But he keeps going, like he has something to prove. He removes Cate from the door and starts picking up empty glasses, asking customers if they want more coffee.
“Stay,” Cate says to me. She points a finger. Not only am I the crappy child they raised all wrong, not only am I their guinea pig preparing them for their real baby, I am also, apparently, a dog.
I stay.
BITTY: Assignment completed.
STAR: Someone’s high!
BITTY: I didn’t like that one.
AGNES: Sometimes it’s unclear why we do something until much, much later.
BITTY: I feel worse than I did yesterday. And being high so far is mostly annoying.
ZED: Feel the way you are losing fear? The way you are gaining control?
STAR: You can’t see everything right now. I promise. One of my least favorite Assignments led me to the party that I met Moon at. I was miserable for months after. And now, I’m here.
Also, I’m gonna do it. My Assignment. Propose. And Bitty, you helped me decide that I could. If you can do it, I can do it, right?
Star posts a picture of her feet and what I assume are Moon’s feet. Barefoot, pinching blades of grass between their toes. The hope that’s been bubbling more and more since I joined LBC rushes into a boil. I can have that. If I power through the unsettled feeling and the intense desire to vomit, I could be that girl.
I’d almost forgotten to take my own picture, but luckily I have my phone stranded out here with me, so I stand next to the joint that Paul discarded into the pile of leaves. I’m in ugly yellow rain boots and I don’t know how to make it interesting, so I line everything up in a straight line: my two feet, the joint, the lighter, which I drop onto the ground also.
Snap.
Sixteen.
STAR: I have to be honest. I’m scared. What if he says no? What if I learn more about him and don’t like it? What if I don’t understand everything yet? What if he says yes?
I can’t stand Star having doubts. Not now. Not so quickly after she agreed to her Assignment. Not when she only has a few hours to go.
I shiver from the chill but thank the sun for settling in right over my head.
I wish I could say I am simply enjoying the sounds of nature once Cate strands me outside: tweeting birds, the oceanic sound of wind hitting leaves, the occasional crack of twigs breaking in half under the weight of tiny animals. It looks like a woodland November wonderland out here: the sun breaks through the pumpkin-colored leaves and makes odd patterns on the grass, and there’s the persistent optical illusion of close-looking snow-topped mountains that are actually sort of far away.
But. After hanging out on LBC for a few more minutes, all there is to do is listen to Paul and Cate scream at each other.
“You fuckup!” Cate yells. Since I can’t see her, my mind gives me a moment of relief when I don’t have to believe it’s actually her. I smirk, like some other family is causing a scene. But then: “Not only are you ruining our business with your ridiculous . . . stoner-ness . . . you’ve also decided to ruin our daughter?”
Yeah, that’s me. The ruined one.
I kick a pile of leaves. Grind one under the heel of my yellow boot.
“How many warn—chance—warn-chances did I give you? You really needed me to be more clear about what I wanted? You can’t be a father and a . . . a . . . trouble-pot-stirrer.”
Cate makes up words when she’s mad. Her level of anger almost always directly correlates to how many nonsensical or cobbled-together words and phrases she peppers her speech with.
“She—Tabitha—she was going to experiment—” Paul starts. “She finally started talking about some of the things happening in her life—” He stops cold. I am clenching my jaw so tightly, it aches. I am grinding my teeth with such ferocity, I swear I can feel little shards of them coming off in my mouth, like I’m sandpapering them down. I’m wishing the walls were thicker and soundproof. Because next I have to listen to Paul asking customers to please leave. Plus it’s freaking cold.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, and I know without seeing his face that it is crimson and grimacing, like mine, but worse. That floating, giggling feeling I had a few minutes ago has tempered, too. It’s still there, but only in the back of my head, and I can’t crawl inside it. It feels like I got suddenly shoved outside that warm, silly, cloud-insulated place and back into the cold November air. I wish I had a jacket and some headphones.
Cate is silent.