The Upside of Unrequited

19

I WANT MY NORMALCY BACK.

I feel so undone. It’s like stringing beads and realizing you forgot to knot your thread. I don’t feel like me. I’m not a girl who curses out one boy, pretends to be dating another, and can’t stop thinking about a third.

And I’ve never fought with Cassie so often in my life.

There’s been this carefulness between us all day. She ended up crashing with Mina in Max’s guest room, and Mina’s friend Samar drove me to the Metro. But we haven’t talked about any of it since—not Reid, not my giant ego, and especially not the other thing. The ditching-me-for-Mina thing.

“Hey.” Cassie appears in my doorway as I’m putting away my ribbon garland. “Mina’s here, and Olivia’s working, so we’re going to go keep her company and paint pottery.”

“Great.”

“Thought you might want to come.”

“Okay.” I wind my ribbon garland into careful loops—over my thumb and under my elbow, and back around again. “I don’t want to bust in on your date.”

She laughs flatly. “It’s not a date. Jesus. Olivia is literally going to be there the entire time.”

I don’t reply.

“Okay, I get that you’re feeling really, really sorry for yourself, but I kind of think you might want to come. Have you talked to Olivia recently?”

“No . . .”

“So you don’t know what’s going on with Evan?”

I look up. “What’s going on with Evan?”

“Well, I was hoping you knew. Abby doesn’t know either, but something’s up. She just got back from Philly.” She shrugs. “Anyway, we’re leaving now, so if you’re coming, let’s go.”

I hesitate.

“Okay, look. Don’t come. That’s fine. But I don’t want to hear this shit about me ditching you for Mina.”

“I’ll come,” I say quickly.

It’s like Cassie and I are partners in the world’s most complicated dance. Everything feels really fragile. If I take a wrong step, it could throw us off completely.

Cassie slides into the front seat of Mina’s Lexus, and I take my spot in the back. We spend the whole ride to Silver Spring pointedly not speaking to each other. Which brings out this pressured kind of chattiness in Mina. I remember her saying she talks too much when she’s nervous.

“Have you guys ever done this before? It’s like they have plates and mugs and everything already made and fired up and ready to be painted. It’s really fun. I mean, I suck at painting, but still. Molly, I think you’d like it.”

“Yeah. I mean, Olivia works there, so . . .”

“Oh. Right,” Mina says. “Duh.” She slows to a stop at a stop sign.

“But it’s been awhile,” I add.

She tucks a lock of dark-purple hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I’m thinking I’m going to do like a penguin design? Like penguins in love? I want to try to make something for your moms as a wedding gift. But only if it turns out okay.”

“You know they’ll love it no matter what,” Cassie says. “They’re obsessed with you.”

“Aww—really?”

“Yeah, I think they’re grateful you didn’t dump me after that night with Grandma.”

Mina giggles, and Cassie turns toward her and smiles. It’s pretty awkward watching this from the backseat. They’re not even being mushy or gross, but there’s this feeling like they’re the adults, and I’m a little kid. I should be in a car seat, holding a sippy cup.

We end up parking on the street a block or two away from the pottery place. I walk half a step behind Mina and Cassie. I’m not talking much. I guess I feel a little self-conscious. So then, of course, the act of talking starts to feel like this huge, impossible thing. I get like this sometimes. I get locked into a cycle of not speaking. It’s like every time I think of something awesome to say, I rehearse it in my head so many times, I forget whether I’ve said it out loud yet. And I think it goes without saying that awesome one-liners are decidedly less awesome when you repeat them by accident. Better not to risk it.

“So I honestly have no idea what we’re about to walk into,” Cassie says, walking backward for a moment like she’s our tour guide.

“You mean with Evan?”

“Yeah. I don’t know any details. At all. Abby just said something was up.” She shrugs. And then she pushes through the entrance.

The pottery place is quiet for a Saturday, and right away, I see Olivia. She’s actually sitting at one of the tables painting a plate. There are two little girls working on ceramic piggy banks with their mom, but other than that, we have the place to ourselves.

“Oh hey,” Olivia says, without getting up. We walk over to her. And she looks normal. I mean, she’s wearing an awesome purple shirt with a gnome on it, and she doesn’t look like she’s been crying.

“What are you working on?” Mina asks, peering at Olivia’s work in progress.

“Oh, it’s dumb. It’s just something to put up as a display.”

But it’s not. It’s not dumb. I stare at Olivia’s plate, feeling stupidly jealous. God, I always forget how artistic she is. Like, every once in a while, I fool myself into thinking I am, too, but I’m not. Not like this.

Olivia’s plate is stunning. She’s covered the background in the palest green paint, with a thin line of gold around the outer edge. And in the middle, there’s a half-finished dragon, exquisitely detailed, with carefully defined scales.

Reid would flip over this. Holy shit.

“Can I take a picture of this?” I ask.

Olivia looks confused.

“The dragon,” I add. “It’s beautiful.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“I’m serious.”

“I mean, it’s not done, but sure.”

I snap a picture with my phone. Then we settle in at Olivia’s table, and she sets us up with plates and paint and brushes. First, we’re supposed to sponge the plates down with water. Then, Olivia reminds us to do three coats of the background color.

“Look how hardcore she is,” Cassie says. “Don’t even try to skip one of the coats. She will lose her shit.”

Olivia nods. “Shit will be lost.”

It’s like, I’d almost say she was acting normal, except for the fact that I know something’s up with Evan. So now I can’t help but read sadness and heartache into every single paint stroke. I kind of want to just ask her. I can’t believe Cassie hasn’t.

But instead, we work in almost total silence. I cover the full surface of my plate with three coats of white paint, which feels slightly ridiculous. When it dries, I leave the entire middle of the plate white, but fill in tiny colorful flowers around the edges. Mina’s across from me, working on her penguins, leaning forward on her elbow. And Cassie appears to be trying to copy Olivia’s dragon design. It’s not going well.

“This looks like it was painted by a fetus,” she grumbles.

Mina rests her chin on Cassie’s shoulder. “I like it,” she says.

Cassie smiles. “You would.”

“So, you guys went to a party last night?” Olivia asks.

“Yeah, it was all right. And you just got back from Philly, right?” Mina asks.

I give her a huge internal high five. I cannot believe how quickly she just brought the conversation around to Philly. She is truly the child of psychologists.

“Yeah, I got back last night,” Olivia says, and then she sighs.

Cassie jumps in. “You okay? What’s up?”

“Well.” Olivia shrugs. “Yeah. So, Evan broke up with me.”

“Oh, Livvy.”

“Yeah.” She gives me this wavery smile.

“Oh my God. What happened?”

She shakes her head calmly. “I honestly don’t know.”

Then she shrugs again.

Then she bursts into tears.

“That fucker,” says Cassie.

And then Olivia tells us everything. “I was just going to stay until Wednesday. And, like, I don’t know.” She sniffs. “Everything was normal, for the most part. Like, I guess he was acting sort of distant, but I didn’t realize it at the time, you know? Just in hindsight.”

“This was at his parents’ house?” Cassie asks.

“Yeah.” She nods. She takes a deep breath. “Yup, I mean. His parents were there, his sister was there, so it wasn’t like there was drama.”

Evan Schulmeister’s parents. I’m pretty curious to know what they’re like. Also, maybe this is really nosy, but a part of me wonders how this all works. Like, what happens when you visit your long-distance boyfriend at his parents’ house? Do you just not have sex? Or do you risk it and hope his parents don’t bust in? Because something tells me Evan Schulmeister’s family is very, very involved. Though that’s strictly speculation. And it’s clearly beside the point.

But then again:

“Did you have sex?” Cassie asks matter-of-factly.

Olivia blushes. “I mean, yeah.”

“So he had sex with you and then he dumped you.”

“I guess so.”

“I will fucking destroy him,” says Cassie, and Mina nods solemnly.

“I don’t even understand,” I say.

Olivia fidgets with her paintbrush. “I don’t either. Everything was fine, you know? He asked if I could stay until Friday, so I even rearranged my work schedule . . .”

Cassie practically hisses. “This is so fucked up.”

“And I guess it was because he was planning to break up with me, but hadn’t worked up the nerve yet? Like he needed an extension.”

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”

Across the store, the two little girls and their mom look up from their piggy banks abruptly.

“Shit. Sorry.” Cassie drops her voice to a whisper.

“It’s fine,” Olivia says. “Yeah. I’m not even kidding. So, yesterday morning, he comes into the guest room with tea and a bagel and everything, and I thought it was sweet. He’d never made me breakfast in bed before, you know? But then he literally waits until my mouth is full of bagel and says, ‘So I wanted to talk to you.’ And I’m like, ‘Okay.’ And he says, ‘I don’t think I’m ready to be exclusive.’”

“Jesus Christ,” Cassie says. “You’ve only been dating since eighth fucking grade.”

“I know.” Olivia shrugs.

“So then what?”

“I mean, it’s not like I was going to argue with him.”

“I cannot fucking believe this.”

“Oh, there’s more,” Olivia says. “So, I’m basically quiet this whole time, and he keeps saying he’s very concerned that I’m not reacting.”

“Which is bullshit,” Mina interjects.

“Right? So he finally says he’s going to leave me alone to process this.”

“Ugh.” Cassie snorts.

“Except right before he leaves, he seriously turns to me and says, ‘I just want you to know we can still hook up.’”

This makes me gasp. “He did NOT.”

“Oh, he did.”

“Fucking Schulmeister,” says Cassie. “Tell him I’ll hook him up with my fucking fist. This motherfucking douchebag.”

Holy shit, I forgot how terrifying Cassie is when she’s really, truly angry. I don’t think I’ve seen her like this since middle school. Since the boner-deflating womp womp womp guys. And I guess that’s the thing about Cassie. She has zero tolerance for this kind of cruelty. She will smack boys down, with no hesitation.

It’s kind of heroic. I kind of love that about her.

And now she catches my eye, maybe by accident, and I feel my lips tug upward. I can’t help it.

She smiles back. Just a little.

And I feel this twinge of relief.

Cassie’s already gone when I wake up on Sunday, but my moms talk me into going to the farmers’ market. So, I wander down there on my own. It’s one of those days when the crowds are sort of overwhelming. I claim the end of a bench and sit cross-legged, fidgeting with my friendship bracelets.

There are little kids everywhere, wandering among the booths of vegetables and freshly cut flowers. It’s the kind of thing that normally makes me feel really nostalgic.

Today, I’m mostly just tired.

So now I’m officially that person sitting on a bench in perfect weather, surrounded by neighbors, zoned out on my iPhone.

I text Abby. Did you hear about Schulmeister? Angry-face emoji.

And then I pull up my photo of Olivia’s plate and text it to Reid before I can talk myself out of it. So, my friend Olivia painted this. You love it, right?

Okay, there’s something terrifying about typing the word love in a text to a boy. Even in this utterly neutral, dragon-related context. I mean, now I can’t stop looking at it. It’s as if I typed it in bold, with a heart for the O.

Oh, I totally love it, he writes back immediately.

And then, a moment later: How’s the farmers’ market?

Okay. Wait.

He texts again: Psst: look up!

And it’s him. He’s right here. “Hey! What are you doing here?”

“Getting vegetables?” he says, his voice rising like a question. He hoists up a reusable grocery bag to show me.

“Right.” I smile.

God, he just looks so Reid. He’s wearing brown shorts and a Game of Thrones shirt—but it’s a totally different Game of Thrones shirt, which means he clearly has a collection of them. And his sneakers. Are so, so white. There’s this feeling in my stomach like ribbon curling.

“Hey, guess what,” I say quickly.

Of course he actually tries to guess. “You found a tiny chocolate chicken inside a Mini Egg.”

I laugh. “Um, no.”

“That is a shame.” He sits beside me on the bench. “So, what is it?”

“What is what?”

“What am I guessing?”

“Oh! Now it feels anticlimactic. It’s just, I realized something the other night that made me think of you.”

“What?”

“Have you ever noticed that dragon rhymes with flagon?”

“Um. Yes,” he says, smiling.

“I guess it seemed funnier on Friday,” I say. “Told you it was anticlimactic.”

“I think it’s climactic!”

Climactic. Okay, that word. Jesus Christ. It can’t be possible to blush this hard. I can’t keep acting like this around him.

“Hey, I have a question,” he says suddenly. He clears his throat. “Do you feel like working today?”

“Oh. Sure. Do you need me to cover your shift?” I tuck my hair behind my ear.

“No, I just want company.”

“Really?”

“Really. And,” he adds, “I’ll pay you in Mini Eggs.”

“You must think I’ll do anything for Mini Eggs.”

“Yes.”

I grin at him. I don’t know how to explain the way I’m feeling. It’s equal parts terror and contentment. Which makes no sense. I know that.

“Let me text my moms so they know.”

“That’s very responsible of you.”

We walk down Carroll Avenue, and Reid tells me about a new shipment at Bissel. Except I’m having trouble paying attention. To be honest, I’m a little bit obsessed with my hand. And his hand. And the space between our hands. I don’t know if I should swing my arm or clasp my hands or let it hang. Every movement feels weirdly deliberate. It’s a little ridiculous. If you turned me into a pie graph, the obsessed-with-hands part would look like Pac-Man.

“So, we’re left with the greatest quantity of bubble wrap ever to exist in one room,” he concludes.

“What about the bubble wrap factory?”

“We have surpassed even the bubble wrap factory.”

I pantomime pinching a bubble between my fingers. Pop.

“Pop,” Reid says. I look at him, and he’s smiling.

We walk right past Cassie—I don’t even notice her until she calls out to me. She’s on a bench with Mina and Olivia, and they’re all holding cups of gelato with tiny plastic spoons. Cassie’s legs are tucked up cross-legged. “Hey! Where are you guys going?”

“I tricked Molly into helping me work,” Reid says.

“No, I tricked him into thinking he tricked me.”

Mina giggles, and Cassie rolls her eyes, but not in a mean way.

“Have you guys met each other?” I say. “Olivia, Reid.”

“Hey.” Reid smiles at Olivia, and she smiles back. I feel almost apprehensive. Maybe it’s the particular way he’s smiling, or the way her cheeks have gone pink.

“Wow. I love your shirt,” Olivia says.

Reid looks delighted. “Wait, are you into Game of Thrones?”

“Am I into Game of Thrones?” she asks incredulously. “Am I a human being with a beating heart?”

“Yes!” Reid pumps his fist.

And my twist of dread turns into a tidal wave of panic. Because I’ve already seen this exact kind of moment unfold. At the 9:30 Club. With Cassie and Mina, and Mina’s Georgie James shirt.

And for the first time in four years, Olivia is single.

No. No. No.

I’ve never been someone who gets the urge to hit people. I’m not actually imagining smacking Olivia across the face right now.

My sweet, faerie-loving, ocean-calm friend Olivia! Who just had her heart broken. By Evan Schulmeister. I think I must be going crazy.

Because this is Olivia.

I mean, I can’t be this shitty of a person.

“We should get down there,” I say quickly, and Reid nods.

“Okay, well, hey,” Cassie says. “We were thinking about having a sleepover tomorrow night. With us and Will and Max. Do you guys want in?”

I don’t even have to look at Cassie to know that she’s mortifyingly twinkle-eyed right now. I can hear it in her voice.

I look up at Reid, and he shrugs. “Okay. Yeah.” He smiles.

And Olivia smiles, too.

I can’t tell if the lurch in my stomach is excitement or dread.