I WAKE UP BEFORE SUNRISE on Wednesday, feeling jittery. My mind will not simmer down. It’s just jumping from one thought to another.
I mean, there’s Reid. And his glowing white sneakers. And his surprisingly low standards for frosting.
And there’s Cassie. And Mina. And the Facebook status update. And the cookie dough. And the fact that Mina’s coming when Grandma’s here. The inevitable shitshow.
I try to hypnotize myself by staring at my ceiling fan, and when that doesn’t work, I scroll through wedding inspiration blogs on my phone. But I can’t focus. Finally, I just take my pill and head down to the kitchen, and I start pulling out my ingredients. You never think you’ll be spooning egg-free cookie dough into tiny mason jars at five in the morning, until you are.
I’ve just gotten them into the fridge when I hear Xav babbling upstairs. I actually love being the one to get Xavier out of bed. I slip into his room, and when he sees me, he pulls up on the crib railing and does this bouncy little dance. Baby twerking.
“Hi, buddy.” I scoop him into my arms, and he cups my cheek, grinning.
“Momomomomomo.”
“That’s right!”
Let it be known that Xavier is the actual cutest baby in the universe. He has these huge brown eyes and big, mushy cheeks, and the softest brown skin, and a little gap between his front teeth. He’s perfect. I always loved the idea that we share DNA, even if it’s on the donor’s side. Maybe there are a bunch of mutual ancestors drinking ambrosia and spying on us right now.
“Hey, baby,” I whisper into the crook of his neck, and he scrunches up and giggles. I hoist him onto my hip and carry him downstairs. I figure I’ll set him up with his activity center in the living room and let my moms sleep in.
Except Nadine wanders down a few minutes later, yawning and smiling. “Well, look at you two.”
“Oh, did we wake you up?”
“Aww, Momo, no. It was the boobs.” These days, Nadine talks about her boobs like they’re sentient beings. They’re always waking her up or leaking through her nursing bras or demanding to be drained, like cows on a dairy farm. They have their own boobish agendas.
I pass Xavier to her, and she lifts up one side of her pajama shirt. Xav glomps right on. “So, I heard this rumor,” Nadine says, sitting up straight against the back of the couch.
“About Cassie?”
She grins.
“How did you know?”
“The mom chain.”
Otherwise known as Olivia’s mom. Olivia tells her mom everything. And her mom tells my moms everything. It’s a pretty foolproof system.
I settle onto the armchair with one of Xavier’s toys. It’s one of those interactive button-pushing ones that sings animal songs in an unnervingly chipper male voice.
“God, that thing needs to burn,” says Nadine.
“We should burn it.”
“Yeah, but you know another one will just spawn in its place. That’s right, Xavor Xav,” she adds. He’s popped off the boob to grin at her. “Hey. Hey. We’re spraying. Get back on there.”
“I made cookie dough,” I tell her.
“For dessert tonight?”
I nod.
“That’s what you were down here working on?”
I nod again.
“Momo, you know you need to sleep every once in a while.”
“I couldn’t.”
She tilts her head. “Aww, honey.”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly.
“Are you working today?”
I shake my head.
“Okay, well—oh, now we’re vibrating.” She scoots forward and gropes around for a minute under her butt. “I think I’m sitting on your phone.” She pulls it out and hands it to me. “You’re getting texts like crazy. Look at you, Miss Popular. Who’s texting you at seven in the morning?”
“Um, probably Abby?”
But when I glance at my phone, there’s this tiny hiccup in my chest.
I’ve missed two texts from Reid.
Need any help making cookie dough?
And by making, I mean sampling
Xavier’s still on the boob, but he swings his arm back to make a grab for my phone.
“Nice try,” I tell him.
Nadine snorts. “The kid wants an iPhone.”
Okay, I feel like a jerk, because now I want Nadine and Xav to leave, so I can write back to Reid. It’s funny, because Cassie texts girls at the table and in the living room and in the car, and everywhere. I honestly think she’d coordinate an orgy in front of all of us. On the couch between Nadine and Patty. As long as they’re not actively reading over her shoulder, she doesn’t care.
But I can’t text a boy in front of my moms. I just can’t. Not even Reid.
“So, Mina and Grandma tonight.” Nadine yawns. “How the hell did that happen?”
I laugh. “I don’t know. I think it was Mina’s idea.”
“Cannot believe Kitty Cat’s allowing it.”
“Maybe Grandma will be cool?”
“Mmmhmm, right.” Nadine grins. “I’m excited to meet this girl, though.”
“Yeah, you’ll like her. She’s—” My phone buzzes again, and I try to ignore it. But I’ve lost my train of thought. Sometimes not looking at my phone requires all my mental energy.
Maybe it’s Reid again. Not that it matters.
Xavier finally finishes his boob, and Nadine readjusts her top, standing. “Okay, I’ve got to take this little dude to the supermarket before storytime.”
Nadine never misses storytime in the summer. Patty says it’s because whenever Nadine did baby stuff with Cassie and me, people assumed she was our nanny. Which I imagine is a shitty thing to hear when you’re a mom.
As soon as they leave, I tap into my texts, and my heart feels like it’s skipping. My body has no chill whatsoever.
There are the two cookie dough ones from Reid.
And the new text. From a Maryland number, not in my contacts. It says, simply: What’s up. No question mark. Just two words, plus that little emoji with the dancing bee ladies.
So now I’m curious. A text from a mystery person. But it’s got to be someone I know. I don’t think you’re allowed to drop the bee ladies on a stranger.
I Google the number, but Google doesn’t know, and I feel dumb asking who it is. So I ignore it.
I mean, I try to.
Anyway, I still need to think of something to write to Reid. And it has to be funny and casual and badass. But it can’t seem like I’m trying too hard.
I type: Too late. Dough is already made and sealed away. Sunglasses smiley emoji.
Though I may be able to part with some . . .
For a price.
Right away, three dots appear. And a moment later: For a price, huh?
And suddenly, I’m mortified. I don’t know. It’s just hitting me how that sounds. For a price. Like it’s a sex thing. It reads like I’m flirting with him.
Fuck.
Must neutralize awkwardness immediately.
I accept payment in Mini Eggs.
I’M SO THERE, he writes. Where are you?
There’s this prickle in my stomach. Seriously, this body. No chill.
I’m home, I write back. And I carefully press send.
Honestly, I wouldn’t mind if he came over. I don’t think that’s weird. I mean, he’s my coworker. We’ve been grocery shopping together. And he dropped me off here on Monday, so I guess he knows where my house is.
He doesn’t write back.
But maybe he’s on his way. He did say he was so here.
I should stop staring at my phone. I should probably relax. I probably shouldn’t picture Reid standing in my doorway with his ridiculous sneakers and his cute almost-dimple.
I don’t know why my mind keeps going there.
I try to empty my head. I put my phone on the end table. Patty talks a lot about mindfulness and being fully present in the moment, but that’s actually really hard for me. I think I have a wandering kind of mind. When I’m able to rein it in, it’s a pretty cool feeling—it’s like, just for a minute, I stop wanting things. I didn’t even realize how much time I spend wanting. And yearning, and crushing, and aching. It’s like I have this perpetual sense that something’s missing.
I keep turning my head toward the door.
It’s a little ridiculous, but I think I’d really like him to show up.
Before I can stop myself, I open my chain of messages with Reid.
Wait, are you coming?
Three dots. He’s typing.
Coming where?
So, he was kidding. And now I wish I hadn’t said anything. I feel awkward and stupid. I try to play it off. To claim the cookie dough I originally saved for you but then totally just ate myself.
He writes back immediately with a very tearful series of emojis. I’m actually sort of surprised he does emojis.
Anyway, I don’t care. I’m not going to care. I’m going to lean back on my hands and be very mindful about this.
I do not care.
I do not want.
Hours later, Cassie’s completely freaking out.
“Oh my God. Where are they?” She has her whole face pressed to the window, much like the Applebaums’ cat. Outside, it’s raining so heavily, it seems to come down in waves.
“Probably stuck in traffic,” Nadine says. “Rush hour and airport and rain, Kitty Cat. But they’ll be here.”
Cassie huffs into the living room and collapses onto the couch, and I sink down beside her.
“It’s gonna be fine, Cass.”
“Yeah, well, I really need Grandma to get here before Mina.”
“Why?”
Cassie raises her eyebrows. “Because you know she’s going to say something racist, and I need to, like, intervene before it happens.”
I laugh. “Intervene how?”
“I don’t know. Tell her not to say anything racist.”
“She’s going to anyway. She’s Grandma.”
“Yeah. Fuck.” Cassie sighs. “What do I do?”
“I mean, it’s not like it reflects on you. Just talk to Mina. Give her a heads-up.”
Cassie leans back, laughing bitterly. “Right. Hey, Mina. My grandma is probably going to act like you don’t speak English, or tell you about the Chinese lady in her building, or something really awesome like that.” She covers her face. “Fuuuuuck.”
“Hey.”
She slides one hand off her face and peeks up at me.
I hook my arm around her shoulders and hug her. “Gonna be okay.”
She exhales. “I know.”
“This is a good thing, right? You have a girlfriend. She’s coming to dinner.”
I try to say it nonchalantly, but my voice seems to snag.
Cassie rolls her head toward me. “You’re pissed off that I didn’t tell you.”
“No I’m not!”
“That is such bullshit.” She smiles.
“I was surprised you didn’t tell me.”
“And pissed off. Look, I get it.” She leans into me. “I know I’m an asshole.”
“No you’re not.”
“This is just weird for me, you know? And talking about it is weird. It’s fucked up. Like, it’s so easy for me to tell you about some random hookup, because who cares? And we can laugh about it and whatever.”
“You know I’d never laugh at you about Mina, right?”
“No, I know. It’s just.” She shuts her eyes. “Like, I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a dick, but, like, maybe it’s one of those things you’re not going to understand until you get a boyfriend.”
For a moment, it just hangs there.
“Oh,” I say.
“Okay, that came out wrong, but you know what I mean.”
“Yup,” I say, standing abruptly.
I mean, it’s pretty clear. Cassie’s had a girlfriend for two days, and now she’s the expert on the wonders and mysteries of true love. Whereas I clearly understand nothing. I guess I’m some kind of naïve, sexless child.
“Molly, come on. I’m sorry, okay? I told you it came out wrong.” She sighs. “Can you give me a break? Just this once?”
Suddenly, her phone buzzes on the coffee table. A text. She picks it up.
“She’s here!”
“Grandma or Mina?”
But already, Cassie’s sprung off the couch and out the front door, running through the rain. There are only a few yards between our door and Mina’s car, but Cassie’s soaked within moments. She doesn’t seem to care. She slips into the car on the passenger side, and they lean toward each other over the gearshift.
I blush and turn away.
Patty and Grandma pull in about thirty minutes later, and then we all settle around the dining room table. And the first thing Grandma says is this: “Cassie, you didn’t tell me your girlfriend was Oriental!”
“Grandma!” Cassie hisses. She shoots Patty a desperate look.
Patty winces. “Mom, you can’t say that.”
“I can’t?”
I shake my head.
“Grandma, Mina is Korean American,” Cassie says. “Okay? You can’t say Oriental.”
“Unless you’re talking about rugs,” I add.
“Well, they just keep changing the terminology on me.” She laughs. “Mina, dear, I hope you don’t take offense. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too.”
Mina definitely looks overwhelmed.
Nadine brings out this giant turkey—the kind you roast for Thanksgiving. It’s the kind they always label young turkey, which makes you wonder how epic old turkeys must be. Everything gets passed around, and I feel strangely self-conscious. I think it’s sympathetic self-consciousness. I think I feel it on behalf of Cassie. Or maybe Mina. God. Poor Mina.
“So, you live in Bethesda?” Nadine asks. “That’s a fun place.”
Mina smiles faintly. “I don’t know if I’d call it fun.”
“Mom, fun is like H Street,” Cassie says.
“Not true,” Nadine says. “Fun exists wherever you make it. Am I right, Xavor Xav?”
Xavier is currently mashing a slice of peach into his hair.
“He looks a lot like you,” Mina says, looking back and forth between Xav and Nadine.
“Aww—thanks,” Nadine says.
“Told you,” Cassie says. “He’s her mini-me.”
People notice that all the time. Xavier looks so much like Nadine, and Patty’s old pictures look exactly like Cassie. I’m the oddball. I secretly think I must look like the donor, but I’ve never seen a picture of him. Of course, Grandma always says I look like her. I don’t exactly see it, but she loves to bring it up.
And sure enough: “You know, Molly is the spitting image of me at seventeen. But, of course, I was very thin at that age.”
She loves to bring that up, too.
“I used to be a model for Macy’s department store. Can you believe it?”
“Oh, wow,” Mina says.
“And I always tell Molly: you’re a little zaftig, of course, but you have a lovely face. Isn’t she lovely?”
“Definitely,” Mina says, nodding, but Patty says, “Mom, stop it,” in this warning tone. So, Grandma makes a big show of snapping her mouth shut and winking at me.
And I think I might cry. I might actually cry. I can’t believe I’m sitting at this table, pretending things are normal while my grandmother calls me fat. Right to my face. I know what zaftig means. She’s even called me that before. But saying it in front of Cassie’s gorgeous new girlfriend makes it a million times worse.
“You know, my friend Sylvia’s granddaughter is at Columbia,” Grandma says quietly, leaning in close. “She’s a beautiful girl. Her name is Esther.”
“That’s great.”
Grandma rests a hand on my elbow. “In New York. You know, Columbia’s in Manhattan, dear. And in New York, they have this exercise program. I think it’s on the DVD. And Esther just puts it on and does it right in her dorm room.”
“Okay.”
“She just loves it.”
I nod slowly. I think every cell in my body freezes in place. I notice Cassie and Mina are listening in.
“You should think about it, mamaleh. You know. I’ll tell you what I wish someone had told me,” she says. “It gets harder and harder to lose.”
Grandma does this sometimes. Half the time she’s totally cool, and half the time she makes me want to disappear.
“When you’re young, it’s easy,” she continues. “Just be a little more careful. Leave half of everything on your plate. And you should talk to Esther! She really loves her program. You know, she lost twenty pounds?”
“Okay.”
“And now she has a boyfriend.”
Cassie swallows a chunk of turkey and drops her fork with a clatter. “Yeah, no. That’s not okay.”
My cheeks are burning. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” She raises her voice. “Grandma, stop saying this shit to Molly. You can’t. I’m sorry. You can’t talk to her like that.”
“Molly doesn’t mind, right?” Grandma says, patting my arm.
“I don’t mind,” I say.
“Yes, you do,” Cassie says quietly.
And I do. It’s seriously stupid, but I do mind. It’s just that every time Grandma says this stuff, I freeze up.
But now Nadine and Patty have caught wind of the conversation. “Mom, stop it. We’ve talked about this.”
“I’m just trying to be helpful.”
“This isn’t helpful.”
“Patricia, it’s a health issue. You know that.”
“Betty,” Nadine says, setting her fork down. She glances at Patty.
Cassie presses her foot against mine under the table, but I can barely process it. I feel hot and cold all at once. It’s hard to explain.
I mean, I know I’m fat. It’s not a secret. Kyle Donner used to whisper the word gorda in my ear every day of eighth-grade Spanish. And once, Danielle Aldred asked me if I was worried I’d crush a guy during sex. In seventh grade. She actually asked that.
So, I should be used to it. Still, it always throws me a little bit when people say stuff about my body. I guess I want to believe no one notices I’m fat. Or that I’m somehow pretty and fat all at once, like a Torrid model. I don’t know.
Anyway, Cassie’s still fuming, and Mina’s staring awkwardly at her plate, and now Patty is escorting Grandma into the living room. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I can hear snippets of Grandma’s replies. Small portions. Something to think about.
“Let’s pretend that didn’t just happen,” Cassie says, shaking her head.
“Want to help me clear the table, Momo?” Nadine asks.
I nod and start stacking plates. Nadine wraps me in a one-armed hug as soon as I step into the kitchen. “Hey. You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“That was some pretty fucked-up shit from Grandma. Don’t even listen to her, okay?” She shakes her head. “Let it roll off your back.”
Mina starts bringing in plates and dishes, even though Nadine tells her to go relax. But she insists on helping. It’s that dance people do. Like when I was little, and we’d go to restaurants with our relatives, and Nadine and Uncle Albert would argue over the check. Abby and I thought it was the funniest thing. Our parents would go back and forth, more and more insistently, and MY GOD. YOU FREAKING GROWN-UPS. IT’S A FREE MEAL. LET IT HAPPEN. But I get it now. Maybe I’m more of an adult than I realized.
Cassie follows behind Mina, holding Xavier. “So, Molly made us cookie dough in mason jars,” she says. She opens the fridge to show Mina.
“Oh my God. You made these?”
I smile shyly.
“Aren’t they so cute?” She sets Xav down, holding his hands up while he toddles. “Like, if it was me, I’d have put a big glob of it in a Ziploc bag and been like here you go.”
“It was super easy,” I say.
“This is literally the greatest dessert I have ever seen,” Mina says, looking awed.
We end up carrying all the jars and a bunch of spoons into the living room, and I feel my cheeks go red when I see Grandma. Like, now I’m supposed to eat dessert in front of her. Though there’s a part of me that wants to plant myself beside her and make her watch me do it. Dare her to say something.
But it’s cool to see how excited Mina is about the cookie dough. Sometimes it’s so easy, I almost feel bad. Honestly, the secret to impressing people is this: individual portions, packaged in mason jars. I even remembered to leave room on top for vanilla ice cream.
I squeeze all the way up against the armrest of the couch to make room for Cassie and Mina. Except it ends up being pointless. They kind of perch there for five minutes, until Cassie says she has a book she needs to find for Mina.
Funny how this task seems to require both of them.
Even funnier how they come down half an hour later, with no book.
I’ll be staying in Cassie’s room for a few days until Grandma goes home. We actually used to share this room. Cassie never got rid of her bunk beds, so when we have houseguests, I reclaim my bottom bunk. It’s like stepping back through time.
But, of course I can’t sleep. Again. My mind won’t stop churning. I fluff up my pillow and stare at the underside of Cassie’s bedframe. Which is still lined with glow-in-the-dark animal stickers. And probably decade-old boogers. I wasn’t the classiest child.
I roll over, and the bed creaks, and I hear Cassie sigh.
“Molly, go to sleep.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
For a moment, we’re quiet.
“I know you’re still awake,” she says.
“So are you.”
“But I have an excuse. I’m lovesick.”
I draw up into a sitting position, cross-legged beneath my blanket. “How do you know I’m not lovesick, too?”
“Wait, what?” She swings her torso down over the side of the bed, peering at me, upside down.
“I’m kidding.”
“No you’re not. Oh my God. He texted you, didn’t he?”
“Who are we talking about?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant. But my heart starts fluttering wildly.
I don’t know how she knows Reid texted me. Unless she’s actually talking about the mysterious dancing bee ladies.
“So here’s the thing,” she says. It’s dark, but I can see her twist of a smile. She whips her head back up, but moments later, her feet dangle over the side of the top bunk. She pushes off with her arms and lands neatly on the ground in a crouch.
There’s a ladder. She never uses it.
Another fundamental difference between us.
“Mina and I might have given Hipster Will your number.”
“What?”
“Oh man. I really thought he was going to text you.” She sinks onto the end of my bed, tugging her pajama shorts down. “He wimped out, huh? What a dipshit.”
“I don’t . . . understand.”
“Molly, this is part of the mission. The boyfriend thing. I told you. We’re making this happen.” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe he didn’t text you.”
I blush. “Um. I think he did.”
“WHAT?”
I push my bangs out of my face. “I don’t know. I got a text from a random number. But I didn’t know who it was.”
“Holy shit. What an idiot. He didn’t tell you it was him?”
I shake my head.
“What did he say?”
“I don’t even know if it was actually him.” I paw around the floor for my phone and tug it out of the charger. “Here.”
I pull up the text and hand her my phone.
She laughs. “Yeah, that’s Will. He sent you the bee ladies?”
“Apparently.”
“Oh my God. I’m dying. I have to tell Mina.” She rubs her cheeks. “That’s so fucking great. You should write him back.”
“And say what?”
“Anything. Seriously, it doesn’t matter. You just have to keep it going. She leans back against my pillow and sighs. “I love this. I’m dating Mina, and now you’re going to date her best friend.”
“Um, I don’t think that’s happening.” I feel warm. I must be utterly, inhumanly red right now.
“Look. I’m just saying he’s a good target for our boyfriend mission, okay? I really like him for you. He’s sweet, he’s cool, he’s artsy, and he has great taste in music. And he’s cute, right?”
“Yes,” I say softly.
“And he’s Mina’s best friend.”
“I know.”
“We always said we were going to marry best friends,” Cassie says.
“You and Mina are getting married? Wow.”
“Fuck you. You know what I mean.” But she’s blushing. “I’m just saying. He’s Mina’s friend. That’s very convenient for us. And I really think he likes you, Molly.”
I shake my head. “No he doesn’t.”
“Okay, you know what’s fucked up?” She looks me straight in the eye. “That you don’t even seem to think that’s a possibility.”
Well, I don’t.
But I do.
I mean, I honestly don’t know.