“Thanks!” I lean into his chest, breathing in his deodorant. “Did you cry?”
“NEVER.” His dimple flickers. “A little.”
“Aww.” I grin up at him. He takes both my hands.
And for a minute, we just stand there like that, looking at each other.
He shakes his head. “Molly, you’re killing me.”
“What?”
He pauses. His cheeks are pink. “You just look really, really pretty.”
His voice is so soft. I feel my breath hitch. Because in all my years of watching movies, I’ve seen this look on a lot of boys’ faces. But I’ve never seen someone look that way at me.
“So do you,” I say quickly.
He laughs. “Why, thank you.”
Julian and Carter have set all the food out on a picnic table—brisket and corn bread and rolls and grilled vegetables. There’s the kosher stuff and vegan stuff and gluten-free stuff, all meticulously labeled. And there are stacks of those fake china plastic plates. It’s definitely a self-serve kind of wedding.
It’s still light out, but a few people are dancing by Xavier’s swing set. There’s a slow song playing, and I can’t quite place the artist. It’s definitely a famous British guy. Maybe Sam Smith.
“Are you hungry?” Reid tugs on my hand.
“I guess so?”
“Or do you want to find Abby?”
“That works, too.”
“You are so easy to please today.” He grins at me.
“I know!”
I just feel so achingly happy. Like the happiness is bubbling over. I could do anything right now, and it would be the exact right thing. This is invincible joy. I can’t ruin it. I can’t even put a dent in it.
We sit at the end of one of the tables, next to Abby and Nick. “Look at how cute your moms are right now,” Abby says.
They’re sitting on the back steps, holding hands and talking. Totally removed from everyone, for a moment. I see Olivia sneaking closer with her camera. They don’t even notice her pointing, focusing, and clicking like a paparazzo.
Then, she walks over to Cassie and Mina on the grass, smiling as she taps through her viewer window to show them.
Cassie’s beaming.
“For someone who thinks of herself as such a cynic,” I murmur.
“I know. Cassie’s actually the biggest mush of all of us. Pure goopy-hearted grossness.” Abby laughs. “Hey, before I forget, look who’s here.”
She lifts her chin slightly, gesturing to a point behind my back.
I turn my head, and my mouth falls open.
“Oh my God.”
Abby grins. “I know!”
“Did you know she’d be here?”
She shakes her head. “Should we go say hi? Can we leave you two dudes alone for a sec?”
Nick and Reid look at each other. “Um, sure.”
Our boyfriends.
I stand, smoothing my dress down. Abby takes my hand, and we walk across the lawn.
Aunt Karen’s sitting alone at a table, hands folded across her chest. She looks stiff and uncomfortable and, honestly, sort of miserable.
But she’s here.
Holy shit.
She lights up when she sees us. “Hey, babies!” she says. “Oh my goodness. Look at you two. You look beautiful. So grown-up.”
She hugs us both, and we settle into seats on either side of her.
“The backyard looks different. Was it landscaped?”
“Um, yeah. Like, two years ago,” I say.
Aunt Karen nods.
“So. Um. How are the dogs?”
She brightens a bit. “Oh, they’re good. They’re real good. They’re staying with my friend Madge, and her husband’s grilling steaks tonight. New York strips.”
“Um. For the dogs?” Abby asks.
“Mmmhmm. They love steak.”
“That is really special,” Abby says, cutting her eyes toward me.
Aunt Karen smiles. “They’re really special dogs. Abby, I was just telling your mom about my shepherd mix, Daisy, and she said—”
“Aunt Karen, I thought you weren’t coming,” I blurt.
There’s this beat of silence.
And then finally, she says, “Well, I guess I couldn’t miss it.”
“Does Nadine know you’re here?”
She purses her lips. “I assume so.”
“Do you . . . want me to go get her?”
“Oh no,” Aunt Karen says quickly. “It’ll just be . . . you know. This is her night. And Patty’s night,” she adds awkwardly.
As soon as she says it, I realize she’s never mentioned Patty by name before, ever.
“And I’m not here to complicate things,” she continues. “Deenie and I have a lot to talk about, obviously, and I owe her . . .” She trails off, shaking her head. “But not tonight. Tonight, I just wanted to be here.”
“Well, thanks for coming, I guess.”
“Is that you, mamaleh?”
I swivel to find Grandma Betty, holding one of the picture frame centerpieces—which she sets facedown on the table as she settles into the chair beside me.
Oh my goodness. Family overload.
“Hi, Grandma.”
I find I’m sucking in my stomach. I guess I feel self-conscious around her sometimes. For just a split second, I wish I’d worn Spanx.
“Have you met Aunt Karen?” I ask quickly. “I know you know Abby.”
“Of course. Lovely to see both of you again.”
I tap the edge of Grandma’s frame. “What picture is that?”
“It’s a very unflattering photograph of me. I want to know who picked this to be a centerpiece.” She shakes her head and smiles. “I’m lodging a formal complaint.”
That kind of throws me. I didn’t know old people still got self-conscious about that stuff. Now I totally want to see the picture, of course—and Abby must be thinking the exact same thing. “Betty, you have to show us! We won’t tell anyone.”
“If you show us, I’ll hide it for you,” I add.
Grandma grimaces but turns the frame over in her hands.
Abby gasps. “Oh my God, that’s a stunning picture.”
And it is. Holy shit. This photo. It’s black and white, and Patty’s just a baby, so it must be from the late sixties. But Grandma’s the one I can’t take my eyes off of. She’s in her twenties, smiling gently. Balancing Patty on her hip and looking straight at the camera.
She looks exactly like me, except old-timey and beautiful.
And she’s fat.
When I look up, she’s gazing at me with an expression I can’t quite read. “I’m hard on you, aren’t I?”
I blush. “I don’t know.”
“I hated being overweight. I gained seventy pounds when I was pregnant with your mother. I felt like I was living in a different person’s body.”
I pause. Inhale. “I get that.” Exhale. “But I don’t feel like that, you know?”
“I know, and that’s a good thing. I’m so sorry, mamaleh. I shouldn’t turn my issues into your issues.” She takes my hand and squeezes it. “You are absolutely beautiful.”
I feel my cheeks burn. Here’s the thing: I’m used to being told I have a pretty face. Or pretty hair, or pretty eyes. But it’s different, being called beautiful. Just beautiful, without conditions. And for some reason, it’s even stranger hearing it from Grandma Betty than from Reid.
It makes my eyes prickle.
Grandma clears her throat. “Anyway, wasn’t that just the loveliest ceremony?”
“It was,” Abby says.
Aunt Karen shrugs. “It was nice,” she says softly.
That shrug. The particular set of Aunt Karen’s shoulders. It’s as if that shrug contains forty years of secrets and fighting and road trips and bunk beds.
The thing is, it’s exactly how Nadine shrugs.
And suddenly, I can picture it: Cassie and me, twenty years from now. Married. To Mina. To Reid. Or not. Maybe we’ll mar
ry people we haven’t even met yet. Maybe we’ll never marry at all. We might see each other every day. We might see each other once a year. Maybe it will ebb and flow and change with the decades. Maybe we’ll never pin it down.
I think every relationship is actually a million relationships.
I can’t decide if that’s a bad thing.
It’s better when the sun sets. I think it’s the twinkle lights. There’s something magical about twinkle lights on tree branches. A few people have gone home, but even more people are dancing, and Abby and Nick are right in the middle of it. I haven’t talked Reid into dancing yet. Right now, he’s primarily focused on being smug about the paper pennant cake topper.
Which, admittedly, was his idea.
Which, admittedly, turned out adorably.
But now we’re back at the table, and Reid’s holding my hand while talking to Olivia, and Xavier’s passed out in Cassie’s arms. Mina’s eating a cupcake, wiping her hands on a napkin between bites. But despite the movement all around us, there’s this stillness in the air.
“I could never actually be a wedding photographer,” says Olivia.
“Why not?”
“Too many perfect moments. I can’t keep up with them.”
I feel suddenly choked up. “Yeah.”
Reid squeezes my hand.
The song changes to something loud and fast, and I catch a glimpse of Isaac on the makeshift dance floor, spinning one of my moms’ friends in circles. I think he’s wearing a bunch of my magazine bead napkin holders as bracelets. Aunt Liz is perched on Xav’s tire swing, gesturing emphatically, making my moms laugh. And Abby’s parents are defiantly slow-dancing, despite the music. It’s actually kind of sweet.
“I think I’m going to snap a few more pictures,” Olivia says.
“Okay,” Cassie and I say in unison, with perfectly matching intonation.
Olivia narrows her eyes, pointing a finger at each of us. “It’s like you two are twins or something.” As she walks away, she pantomimes an explosion from her head. Mind. Blown.
Mina giggles, and she and Cassie exchange these smiley, soft-eyed glances. I look away quickly. Not because I’m an eleven-year-old boy.
Just—you know. So they can have their moment.
I think this is me letting go. Bit by bit. I think these are our tiny steps away from each other. Making not-quite-identical footprints in not-quite-opposite directions.
And it’s the end of the world and the beginning of the world and we’re seventeen.
It’s an awesome thing.
Acknowledgments
Hi, reader! My book is in your hands. I’ve been anticipating this moment like Molly anticipated her first kiss. There were moments when I was certain this story would never come together.
Somehow it did. Because I have some really awesome wingmen, wingwomen, and wingpeople who made this book happen.
Warmest thanks to:
Brooks Sherman, best of dudes and best of agents. You are wise and weird and wonderful, and I am so lucky to have you in my corner.
Donna Bray, who made this book come alive. You believed in Molly when I didn’t, and you helped me find this story’s heart. All my bee ladies are for you.
My extraordinary teams at Harper, the Bent Agency, and New Leaf. I’m so grateful for Alessandra Balzer, Viana Siniscalchi, Caroline Sun, Nellie Kurtzman, Patty Rosati, Molly Motch, Bess Braswell, Eric Svenson, Margot Wood, Kate Morgan Jackson, Suman Seewat, Veronica Ambrose, Bethany Reis, Chris Bilheimer, Sarah Creech, Alison Donalty, Barbara Fitzsimmons, Suzanne Murphy, Molly Ker Hawn, Victoria Lowes, Charlee Hoffman, Jenny Bent, Pouya Shahbazian, Chris McEwan, and so many others kicking ass behind the scenes.
My amazing publishing teams abroad, including Penguin/Puffin in the UK, Australia, and New Zealand, Blossom Books in the Netherlands, Hachette Romans in France, and Intrinseca in Brazil. Extra Mini Eggs for Anthea Townsend, Ben Horslen, Clare Kelly, Vicky Photiou, Myrthe Spiteri, Lotte Dijkstra, and Mathilde Tamae Bouhon.
Kimberly Ito, my CP and agent sister, who has kept me sane for years. Molly and Cassie couldn’t pick a better person to share their birthday with.
Beckminavidera, which is basically a marriage at this point. Adam Silvera, I’m pretty sure you own half my brain. David Arnold, you inspire me to write honestly and spell Middle-earth as Tolkien intended. Jasmine Warga, you are the Balzer to my Bray. (Plus my main hetsie and honorary Beckminavidera member, Luis Rivera.)
Team Double Stuf: Nic Stone, Angela Thomas, and Stefani Sloma. Your texts are magic, and you’re even awesomer in person. I’m so grateful to know you.
Team Erratica: Emily Carpenter, Manda Pullen, Chris Negron, and George Weinstein. I’ll see you at Rojo!
The BTeam—my beautiful agent siblings—with extra hugs for Heidi Schulz (insert underutilized emoji here), Kimberly Ito, Angela Thomas, Adam Silvera, Lianne Oelke, Sarah Cannon, Mercy Brown, Jessica Cluess, and Rita Meade.
My extraordinary sensitivity readers, who brought Molly’s community to life: Angela Thomas, Nic Stone, Wesaun Palmer, Alex Davison, Dahlia Adler, Tehlor Kinney, Tristina Wright, Nita Tyndall, Ashley Herring Blake, Brian Gould, and Ellen Oh. Your support, feedback, and generosity have meant everything to me.
The countless friends in this community who have held my hand and kept me going. I’ll never be able to name you all, but here’s a start: Jen Gaska, Aisha Saeed, I. W. Gregorio, Katherine Locke, Marieke Nijkamp, James Sie, Jeff Zentner, Kayla Whaley, Corinne Duyvis, Alex London, Tim Federle, Nicola Yoon, Marcy Beller Paul, Diane Capriola, Lance Rubin, Jennifer Niven, Greg Changnon, Denisa Patron, Julie Murphy, Rachel Simon, Michael Waters, Camryn Garrett, Emma Trevayne, Rockstar Kevin Savoie, Gaby Salpeter, Cody Roecker, J. C. Lillis, Summer Heacock, Eline Berkhout, Johanna Mehner, Tom-Erik Fure, Shelumiel Delos Santos, Laura Silverman, Bieke Paesen, Rachel Strolle, Maddie Wolf, Wulfie, Jasmine Pearl Raymundo, the Not So YA Book Club, Little Shop of Stories, Foxtale Book Shoppe, and so many others. I love you all.
The friends who saved me, made me laugh, and made me a little less careful: Diane Blumenfeld, Jaime Hensel, Jaime Semensohn, Lauren Starks, Amy Rothman, Emily Townsend, Mike Goodman, Rachael Zilboorg, Jenny Mariaschin, Josh Siegel, Betsy Ballard, David Binswanger, Molly Mercer, Evan Diamond (so much cooler than Evan Schulmeister!), Sarah Beth Brown, Raquel Dominguez, and lots and lots of others. Also, Takoma Mamas—can you tell how much I miss you?
The librarians, booksellers, bloggers, and publishing pros who have made miracles happen for my books.
The fat kids. You’re beautiful.
Caroline Goldstein: this book is obviously a love song to you; Sam Goldstein, my personal Xavor Xav; Jim Goldstein, king of all dads; Eileen Thomas, who knows my brain.
My family: Adele, Gini, Curt, Jim, Cyris, Lulu, Steve, Gael, Dan, Allison, Peter, Jeff, Janet, Larry, Jenny, Joe, Josh, Sarah, Jay, Eliza, Zachary, Milton, Pat, Leigh, Adam, Gayatri, Candy, William, Cameron, Gail, Kevin, Linda, Bill, and the whole Overholts gang. You guys are so wonderful.
Owen and Henry, the lights of my life.
Brian, my Reid (but with cooler shoes). I love you.
And to Grandma Molly. I never knew just how much I could miss a person. I lost you while drafting this. I thought of you every time I typed your name. What would I give to hear you call me mamaleh one more time?
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About the Author
Photo by Decisive Moment Events
BECKY ALBERTALLI is the author of the acclaimed novel Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda. She is a clinical psychologist who specializes in working with children and teens. Becky now lives with her family in Atlanta, where she spends her days writing fiction fo
r young adults. You can visit her online at www.beckyalbertalli.com.
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Books by Becky Albertalli
Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda
The Upside of Unrequited
Leah on the Offbeat
Credits
Cover art © 2017 by Chris Bilheimer
Cover design by Sarah Creech
Copyright
Balzer + Bray is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THE UPSIDE OF UNREQUITED. Copyright © 2017 by Becky Albertalli. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2016938957
ISBN 978-0-06-234870-8 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-06-266048-0 (international edition)
EPub Edition © March 2017 ISBN 9780062348722
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FIRST EDITION
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The Upside of Unrequited Page 23
