The Upside of Unrequited

by Becky Albertalli

  “Okay, how excited are you?” Cassie asks, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Because I’m, like, really fucking excited.”

  “I know!”

  “Like, I didn’t think I’d care this much, because it’s not like they were less of a couple two days ago. But I’m just happy, you know?”

  I giggle and nod.

  “It’s just been a really amazing week,” she says, sighing.

  Which feels like a door nudging open.

  “Yeah, about that,” I say. I feel my lips curving upward.

  “Hmm.” She’s grinning.

  “I’m just saying. I’d love to know more about some of the other amazing things that happened this week.”

  She laughs. “Yeah . . .”

  But she doesn’t say more.

  I give her an elbow nudge and finally say it. “Are you seriously not going to tell me what happened with Mina?”

  “With Mina?” she asks calmly.

  Totally, perfectly, utterly calmly.

  And now I’m confused. Maybe I misinterpreted. Maybe Cassie and Mina didn’t hook up at all. Maybe I’m an asshole for assuming they did. As if girls who like girls can’t be friends without falling for each other.

  It’s just that it seemed like they were falling for each other.

  “If you were in love, you’d tell me, right?”

  “In love?” She laughs again. “Uh, maybe we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves?”

  I stare her down. She wrinkles her nose and grins at me, and I can’t help but grin back.

  “I just like to live vicariously through you,” I say.

  “But it’s the beginning of a new era,” she says. “Now we live vicariously through Nadine and Patty.”

  “That is weird and sad.”

  “But they’re getting married.” Cassie sighs again. “This is the awesomest thing that’s ever happened to us.”

  When I get to work, there’s this charge in the air, even though the store isn’t open to customers yet. Deborah and Ari are completely amped up.

  “Molly!” Deborah calls over the music, which is maybe three times as loud as usual. “Get over here! You heard the news, right?” She’s leaning next to the register, arms draped over the counter, beaming.

  I get this hot chocolate feeling in my stomach—cozy and content. I love this day and I love this job. And Reid should be here any minute, too.

  “Exciting stuff, right?” Ari says when I get to the register.

  “Yeah!” I smile up at them. “My moms got engaged.”

  “Oh, sweetie, that’s wonderful! I didn’t even know—geez. You should take the day off and celebrate.” Deborah squeezes my hand.

  “No, it’s fine. I like being here!”

  “You are such a gem, kiddo. Are you sure?”

  “Definitely,” I say, nodding quickly.

  Deborah smiles. “Well, that would actually be great. Reid has an eye doctor appointment, so we can definitely use you.”

  I feel strangely deflated. But Deborah and Ari put me in charge of a rainbow display at the front of the store, which is literally the most satisfying task I could ever be assigned. I get to pull stuff from other displays and place them in an entirely new context: a vintage red-painted teakettle, an orange ceramic owl, a yellow tablecloth, green mason jars, a blue repurposed picture frame, and (of course) an eggplant onesie from the baby section.

  “Seriously, Molly. You have such an eye for this. Are your moms recruiting you for wedding décor?”

  I laugh. “Yup.”

  “Smart women,” she says. “Let me know if there’s anything from the store they can use. Or you can come over if you want and I can help you make stuff. As long as you’re not allergic to cats.”

  “I love cats!”

  Deborah laughs. “Well, we have five of them.”

  Which means Reid has five cats. Somehow, I’m not surprised to hear this.

  Okay, so maybe this is random, but I once developed a crush on a guy for cat-related reasons. Crush number twenty: Vihaan of the Cutest Contraband. He was a trans guy from the Spectrum Club I went to with Cassie, and he always wore this hoodie with a kangaroo pouch in front. I never really thought about why. But then one day there was a kitten in the pouch. Vihaan literally carried a kitten in the pouch of his hoodie for an entire school day, and his teachers never noticed.

  But when he saw me staring, he lifted the kitty out of his pouch and placed her in my arms. And our hands touched. And he looked at me with these twinkly brown eyes, like we were both in on a joke.

  He had really, really, unforgettably gorgeous eyes.

  ANYWAY. Have I mentioned I love cats?

  I spend the rest of the morning stacking and arranging ceramic dishes and scented candles and thinking about weddings. There really is a dreaminess about today. Even our customers seem unusually coupled up. They’re all holding hands. It’s like a Valencia-filtered Noah’s ark.

  And it’s nice.

  Except . . . sometimes I feel like I’m the last alone person. Like maybe there aren’t seven and a half billion people in the world. Maybe there are seven and a half billion and one.

  I’m the one.

  Though I have a theory. Kind of a fucked-up theory. But it’s been poking around my brain since the day Mina and Cassie hooked up. Or didn’t hook up.

  This is going to sound weird, but I think I need to be rejected.

  I think I need it like I need a flu shot. Or like those therapists who make you hold snakes until you’re not afraid of snakes anymore.

  I don’t even know if that makes sense.

  But I spend a lot of time thinking about love and kissing and boyfriends and all the other stuff feminists aren’t supposed to care about. And I am a feminist. But I don’t know. I’m seventeen, and I just want to know what it feels like to kiss someone.

  I don’t think I’m unlovable. But I keep wondering: what is my glitch?

  My moms are getting married. My sister might be secretly hooking up with someone. Abby moved to Georgia and got a cute, guitar-playing boyfriend within months. Even Olivia and Evan Schulmeister made it happen. They actually met in the camp infirmary. The girl had pinkeye, and she still had more game than me.

  And all these couples wandering through the store right now—the guys holding hands while they flip through cookbooks. The pair of grandparents asking Ari for recommendations in the baby section. It’s not like they’re all epic hotties with six packs. They’re just normal people.

  But I can’t seem to get there.

  And I can’t shake this thought: I’ve had crushes on twenty-six people, twenty-five of whom are not Lin-Manuel Miranda. Twenty-three of whom are age-appropriate, real-life, viable crush-objects. Eighteen of whom were definitely single and interested in girls at the time of my crush.

  And I never even tried. Not even with the ones who talked to me first.

  So, maybe I should let my heart break, just to prove that my heart can take it. Or at the very least, I need to stop being so fucking careful.

  ALL THE WAY HOME, I’M breathless just thinking about it.

  Operation be less careful

  Operation stop worrying about rejection

  Operation it’s good for me

  I can’t decide if I should tell Cassie about my revelation or not. It’s not like it changes anything. She’s still going to try to push me together with Hipster Will. And she’s still going to be mortifyingly unsubtle about it.

  I guess the only difference is I’m going along with it.

  I hear Nadine and Cassie clanging around the kitchen, laughing and murmuring and opening drawers. I guess Nadine’s pretty serious about tonight being a family dinner. I mean, we usually eat dinner together, but every so often it’s a Family Dinner, which basically means cloth napkins and the meal being planned out ahead of time. Probably most people go to restaurants for this kind of thing, but we haven’t done that much since Xavier was born.

  I head down to help. Nadine’s in t
he kitchen, squirting juice all over a chicken, and Cassie’s stirring a bowl of something. So, I set the table, and we all settle in, and Nadine lifts a glass of champagne. “All right. Here’s a toast: To us. To marriage. To a totally awesome Peskin-Suso wedding in the very near future.”

  We all toast. With champagne, because our moms are cool like that. Except for Xavier, because our moms are not that cool. Xavier toasts with milk.

  “So, we’re thinking mid-to-late July.”

  “Of this year?” I ask.

  “Yup.” Patty smiles up at me. She’s cutting chicken into tiny pieces for Xav.

  “You can’t plan a wedding that fast.”

  They are nuts. I’m sorry, but it’s true. You need to sample cakes and order your dress and plan your décor. Which takes time. I’m serious. And then you have to talk to caterers, photographers, florists, seamstresses, deejays, and a million other people.

  I may know a little too much about this. I may be a little more familiar with wedding blogs than your average single seventeen-year-old girl.

  “Why not?” Patty asks.

  “Because.” I shake my head. “You just can’t. You have a lot to get ready. You need at least a year.”

  “Momo, I think you’re thinking of the royal wedding.”

  “Okay, first of all, Will and Kate weren’t even engaged that long.”

  “Good. There you go,” Nadine says. “Will and Kate. That’s how we roll.”

  I start to protest, but Patty smiles up at me. “Sweetie, we’re just doing a backyard wedding. Mostly family.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “But you guys can bring friends if you want.”

  “What about dates?” Cassie asks.

  “Ooh—do you have something to tell us, Kitty Cat?” Nadine grins and Patty presses her hand to her heart, and their expressions are just like they were on the night of our barf mitzvah, when Cassie slow-danced with Jenna Schencker.

  “Okay, please don’t make that face. You guys are as bad as Molly.”

  “We created Molly,” Nadine says. “We made her bad.” She leans forward, brushing my bangs aside.

  “So tell us about her,” Patty says.

  Cassie bites back a smile.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Mina.”

  “What’s she like?” Nadine asks.

  “Awesome.”

  “Yeah, I got that. But, okay. If this is your first real girlfriend, Kitty Cat, I’m gonna need details.”

  Cassie raises and wrinkles her eyebrows. “I didn’t say she was my girlfriend.”

  “She’s not?”

  “All I’m saying is that I met her.”

  Nadine smiles. “And she’s awesome.”

  “And she’s hilarious and cool and pretty and kind of hipster, but not too hipster,” I chime in, “and I like her.”

  “Oh, so Molly’s met her.” Nadine turns to me. “Hold up. Now I really want the details.”

  “Well, Cass hasn’t told me anything,” I say, and it comes out sharp. I don’t mean for that to happen, but it does.

  I feel suddenly off-kilter, like my limbs don’t know how to act. I guess I’m the tiniest bit pissed off. Because it kind of feels like Cassie’s teasing us. She wants us to know something happened with Mina. She just doesn’t want us to know what. It’s like those people who post vague, attention-grabby Facebook statuses.

  Whoa—something HUGE is happening this wknd, LOL!

  cannot believe u would do something like this. i will never forgive u, God will never forgive u, u will probably burn in hell but no hard feelings!!

  Cassie and I live for these statuses. I just never thought she would become one of these statuses.

  “You’d like her,” Cassie says finally. “She’s really cool and funny, and she knows a lot about music. And she loves fish. Not like to eat. Like as animals. She’s really into aquariums,” Cassie adds. “She has a French angelfish tattoo. Did you know the French angelfish is monogamous? Oh, and she likes penguins. Mina likes all monogamous animals.”

  “Sounds like she’s a romantic,” Patty says.

  “I guess so.”

  When I glance up, Cassie’s looking at me with an expression I can’t read.

  And now I can’t sleep. Not even close, though it’s practically midnight. Cassie’s hanging out with Mina at some party.

  I feel so twitchy and strange and too hot and too cold. I’m reading my phone in bed, trying to ignore this suffocating feeling, but it’s not working. I feel like I’m drowning in it. I sit up, suddenly, and then I stand up all the way. Because this is stupid. This is ridiculous. I’m taking my laptop, and I’m going downstairs.

  I’m extra quiet in front of Xav’s room, and I do my best not to creak on every step. There are yogurt-covered raisins in a container on the kitchen counter, so I bring them to the couch. But I don’t even feel like watching TV. I don’t feel like doing anything. I don’t even know what I need right now. I just want to feel normal.

  I open my computer and start clicking through some of the wedding blogs, most of which are very hazy and twinkly and dreamy and rustic. And I have to admit, it’s soothing. Just something about the taste of yogurt raisins and professional photos of pies arranged on bookcases. We should definitely do pies on bookcases, and also one of those do-it-yourself photo backdrops. Maybe something simple, like a patterned piece of fabric and some distressed wooden picture frames. I should probably start pinning this stuff.

  “Momo? Why are you still awake?”

  I look up, and it’s Nadine, wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt and this striped robe thing. She’s disheveled and sleepy looking, and she keeps poking at the corners of her eyes. I must have woken her up.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Honey, what’s up?” She gestures for me to scoot down on the couch, and she slides in next to me. “What’s . . . are you looking at wedding blogs?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Man, you’re hardcore.” She reaches out to tuck my bangs away from my eyes. “Hey. You okay?”

  “Huh? Yeah.”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  “Mom, I’m fine.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. And then she stands up. “Come on. Let’s go for a drive. You and me.”

  “What?”

  “Yup. Let’s go. I just need some coffee.”

  “Um, it’s midnight.”

  “Correct.”

  “I’m wearing pajamas.”

  “So am I.” She grins down at me. “Momo, come on. Stop making the Molly Face. Just trust me.”

  It feels entirely surreal to be wearing pajama pants and sneakers, walking out to Nadine’s car at midnight like we’re sneaking out of the house. It’s warm, even this late, and there’s that buzzing insect sound that Patty says is cicadas. Nadine opens the car with her clicker, and I settle into the passenger seat. And then she backs out of the driveway extra slowly, like she’s worried about pedestrians, but the streets are totally empty.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.” She’s staring straight ahead, one hand on the steering wheel, one hand on her coffee mug, but she’s grinning. I relax into my seat, taking everything in—the streetlights, the porch swings, and the way my neighbors’ houses seem to loom in the darkness. The Applebaums’ cat stares at us through their living room window like the little creeper he is. And then he runs to another window to try to keep up with us. But we keep driving, onto Piney Branch, onto 16th Street. And we’re quiet, but it actually feels nice. We’re almost at Adams Morgan by the time Nadine finally says something.

  “So. How are you doing, kiddo?”

  “Good,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “You are such a little faker.”

  “What?”

  “It’s weird, right? Cassie having a girlfriend.”

  “She’s not technically her girlfriend.”

  Nadine grins. “I give it a week.”

  That makes me laugh, but there’s also this
sad sort of tug in my chest.

  “Yeah, it’s weird,” I say.

  “I know. Oh man, Momo. This is a tough one.” She nods, still looking at the road. “You know, growing up, my brother was such a dickwad, but your aunt Karen and I were really close. And I remember this. I remember when she got a boyfriend, and she just fell off the grid. It sucked.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And no one warns you about this. No one tells you how hard it is, because, yay, love! And we’re so happy for them! But there’s this sharp edge to it, right? Because yeah, you’re happy for them. But you’ve also lost them.”

  My heart twists. I can’t speak.

  “But Mo, they come back to us. You know? You roll with it. It’s weird for a while. But they come back. You’ll get her back.”

  I tuck my knees up and stare out the window. We’re almost at Dupont, heading downtown. And there are so many people out. There’s this palpable energy in the air. It’s the kind of night where strangers start hugging and everyone’s drunk and loud and happy just to be in the middle of all of this. I bet people will remember today, even when they’re old. I bet I will, too.

  “Pretty wild,” Nadine says.

  “Yeah.” I nod. And suddenly, I feel like crying, but not in a bad way. More like in the way you feel when someone gives you a perfect present—something you’d been wanting, but thought you couldn’t ask for. It’s that feeling of someone knowing you in all the ways you needed to be known.

  “Hey,” she says softly. “Look.”

  I look up, straight ahead, and I recognize it immediately from five million Facebook posts. It’s the White House, lit up with rainbow lights. And it takes my breath away. Even though it’s far away, even though we’d have to pass a million cars to get close to the actual house. I don’t even think it’s the front of the building. But still.

  “Really cool, huh?”

  I nod, feeling choked up.

  “Just wanted to see it in person,” she says.

  “I’m so happy about it,” I tell her. Suddenly, it feels so important to say that. “And I’m so happy about the wedding.”