The Upside of Unrequited

by Becky Albertalli

  And there’s that same soft prickle in my abdomen.

  He’s pretty good with emojis.

  Olivia leaves to hang out with her mom, but Cassie, Mina, and I spend the afternoon wandering around the back streets. Just the three of us. I feel a little strange, like maybe I’m vag-blocking them just by being here. But every time I try to leave them alone, they follow me.

  I have to admit, it’s kind of nice. I guess they actually want to spend the day with me, even if it means fewer opportunities for making out. Maybe my company is even better than making out—which is pretty much my goal as a human being, honestly.

  After dinner, we walk down to the middle school for fireworks. The field behind the school is already packed with people—on lawn chairs, on blankets, eating organic kale chips and jiggling babies. We spread out our moms’ big “Fear the Turtles” blanket, and we settle in together, and then Mina takes a group selfie. And then I fold my hands behind my head and let my eyes slide shut, just listening. There’s this jumble of sounds: people laughing, kids shrieking, and my heart beating along with the community marching band. I feel almost electric.

  “Hey.” There’s a tap on my arm. I open my eyes. “Look at this.” Mina stretches her arm over Cassie to pass me her phone.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “Just read it,” she says, grinning.

  It’s a text from Will. I guess she sent him the selfie, and he wrote back: BRB, just sulking forever.

  “Why is he sulking?” I ask, heat rising in my cheeks.

  “Uh, because there’s a cute girl here, and he’s stuck at home babysitting.”

  I can’t wrap my mind around it. The idea that not hanging out with me would drive Hipster Will to sulking. And if it’s true, I can’t decide if it’s thrilling or terrifying.

  It’s funny. A few hours ago, I was obsessing over Reid.

  Maybe obsessing is the wrong word. But running into him did something to my heartbeat. And when I thought he might hug me, I kind of definitely almost lost my shit. It’s like I’m thinking about him as a crush, not a coworker.

  But suddenly, there’s Will.

  It’s hard to know what to make of this. I’ve always been a very monogamous crusher.

  But my head’s all mixed up about this. When I close my eyes, it’s so easy to picture Will beside me. The bright blue eyes and the wildly red hair, both dimmed by the sunset. Dating Will would feel like a seat belt clicking into place. Everything lined up just as it should be. Mina and Cassie. Will and me.

  It’s just strange that my mind keeps circling back to hazel eyes and stupidly white sneakers.

  Cassie nudges me suddenly. “Hey, they’re starting.”

  I open my eyes.

  And the first thing I notice isn’t the crackling streak of the first firework.

  It’s Mina’s leg, draped over Cassie’s. It’s their hands, laced together, resting softly on Mina’s stomach.

  MY EYES SLIDE OPEN AT sunrise, and I feel a little unmoored. It’s still surprising, waking up on the bottom bunk. Above me, Cassie breathes softly. Not a snore. Just those Cassie sleep sounds she’s made since we were little.

  It’s funny, the things that change and the things that don’t.

  I wander downstairs in my pajamas, to find Nadine in the kitchen, sipping coffee. “Xav’s still sleeping?” I ask.

  “Never.” She scoffs. “He’s in the living room with Grandma.”

  “She’s leaving today?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” Nadine says. “How were the fireworks?”

  “Literally the best ever,” I say.

  She laughs.

  I smile faintly. “What?”

  “Nothing’s ever just the best. Gotta be literally the best.”

  There’s a sudden, loud wail from the living room.

  “Eeep—there we go,” Nadine says, setting down her mug. I follow her into the living room, where Xavier has flung himself backward in Grandma Betty’s arms, sobbing.

  “What’s going on, baby?” Nadine asks. “What is so terrible?”

  “It’s this terrifying pigeon,” Grandma says, holding up a picture book.

  “Hey,” Nadine says, raising a finger. “Don’t you diss Pigeon.”

  Grandma laughs, and I sink onto the couch next to her. “How are you doing, mamaleh?” She strokes the back of my hair.

  “Pretty good.”

  “Now, you’re not working today, are you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Good. You girls work too hard. I think you should just take the day and relax.”

  “Well, I need to get started on wedding centerpieces.”

  “You’re doing the centerpieces?” Grandma asks. I nod. “Well. That’s very ambitious. How can I help?”

  And she actually does seem up for it—so I let her cover the dining room table with newspapers while I grab mason jars and paint from the basement.

  I hand her a paintbrush. “So, I saw this in a tutorial on YouTube.”

  “Now, is that like the band?” she asks.

  “What?”

  Nadine pokes her head in the doorway, grinning. “She’s talking about U2.”

  “Ohhh. No. This is different. YouTube is like . . .” I trail off. I mean, how does a person explain YouTube to her seventy-year-old grandmother?

  I give up, and start organizing my paints. I have these totally badass, magical Martha Stewart paints in pastel colors, and you can use them on anything—even fabric. Sometimes, I paint tiny flowers on the collars of my cardigans. My theory is that it’s impossible to plan a wedding without Martha Stewart paints, and I suspect there are studies that prove this.

  “These are lovely,” Grandma says.

  I show her where to paint, and how thickly to coat it, and we settle into a sort of quiet rhythm.

  “You’ve gotten to be so artistic.”

  It takes me a minute to realize why I’m blushing. But then I remember—I’ve had this conversation before.

  With Will. And Cassie, being mortifyingly unsubtle, as usual.

  “You know, my mother was artistic. Your bubbe. She was a wonderful seamstress.” She leans forward. “She had a model 201 Singer sewing machine, and she sewed all our clothing. They were beautiful pieces. The girls at school used to ask me where I bought my dresses.”

  I nod, feeling like I should say something.

  “She’d be so proud of you, mamaleh.”

  I have this sudden vision of my great-grandma high-fiving my other ancestors in Cassie’s reality TV version of heaven.

  “Now, tell me, do you have a sewing machine?”

  I shake my head. “I just use a needle.”

  “Oh, well, we’ll have to do something about that. Molly, it will change your life.”

  “Okay.” I smile.

  Suddenly, I hear Cassie’s footsteps on the stairs.

  “Hey, I’m heading out!” she calls.

  “Hold up.” Nadine steps into the living room, Xav balanced on her hip. “Where are you going?”

  “To Mina’s.”

  “Okay, but I need you back by dinner. It’s your grandmother’s last night.”

  “Um. Okay. We were gonna—”

  “Nope. You’re gonna be right here with your butt in this chair by six o’clock. Got it?”

  Cassie starts typing on her phone and doesn’t respond.

  Nadine shakes her head. “Yo. Put the phone away. This is not how conversations work.”

  “I’m texting Mina—”

  “Uh, yeah. I know.”

  Cassie’s eyes flash. “Okay, I was literally texting her to say I need to be home at six. Which you’d know, if you just gave me a second without interrupting—”

  “Whoa,” Nadine says. “You don’t get to talk to me that way. Now you’re not going anywhere.”

  “What?”

  “You just earned yourself a day at home with your family.” Nadine shrugs.

  “Are you kidding me? Because I sent a text? That’s fuckin
g ridiculous.”

  “Yeah, your language? Also not okay.”

  Cassie throws her hands in the air. “Since when do you care?”

  “You know what—” Nadine starts to say, but Cassie interjects.

  “This is bullshit. Where’s Patty?”

  “She’s delivering a baby,” I say.

  Cassie huffs and sinks into a chair.

  “Do you want to help us paint mason jars?” I ask, after a moment.

  Cassie laughs harshly. “Um, no.”

  “Wow,” I say.

  “Jesus Christ. Molly, stop.”

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “Ugh—you’re looking at me like . . . no. I mean, no offense, but do I want to paint fucking mason jars with you and Grandma? Or do I want to hang out with my girlfriend?”

  There’s this awful, throbbing silence. My chest tightens and my throat gets thick, except I’m not going to cry. Not right now.

  But my eyes start to sting. I stare at the floor.

  “I just have to say, I love these Apple phones,” Grandma announces suddenly. “You know who I love? Siri. Have you tried asking her about zero divided by zero? She’s a hoot!”

  Yeah, I don’t even want to know how Grandma Betty knows that.

  But I get what she’s doing, and it’s working. I think the air in the room just became 50 percent more breathable.

  “You have an iPhone?” Cassie asks, eyes narrowed.

  “Oh, I have an iPhone,” Grandma says, “and I have an iPod and an iMac and an AirMac . . .”

  “An AirMac?” I ask, and she gives me this exaggerated wink.

  “Betty, you’re so full of shit,” Nadine says—which makes me laugh, despite myself. Despite everything.

  Grandma wags her finger. “I’m proud of my shit.”

  “Unbelievable,” Cassie says. She rubs her temples, like she’s the longest-suffering, most profoundly wronged human on the planet. Then, she turns on her heel and charges back up the stairs.

  OF COURSE, CASSIE SHOWS UP for dinner acting totally normal, like her standoff with Nadine never happened. Like she didn’t throw a tantrum about the prospect of wasting a Sunday with me. And I kind of want to give her the silent treatment, except she’s basically immune to it. She just retaliates with a Double-Silent-Stinkeye-Attack, and somehow, I’m the one who ends up apologizing. Clearly, I should just forget about it.

  I wish I were better at forgetting about things.

  We settle in around the table, and Cassie straps Xav into his high chair—but Grandma and my moms are so deep into their conversation that it’s like they don’t notice us.

  “I don’t know,” Nadine says, with this tense little shrug. “She just said she can’t make it.” Then she pours herself a glass of wine and chugs it like it’s lemonade.

  Um. Nadine. Wow.

  “Well, maybe it’s a money thing . . . ,” Patty says.

  “Or maybe she’s a homophobic asshole.”

  “Who’s the homophobic asshole?” I ask.

  They all startle, looking up at me.

  “Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry,” Patty says, glancing quickly at Nadine. “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this at dinner.”

  “Need me to beat someone up for you?” I ask.

  Cassie makes a face. “It’s Aunt Karen, right?”

  “Yep.” Nadine nods.

  Cassie rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I’m not even surprised.”

  “She’s not coming to the wedding?” I ask.

  Patty purses her lips. “Yeah, she’s being . . . you know. She’s Karen.”

  It’s funny—Nadine and my aunt Karen have been close since they were kids. Way closer than Nadine is with Abby’s dad, my uncle Albert. Karen’s never been married and has no human kids, though she has four rescue dogs. But even though Nadine and Karen talk every week, and even though she just lives in Annapolis, Cassie and I have only met her in person a handful of times. She always just happens to visit when Patty’s at work. And she kind of pretends like Patty doesn’t exist.

  In other words: homophobic asshole.

  “My goodness. That makes me so sad,” Grandma says. She picks up her fork and waves it around. “Love is love!”

  Cassie snorts. “Thank you, Grandma.”

  “I’m telling you: life is too short for this bullshit.”

  “I’ll toast to that,” says Nadine, and she chugs her drink again.

  But hours later, I’m still restless. So, I wait until everyone’s gone to bed, and then I slide out of the bottom bunk as quietly as I can.

  “What are you doing?” Cassie asks.

  “Going to pee.”

  “No, you’re not,” she says.

  I have no idea how she knows this. Sometimes Cassie knows exactly what I’m thinking, and I literally can’t think of any explanation other than twin telepathy.

  “I’m eavesdropping,” I admit.

  “Ooh—I’m coming with you.” She slides her legs down and lands on the floor beside me with a thud.

  We creep down the hall to the bathroom, and I pull the door shut slowly. Years ago, Cassie and I figured out that the vent in the upstairs bathroom is a direct portal to our moms’ room. We used to bring snacks up and line the bathtub with pillows, so we could really settle in for some quality eavesdropping. And then it occurred to us that we were at grave risk of overhearing mom-sex.

  So, we shut down that operation pretty quickly.

  But tonight, Cassie puts the toilet lid down and sits on it like a chair, and I settle in with a pillow in the bathtub, and it’s exactly like it used to be. Right away, I hear them.

  “—not calling her,” Nadine’s saying.

  “She’s your sister.”

  “She’s an asshole.”

  “I’m just saying we should hear her side of this.”

  “She doesn’t get a side.” Nadine’s voice cracks. “She’s missing our wedding.”

  Patty sighs. “I know.”

  Nadine says something else, but it’s too quiet to make out.

  “Deenie, I know,” Patty says again. “I know.”

  “It’s just messed up,” Nadine says.

  “But Albert and Wanda and the kids are coming.”

  “Yup, they’re coming.” Nadine sighs. “I just never thought Karen would be the one with issues, you know? And Al’s the chill one. What fucking universe are we living in?”

  “Nadine sounds so upset,” I whisper.

  “Well, yeah. I mean, even Grandma thinks it’s fucked up.” Cassie shrugs. “Like, that’s a pretty clear sign we’re wading into some problematic shit.”

  “Yeah.” And I get that feeling, all of a sudden, where I could honestly start laughing or crying. It could go either way.

  But I guess you have to hand it to Grandma. She has issues with weight, and she’s maybe kind of racist, but she’s never once had a problem with Patty being bisexual. When Patty came out, the first thing Grandma did was try to set her up with the cantor’s daughter. Who is actually straight, but Grandma gets thrown off when women have short hair.

  Anyway, Grandma tries. And at least she’d never miss the wedding. Even Uncle Albert would never miss it. I just don’t understand how you could miss your sister’s wedding. If Cassie got married, you’d have to kill me to keep me away. And even then, I’d show up as a zombie. I’d be the Zombie of Honor. I’d lurch down the aisle with my face oozing off and my eyeballs popping out into my bouquet. But I would never, ever miss it. So this Aunt Karen thing doesn’t compute.

  Cassie must be thinking the same thing, because she whispers, “You’d never do that.”

  “No way.”

  “Because I’d kill you,” she says, smiling.

  “I’d deserve it.” And I’d still show up!

  “And I promise not to blow off your straightsie wedding.”

  “Straightsie?” I ask.

  “Straightsie. Hetsie.”

  “Oh, I like hetsie.”

  “Of course you do. It sound
s like Etsy.”

  I grin. “That’s what I was thinking!”

  “Yeah, I know. You’re really predictable. Come on.” She stands up. “Let’s stop hanging out in bathrooms.”

  “Me hanging out in bathrooms is the reason you have a girlfriend,” I say.

  “Touché.”

  I feel this bubble of happiness. It’s nothing, really. Just a moment. But it’s the most normal moment Cassie and I have had all day. Out of nowhere. In the bathroom. Just us being us.

  So, maybe we’ll be fine.

  I’M UP BEFORE CASSIE, AND I’ve got hours before work, so I heft a bunch of fabric down to the living room. I’m making a garland. I’ve seen them all over Pinterest—scraps of mismatched fabric tied onto a ribbon in colorful strips.

  Though I’m having trouble focusing. My mind keeps getting stuck on what Cassie said yesterday. No offense, but do I want to paint fucking mason jars with you and Grandma? Or do I want to hang out with my girlfriend?

  It’s just a dumb thing she said when she was angry. And we’re fine now. I should clearly let it go.

  But there’s something about being lumped in with Grandma as one of the undesirables. Like I’m an annoying little sister here to rain on Cassie’s parade. It’s just not how twins are supposed to operate.

  I try to focus on the crisply satisfying snip of scissors through fabric. I try to be mindful. But my brain is such a whirlpool that I barely notice anything. I don’t even hear Patty’s footsteps until she’s standing above me. “Oh wow. What’s all of this?”

  I almost jump. “Hi.”

  She pushes a throw pillow aside and perches on the edge of the couch. “Can I see?”

  “Sure. Yeah, it’s for the wedding.” I show her a picture on my phone.

  “That’s gorgeous.”

  “It’s really easy to make. I’ll definitely finish it this week.”

  “Perfect.” She makes this sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “Less than three weeks, huh?”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “About being married? Nah. But this wedding thing. Let me tell you.”

  I settle in next to her on the couch, feet tucked up. “And the drama with Aunt Karen.”

  “Ahh. Yeah. I feel bad for bringing it up in front of you guys.”