Natasha never had parasites, and she may very well be facing exile from America…”
“Yeah, I saw that article online.”
“It’s deeply distressing.” I zoned out for a quick moment, envisioning Natasha reading the palms of fellow inmates at an Indian prison. I shook my head to rid myself of the image. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I’m being one hundred percent honest with you from here on out. Not just with you—with Natasha, with my family, especially with myself…”
One of his brows raised. My fingers were itching to fiddle with something, but I forced them to stay still.
“… so I understand if I’ve screwed things up for good, but I really, really hope that I haven’t, because I love you. And I’m lucky to call you my boyfriend. And I want you to be a part of my family, which of course means meeting my parents.”
By the time I finished talking, I was dizzy from all the oxygen I’d failed to get. I inhaled sharply through my nose and watched as Theo’s lips tightened into a thin, thoughtful line.
“Is that all?” he asked bluntly. I blinked at him.
“Yes,” I replied, unsure of what else to say.
He nodded, his brows practically touching, they were so furrowed. Another eternity passed before he finally spoke. “I’m still mad at you.”
I let my head fall to my chest, hanging it in shame. “I understand.”
“You almost got me fired from my job.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“You kept secrets from me and your family for months…”
“I know.”
“… And you still haven’t tried these damn eggs.”
“I—huh?”
I lifted my head, startled by the random food comment. Theo took a few long strides over to where the dining room of PAREA met the kitchen, reached an arm over the counter that divided it, and pulled out a plate of freshly cooked sriracha deviled eggs.
“Your dad ruined these before you had the chance to try them,” he said, slowly walking back over to me with the tray in hand, “and I just couldn’t get over it. No matter what I did. I’d think about the way you lied, and how your dad pretty much beat me up in front of my entire team, and how you may very well have caused an international crisis over Natasha … and despite all of that—no matter how angry or hurt I got—the one thing I kept coming back to this whole week was that you never got to try these stupid eggs, and how I know they’d be your favorite.”
He reached where I was standing and put the eggs down on a table next to me. “So here’s your first truth test, Louie. What do you think of these? I want your honest opinion.”
I stared at the plate and then up at him, dumbfounded. “You—you’re not breaking up with me?”
He shrugged, the faintest hint of a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “Not unless you tell me those aren’t the best eggs you’ve ever tasted.”
I lunged toward him, throwing my arms around his neck and squeezing him as tightly as I could. He wrapped his arms around my waist, hugging me back, and for the first time in weeks, I felt the glorious and overwhelming sensation of relief. We stayed there for who knows how long, reveling in our not-broken-up-ness, until suddenly my dad’s voice came booming from the front of the restaurant: “This time I’ll really break your neck.”
Theo leapt away from me so quickly, I almost lost my balance and landed in the eggs. He instinctually threw both hands over his head in submission as Dad laughed, clearly pleased to have instilled a healthy dose of fear in my boyfriend. Next to Dad stood Mama Shell: hair blown out, mascara on, two shopping bags dangling from her left forearm, gold necklace glimmering on her neck.
“Sorry we’re late, Lulu,” she said, tossing her hair behind one shoulder. “But I just had to pick a few things up at Williams-Sonoma before they closed, and I got a bit sidetracked at the mall. Anyway, they have the most wonderful wheat-free cookbook that I wanted to pick up for you, Theo. Not that you need to lose any weight, of course, but if you’re going to be a part of this family, you’re going to have to learn to curb the carbs.”
Poor Theo swiveled his head back and forth between the three of us Hansens, trying to piece together what on earth was going on. “What, how is…”
“Theo,” I started, not wanting to prolong his confusion, “these are my parents. Mom, Dad: this is Theo.”
“Well, it’s about damn time!” Mom swiftly made her way into the restaurant with outstretched arms. “Oh, Theo, sweetie, we’ve all heard so much about you. Really, we have this time … I promise!”
Epilogue
Month Twelve
Commencement
TIME 100
NATASHA MCPATTERSON
by Grace Franke
When I first heard of Natasha McPatterson, it was in the context of a raging online debate regarding her detention in New Delhi. Little did I know that within a matter of months, this twenty-four-year-old’s influential yet controversial message would send a shock wave down the spines of journalists and artists across the world.
After launching her online campaign against the CDC, McPatterson became the face of an international hot-topic discussion surrounding race, cultural appropriation, globalization, and mental health. The world held its collective breath as she livestreamed herself for seventy-two hours straight—including meals, sleep, and restroom visits—all to prove her physical well-being. When she infamously stepped off the plane and onto U.S. soil, brazenly displaying the word LIAR painted in red across her bare chest, the Internet caught fire. Since confessing that it was all a charade, she has endured death threats and more, yet Ms. McPatterson has held true to her expressed ideals.
Her powerful statement about the authenticity of modern-day reporting pushed the boundaries of performance so far, it has caused many to question the definition of art itself. Duchamp, Warhol, Pollock, Abramović, and now McPatterson … Whether you love her or hate her, it’s impossible to ignore the impact this young woman has had on the global conversation about honest reporting, the spread of false information, and performance art, making her a natural selection for this list.
Now regarded as one of the most controversial performance artists of the last decade, Natasha resides in an artists’ collective somewhere in San Francisco, where she’s developing her latest highly anticipated happening.
* * *
Email
To:
Lou Hansen
From:
Tyler Brian Jacoby
Subject:
Culturevate Opportunity
* * *
Howdy there, stranger!
Well, I told you if the right job presented itself, I would call you first … and I lied.
I’m emailing you first.
Ha-ha-ha! I tease, I tease. Just pulling your leg there, hun.;)
So, how much do you know about the Arts and Culture blog Culturevate? I’m sure you’ve heard of it, but just in case you’re living under a rock, allow me to change your life. It’s a lifestyle website that features all the hottest trends in town … what to do, where to go, who to be seen with, etc., etc. They are big, BIG fans of us here at Holistic—our line of sugar-free fruit is constantly being featured in their “Culture-eats” section—so I’ve developed a pretty stellar rapport with their editor in chief, Linda.
Time to talk shop: she’s looking for a new editorial assistant a
nd asked if I had any referrals. They want someone sharp, good with deadlines, and well versed in visual art/theater/food. Naturally, I thought of you, Ms. Geek Chic. So, surprise! I recommended you for the position.
I took the liberty of sending your Holistic application her way as a writing sample. It was a perfect fit: well-written, witty, full of nerdy references. If you’re still shopping the job market and are interested in working for Culturevate (which you should be), Linda would love to take an interview.
Let me know your thoughts, hun. Hope to be hearing from you soon.
Ciao,
Tyler B. Jacoby
Associate at Holistic Public, PR
Health—Happiness—Holistic
* * *
Mama Shell
MAY 25
6:15 P.M.
* * *
Hey! I thought I’d lost this old thing!!
Rosa found it under a pile of old People magazines while helping lug my packed boxes into the garage. Thank god, she found it before the movers come tomorrow morning … If Mom ever came across this diary, I would finally get my 60 Minutes special for being the first human to die of sheer mortification.
Val’s high school graduation was today, which officially makes me a fossil. How has it already been five years since my own high school graduation?? That’s half a decade! Ugh. It makes me feel very, very old … not that I’d ever say this aloud. Mom thinks anyone who calls themselves old before the age of thirty-five needs to “seriously check their privilege.”
But while most people look frumpy in their caps and gowns (I don’t have to remind you of the belt incident), Val managed to look like a real-life angel with a square halo walking across the stage. Mom set off streamers and a bell horn as Val—who somehow managed to whip out her phone and take a selfie with the school’s notoriously strict headmaster—received her high school diploma. And though she wasn’t valedictorian or even salutatorian, she did win the senior superlative for best hair, which will probably prove more useful.
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