AND NOW CASSIE’S BEING MYSTERIOUS, and it’s really fucking weird.
Normally, when she hooks up with someone, she’s bursting with the details. She’s a kiss-and-teller. Maybe that’s awful, but it’s just a part of the hookup process for her. She told me once that a kiss isn’t a kiss until she tells me about it. Me, specifically.
I loved hearing that.
And I guess I’m the same way with my crushes. Talking about them with Cassie makes them real.
But there’s something happening, and I swear I’m not imagining it. Ever since Wednesday she’s been so twinkly—smiling out of nowhere, and listening to that Florence album constantly. But she hasn’t mentioned Mina. At all. And it feels wrong asking for details. I’ve never had to ask before.
Then I wake up on Friday to Cassie’s face staring down at me.
“Oh my God,” I say, sitting up abruptly.
“Wake up. Let’s make breakfast.”
I rub my eyelids and sweep my bangs off my face. “Give me one second.”
She counts to one. If she wasn’t my twin, I’d swear she was nine years old.
I have literally never seen her so bright-eyed. Her hair’s pulled up high on her head, and she’s wearing pink pajama pants, and I’d expect this level of bubbliness from Abby. From Cassie, it’s just weird.
I follow her to the kitchen, trying to be quiet on the stairs. Our house is this one-hundred-and-two-year-old bungalow, and when you’re trying not to wake your moms, it’s essentially a giant booby trap. Creaky doors, creaky stairs, creaky everything—and a sleep-averse little brother with supernaturally good hearing.
Cassie’s an awful cook, so I take the lead. I have to admit: I like being needed. She hooks her phone up to our little speaker, and there’s that Florence + the Machine album again.
But she won’t say Mina’s name.
She just keeps opening and shutting cabinets, moving between the kitchen and dining room, setting out plates and folding napkins, all in this happy kind of daze. And yes, it’s butt-early, and maybe she’s just zoned out, but still. She should not leave me hanging. This is a flagrant violation of every code of twinship.
I’m just about to swallow my pride and become, as Abby calls it, “Mademoiselle Nosy AF”—except then Xavier ruins everything by waking up in a burst of full-volume babble. Our moms’ room is above the dining room, so we can hear thudding footsteps and murmuring and the bathroom door shutting. Nadine always starts the day by nursing Xav, so Patty’s the first to come down.
And it’s funny: Patty’s as wild-eyed as Cassie. For a moment, I wonder if Cassie talked to her first. But she wouldn’t. She would never. I’m the person Cassie talks to about girls. I mean, I’m the one Cassie talks to about everything.
I think.
“That smells amazing,” Patty says, smoothing my hair.
Nadine walks in with Xavier a moment later. “Holy mother of deliciousness. What is this?”
“Proof that we have the best kids in the universe.”
Nadine hands Xavier off to Patty, beaming. “So you guys saw the news!”
Cassie and I look at each other. “No . . . ,” I say finally.
“What?” Nadine yelps. “You people are supposed to be teenagers. Go look at the internet right now.”
She’s smiling so widely, I can’t help but smile back. Something’s happening. Cassie’s already scrolling through her phone, and she gasps.
My phone’s charging in the wall outlet. I tug the cord out and unlock my screen. “Where should I look?”
“Anywhere.” Patty smiles.
“Go to Facebook!” Cassie says.
I tap into my Facebook app, and my heart skips. Scrolling through, it’s all rainbows. Literally every single person on my feed is talking about the same thing.
“Is this for real?” I say softly.
“Yes!” Nadine grins up at me from across the table. “Amazing, right?”
I mean, I knew the Supreme Court would be voting about same-sex marriage, but I managed to put it out of my mind. I guess I didn’t expect it to go well.
But—holy shit. It went well.
“It’s legal everywhere. I can’t believe this.”
“I know!” Patty says. She glances at Nadine. “So, actually, we have some news.”
“Oh my God.” Cassie claps her hands together.
Patty and Nadine look at each other again, and when they smile at each other, it’s like they’re our age. Suddenly, I can almost picture how they must have looked when they first met. Which was years and years ago, when Patty was a grad student at Maryland, and Nadine was an undergrad. It’s bizarre to think about this. I mean, there’s literally nothing weirder than imagining your parents falling in love. But Patty and Nadine just keep smiling at each other.
“So, we’re getting married,” Nadine says.
“SHUT UP.” Cassie jumps out of her seat, grinning so hard, I think her face might split apart.
“You’re getting married?” I ask. There’s a lump in my throat. I look over at Patty, and her face is almost completely buried in Xavier’s hair. I think she might be about to cry.
“And we want you to be our maids of honor,” Nadine adds.
“Holy shit,” Cassie says. “Oh my God, this is so awesome. There’s going to be a wedding?”
“Like the most epic, awesome wedding of all time,” Nadine says. “Momo, you’re our DIY girl, right?”
“Did you pick a date?” Cassie asks. “Where are we doing this?”
“This summer. Our backyard. Whatever—we’re doing this.” Nadine clasps her hands together. “Finally.”
“Finally,” I agree.
It’s funny. I didn’t think they ever would—I guess because they could have two years ago in Maryland. But Nadine was pregnant at the time, and Patty was switching jobs, and they didn’t even bring it up.
“Are you guys up for this maid of honor gig? It’s a big responsibility,” Nadine says. “Because I’m warning you now, we’re gonna be bridezillas.”
“Big-time ’zillas,” says Patty.
“Oh man. I’m so excited,” Cassie says. “Your bastard children are very happy for you.”
“Oh my God! We won’t be bastards anymore,” I say.
“Aww, you guys will always be our bastards.”
“Now I don’t want to go to work!” I say. “We should celebrate.”
“Nah, go do your thing. You gotta bring home the dough. And we’ll have family dinner tonight,” Nadine says.
“I’ll walk with you,” says Cassie.
I can’t help but grin. Maybe she’s about to tell me everything. Maybe things are normal after all.
Maybe they’re better than normal.
It’s beautiful outside. The summer heat hasn’t set in yet—it’s just sunny with a few cotton ball clouds. It’s early, but lots of people are awake. I see our across-the-street neighbor out pinning up a giant rainbow flag, and farther down the street, someone’s playing “Uptown Funk.” It feels like a holiday.
“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.