Mina laughs. “What?”
“Ooh. I’d like to hear this,” Will says.
Cassie’s eyes flick to me, and she looks suddenly sheepish. Like it just occurred to her that sharing the details of my vomitous past might not help the cause. Something tells me Will won’t consider it a turn-on.
But it’s too late. He’s staring up at her, rapt.
“Molly, do you want to tell it?”
“I’m not telling it.” I hug my knees.
Cassie shrugs. “Okay, so we’re up at the bima, and the rabbi’s holding the Torah. And Molly and I are supposed to undress it.”
“Whoa,” Will says, and he and Max smile at each other.
“What?”
“That’s what they call it? Undressing the Torah?”
“Oh my God, guys, please stop.” Mina shakes her head. “You’re being offensive.”
“I’m just asking!”
“Anyway,” Cassie says, “the rabbi starts taking off the breastplate and the top thingies, and Molly’s just standing there, looking, like, dead white. Like what’s his name. The vampire.”
“Edward Cullen,” I say.
“Yes. Edward Cullen. And I’m whispering, like, ‘Molly, we’re supposed to be undressing the Torah.’ And she’s like, ‘I don’t feel good.’”
“Oh no,” Mina says, hand over her heart.
“But I’m like okay, well, this is literally our bat mitzvah, so you’re gonna have to suck it up. And then I hand her the pointer . . .”
I remember this perfectly. The way the tip of the yad looked like a hand, with a tiny little metallic pointer finger. I used to think the yad was adorable. But when Cassie extended it toward me in that moment, it felt like an accusation. YOU, MOLLY, YOU. I remember the sudden sensation of bile burning the back of my throat, the tidal wave in my stomach.
“And she’s like—” Cassie clutches her stomach, making gagging noises. “And she jets out of there. She runs down the stairs and out the side door, and everyone’s like oh holy shit. It’s totally silent. And then you could just hear these insane puking sounds going on for like twenty minutes.”
“Okay, it was not twenty minutes.”
Seriously. This. This is how Cassie’s going to convince Will to make out with me.
“It was twenty minutes. And at first, we’re all like, oh shit, she barfed in the lobby of the synagogue. Because, you know, we can hear it.”
“Oh God,” Mina says.
“But then . . .” Cassie raises a finger. “I remember.” She taps her collarbone. “We’re wearing microphones.”
“No. Oh, Molly.” Mina looks at me. “Oh my God. That is just. I’m sorry, but, can I hug you?”
I nod, and she actually slides down from her perch on the love seat. She actually hugs me. “That sucks,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
“And then I chanted my entire Torah portion without missing a single syllable,” Cassie announces smugly.
“Yeah, well.” I wrinkle my nose at her.
“You know what I love about Jewish people?” Max says. He looks so different when he smiles. His face lights up entirely.
Mina side-eyes him. “What?”
“I love that you have your bar mitzvah in front of your parents and grandparents and everyone, and like, that’s the Jewish version of ‘becoming a woman.’” He leans forward, grinning. “But in my religion—”
“You are not religious,” Mina says.
“In my religion,” he repeats emphatically, “you become a woman by . . .” He forms an O with his left hand and pokes through it with his right pointer finger, again and again and again.
“Jesus Christ, Max. Stop it. I’m serious.” Mina stands up.
“Yeah, that’s pretty fucking problematic,” Cassie says calmly.
“What?” Max looks wounded. “How is that problematic? The Jewish thing?”
“Um, let’s start with the implication that becoming a woman has anything to do with whether or not you’ve had sex.”
I have to admit, my sister is a badass. She just doesn’t get intimidated by people. I don’t know how to be like that.
“Ohhh, geez. Okay. I was kidding.” Max sighs.
“And you know what? I’m pretty much done with this construct of ‘virginity.’” Cassie does air quotes. “Which I’m sure you think applies to hetero, vaginal sex.”
“You think a person can lose their virginity from oral sex?”
“Yes,” Cassie says.
“Max, seriously.” Mina glares down at him.
“Okay, but don’t you think it depends on the couple?” Will chimes in. “It’s like a case-by-case thing. Like, if oral is the endgame for a particular couple, then yeah. But if it’s like a hetero guy and girl, I think there would have to be penetration.”
“But why?” Cassie leans forward. “Why would that be considered more intimate than oral? Like, why do you get to decide what makes something intimate?”
I lean back against the cushions and tuck my feet up under my thighs. It’s even worse than the bikini wax conversation. I feel so out of my league. I don’t know. This is not the kind of sex talk I’m used to having. I’m not saying the concepts are new to me. I mean, Patty’s a midwife, and she can get very specific about these things. But that’s strictly informational mom stuff. And when Abby talks about sex, it’s about the feelings, not the orifices. But I feel like we’re jumping straight into orifices.
Will nudges me. “What do you think?”
And the whole room goes silent. At least that’s how it feels.
I mean, he has to know I’m the last person he should be consulting about this. I’m pretty much the latest-blooming icon of teen purity to ever exist outside a Judd Apatow movie. Literally, the only penetration in my life involves monofilament cord and paper beads.
To be honest, I am Queen Elizabeth. I’m the Virgin Queen. And I think I know how she’d handle this conversation.
She would observe. And remain silent.
Of course, Elizabeth probably didn’t have a roomful of hipster sex gods staring her down.
“I mean, I think people have this mentality that sex is only real if it involves a penis,” Cassie says finally.
“Oh my God.” Mina sighs. “Thank you. This is like my soapbox.” She and Cassie beam at each other.
“And on that note,” Will announces loudly, “I’m getting another beer.”
He springs up from the carpet, and Mina murmurs something to Cassie under her breath. Then, Cassie laughs and whispers something back to Mina. And for a minute, I’m just sitting there, across from Max—who glances up at me for a moment, before deciding his phone is more interesting than I am. So maybe Max is one of those guys who only wants to befriend girls he thinks are hot (see also: guys who wear fedoras) (see also: guys who say “NO FATTIEZ”).
Though maybe I’m being too sensitive. Cassie tells me this a lot.
Anyway, I feel a little better when Will slides back onto the couch beside me, lips pressed against the rim of his beer bottle like he’s kissing it. He takes a quick sip, tilts his head toward me. “So, have you ever thought about doing photography?”
“Oh. Um. Not really.”
“Molly, you totally should!” Cassie says. “You know, you guys should hang out and work on a project together or something.”
Oh my God.
I feel sick. I actually feel sick. My sister is the least subtle person on the planet. This is so much worse than the barf mitzvah story. I don’t care about the barf mitzvah story. But this.
He’s going to think I want to hook up with him. That I’m in love with him. That I’m obsessed with him.
And I’m sorry, but there’s a reason I’m so careful. Boys like Will don’t like girls like me. And if they find out we like them, they are always cruel. Always.
I need to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
“So, you have to hear the new Florence and the Machine album,” Mina says. “I have it upstairs on
my laptop. It’s so great.”
Max looks up, suddenly, turning to Will. “Dude, we gotta go. Come on.”
“Wait, what? I want to hear Florence.”
“I’m sure it’s on YouTube,” Max says. “And I’m your ride, so . . .”
“You’re a dickhole, McCone.”
Max shakes his keys—and then, to my utter surprise, he turns to me with one of those face-lighting smiles. “Need a ride to the Metro, Molly?”
So maybe I was wrong about the fedora and the no-fattiez.
“Um. Yeah. Thank you. That would be really great.” I look at Cassie. “Cass, you ready?”
There’s this pause.
“Um. I’m gonna stay and hear that album. Is that okay?”
I feel a tiny twinge, low in my chest. “Yeah! Yeah, totally.” I pause. “So. Do you want me to stay, or . . . ?”
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Cassie says quickly. “You should go.”
Mina nods. “I can drop Cassie off after.”
Oh.
I think this is how it happens.
“Okay, yeah!” I say again, trying to sound casual.
Suddenly, there’s this pressure building behind my eyes. But it’s probably just excitement or adrenaline, because I’m not a shitty person. If my sister wants to make out with this girl, I would like this makeout to proceed as planned. And if it means I have to ride to the Metro with two cute boys, so be it.
I should be excited about this, right? Not one. TWO. Two cute hipster boys.
Max leads the way upstairs, and already I know what this ride will be like. The boys will be jokey and knowing and familiar. And I will lose myself to shyness. I will be the ice cube.
Will isn’t drunk, exactly, but he’s sort of loose and happy. He curses Max out for making him leave, but you can tell he’s not actually mad at all. Whereas Max just looks amused all the way to his car.
“So, where do you have to be so fucking urgently?” Will asks, sliding into the passenger seat. I tuck into the backseat, shutting the door quietly behind me. A part of me wonders if they remember I’m here.
“Seat belt,” Max says. Will clicks his seat belt on. “If you’re not buckled, we’re not moving,” Max explains, twisting around to check my status.
I’m buckled. I show him. Kind of funny and endearing, actually. Max is the last person I’d expect to care about seat belts. I’m not sure I understand him. I definitely don’t understand these two as a unit. At first, I thought Will was essentially the alpha guy, since he talks more, but now I don’t know. Because Max has this intensity. It makes me kind of nervous.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Will says, poking Max’s arm.
“I don’t have to be anywhere. I’m just following orders.” He passes Will his phone.
“Oh shit,” Will says.
Max laughs. And I feel like I’m missing something.
“Are they . . . hooking up?” I ask slowly.
“Well. Mina asked us to clear out, so . . . ,” Max says. He starts the car and glances at me in the mirror. “Red Line okay?”
“That’s great. Thanks.” My head is kind of spinning.
So Mina planned this. I guess she texted Max when we were all in the room together. And now the boys and I have been exiled.
She and Cassie are probably making out right now. Literally right now.
And because I’m not a shitty person, I’m 100 percent thrilled.
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, wh
en 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.