I press send on the message, even though these strangers will now be the first people to ever know what a romantic I am, aside from Cate and Paul. No one really knows what a good poem can do to me. I got into poetry the way I get into everything else I read, by looking at the margins. I have a book from a guy named Henry to a girl named Alice. He inscribed it. For their anniversary. Then, on the last blank page of the book, he wrote the lyrics to “Rainbow Connection.” You know, the one Kermit the Frog sings. He said that was the most romantic thing he’d ever heard, and that every poem in there plus “Rainbow Connection” couldn’t accurately describe how much he loved her.
I listened to “Rainbow Connection” on repeat for hours after I found that. And even now, I consider texting Joe to tell him to listen to the song or read a Neruda poem that reminds me of the way I feel about him, but I know better. No one’s ready to see that side of me.
Except, apparently, a bunch of strangers from around the country who are taking over my computer.
Because before I know it, I’ve typed the story of Henry and Alice and Kermit the Frog and the things I never say to anyone into the comment box on Star’s LBC page. I guess it’s safe, to show this tiny part of myself here. Star has no idea who I even am. As far as I can tell, everyone stumbled into Life by Committee with equal degrees of randomness. We don’t pursue members, Zed wrote on the Rules page. We trust they will find us. I want to ask if anyone else found the website in the back of a book, but I think it would give something away that I have to keep hidden.
Anyway, if I let them know who I am, they’ll understand why I need a different Assignment.
“Tab?” Cate says, a disembodied voice from who knows where. She comes in to find me pajamaed and cross-legged and typing so fast and hard, it’s basically a workout.
“Did I wake you?” I say. I want to click away from Star’s page, but I don’t want Cate to notice any flicker of fear, so I keep it up and hope she hasn’t put in her contacts yet.
“No. The baby did.” She touches her belly. “You need to get off that thing, babycakes.” Cate hates computers and cell phones and anything remotely useful or modern.
“I know, I know.”
“Want to go for a walk?”
“Now? It’s fucking late.”
“You’re going to have to watch the language when the baby comes, Tab. We’ve been terrible influences.” Like I’m some starter child they can mess up, but now that the baby’s coming, they’ll be doing things right.
“Yeah, okay. Let’s walk,” I say, instead of agreeing to watch my language or anything else she wants to change about me. It occurs to me that this is another secret. That I’m jealous of this unborn baby. That I don’t feel all happy about the upcoming arrival. But that’s a way worse secret to share than the thing about kissing Joe, and I don’t need a bunch of strangers commenting on it.
I leave the Assignment be and vow to deal with it after I’ve gotten some air. Maybe a walk with Cate is exactly what I need. I log off and give a little half prayer to the gods of love that everything goes amazingly with Star and her mysterious long-distance guy. One of those smiles sneaks onto my face: the kind that happens without thinking. So rare, it makes me jump with surprise when I realize it’s found its way to my mouth.
And we walk. Cate brings a flashlight, and neither of us changes out of our pajamas. We wear sneakers and winter jackets and can only see a foot ahead of us at a time. I like the way our legs end up striding in sync, and the unquestioning silence we fall into even though it’s way too late on a school night for me to be up without being interrogated.
I stop paying attention to the direction we’re walking in and trust Cate to take the lead.
“You okay, sweetness?” Cate says every three minutes or so, and I mm-hmm, and that, too, becomes part of the rhythm of our walking. That, too, becomes a reason to stop being afraid of what will happen when the baby is born.
Then, after all that dark, there’s a pool of light. It’s not too strong, just someone who’s left their porch lights on, so the lawn and the house are partially lit.
“You have a destination in mind? Do we know anyone on Village Hill Road?” I ask, taking a look around and realizing what street we’re on.