by Jenny Han
“Fried rice, though? Really?”
“What’s the big deal if she doesn’t like Korean food?” Kitty says.
“Korean food is our biggest link to Korean culture,” Margot tells her. “Are we just never going to eat Korean food anymore because Trina doesn’t like it?” Margot doesn’t wait for us to answer. “I just hope she realizes that when she marries Daddy, she gets the whole package, and Korea’s a part of that package.”
“Margot, she knows that,” I say. “And besides, we’ll get to eat Korean food every day this summer.” Every day this summer when I’m away from Peter.
“I wish Daddy and Trina were coming too,” Kitty says.
“It’s better this way,” Margot says. “What would Trina even eat in Korea?” She’s halfway joking but not really.
Kitty, who is petting Jamie, ignores her and asks me, “Who’s going to take care of Jamie Fox-Pickle and Simone when we’re all gone?”
“A dog sitter?” I suggest. My heart’s not really in it. I’m only halfway here. All I can think of is Peter. “We’ll figure something out.”
Margot looks around the room. Her eyes land on Trina’s big armchair. “This house feels so small all of sudden. There isn’t enough room for all of Trina’s stuff.”
Kitty says, “It doesn’t feel that small when you’re not here.”
I gasp. “Kitty!”
All the color drains from Margot’s face, and then her cheeks go splotchy. “Did you really just say that to me?”
I can tell Kitty regrets it, but she lifts her chin in her stubborn Kitty way. “Well, I’m just saying.”
“You’re a brat.” Margot gets the words out strong, but I see her face as she turns to go upstairs, and I know she’s going to her room to cry in private.
As soon as she’s gone, I turn to Kitty. “Why did you say that to her?”
Tears leak from her eyes. “Because! She’s been so mean to Tree for no reason.”
I wipe her tears with the back of my hand. I feel like crying too. “Gogo feels left out, that’s all. We know Trina, because we’ve had time to know her. But Margot doesn’t know her at all. And Kitty—Gogo practically raised you. You don’t talk to her like that.”
Halfheartedly, she mutters, “I talk to you like that.”
“That’s different and you know it. We’re closer in age.”
“So you’re saying you and I are on the same level?”
“I mean—no. Margot and I are almost on the same level, and you’re on the level below us, because you’re the youngest. But you and I are more on the same level than you and Margot. Just try and understand her. She doesn’t want to feel like her place has been taken.”
Kitty’s shoulders hunch. “It hasn’t been taken.”
“She just needs a little reassurance, that’s all. Be understanding.” Kitty doesn’t reply or lift her head, but I know she’s hearing me. “You are a little brat, though.” Her head snaps up and she lunges at me, and I laugh. “Go upstairs and say sorry to Gogo. You know it’s the right thing to do.”
Kitty actually listens to me for once. She goes upstairs, and then, sometime later, they both come down with red eyes. In the meantime I get a text from Peter, asking if I can come out. I tell him I can’t, that I’m going out to dinner with my family, but I’ll see him tomorrow night. The guys are meeting us at the karaoke bar after they have their steak dinner. I hope that by the time I see him, I’ll know what to do.
* * *
In my room that night, I am painting my nails mint green for the bachelorette party tomorrow night, and Margot is lying on my bed looking at her phone. “Do you want me to do your nails too?” I ask.
“No, I don’t care,” she says.
I sigh. “Listen, you have to stop being in a bad mood about Trina. She and Daddy are getting married, Gogo.”
Margot sighs. “It’s not just Trina. Trina’s . . . Trina.”
“Then what?”
Margot chews on her top lip, something I haven’t seen her do since she was little. “It’s like I came back and there was a whole new family here that I wasn’t a part of.”
I want to tell her that nothing has changed, that she’s still just as much a part of it as she always was, but that wouldn’t be true. Life here kept going on without her, just like it’ll keep going on without me when I leave this fall.
A tear rolls down her cheek. “And I miss Mommy.”
My throat tightens up. “Me too.”
“I wish Kitty could have known her.” Margot sighs. “I know it’s selfish . . . but I guess I just never pictured Daddy getting married again. I thought he’d date, maybe have a long-term girlfriend at some point, but married?”
Gently I say, “I never really thought about it either, but then when you left for Scotland, I don’t know . . . it just started making more sense. The thought of him having someone.”
“I know. And it’s good for Kitty, too.”
“I think she thinks of Trina as hers. I have my own relationship with Trina, but Kitty’s had a special thing with her from the start.”
“God, she’s like a pit bull with Trina!” Margot laughs a shaky kind of laugh. “She really loves her.”
“I know that’s why you got so upset about Korean food today. You think that if Daddy stops cooking Korean food because Trina doesn’t like it, Kitty won’t have that connection anymore. And if we forget Korea, we forget Mommy.” Tears are rolling down her cheeks, and she is wiping them away with the back of her sweatshirt sleeve. “But we’ll never forget Korea, and we’ll never forget Mommy. Okay?”
Margot nods and takes a deep breath. “God, I’ve cried twice today! It’s so un-me.” She smiles at me, and I smile back, as brightly as I can. Her brow furrows. “Lara Jean, is something up with you? You’ve seemed sort of . . . I don’t know, melancholy, ever since you got back from Beach Week. Did something happen with you and Peter?”
I want so desperately to tell her everything, to lay all my burdens upon my big sister, to have her tell me what to do. Things would be so much simpler if she would just tell me what to do. But I know what Margot would do, because she’s already done it.
Don’t be the girl who goes to college with a boyfriend. That’s what my mom said. That’s what Margot said.
36
FOR THE BACHELORETTE, KRISTEN DECIDED the theme of the night should be the nineties, because there’s nothing Trina loves better than the nineties, so everyone has to dress up in nineties clothes. Honestly, I think the whole reason behind the theme is because Kristen wants to wear a crop top and show off her abs. She arrives at the house in a blue T-shirt that says SKATER GURL and baggy jeans, and her hair is parted down the middle. She’s wearing dark brown lipstick, very matte.
The first thing she does is turn on a nineties station, which blasts all over the whole house. The girls are meeting here, and the boys (and Kitty) are meeting at the steakhouse. I’m glad, because I still don’t know what I’m going to say to Peter.
We’re still getting ready. I’m going with a floral babydoll dress I found on Etsy, and cream-colored knee socks and black platform Mary Janes. I’m brushing my hair into two ponytails when Kristen comes upstairs to do inspections, carrying a martini glass that says Maid of Honor in pink cursive. “Aw, you look cute, Lara Jean,” she says, sipping on her cocktail.
I tighten my ponytails. “Thank you, Kristen,” I say. I’m just glad my outfit is up to snuff. I’ve got a lot on my mind, and I would hate to mess up Trina’s night.
Kitty and Margot are on the floor; Kitty is painting Margot’s nails black. Margot has chosen to go the grunge route—a long flannel shirt and jeans and a pair of Doc Martens I borrowed from Chris.
“What are you drinking?” Kitty asks Kristen.
“Cosmopolitan. I have more downstairs in a Sprite bottle. Not for you, though.”
Kitty rolls her eyes at this. “Where’s Tree?”
“She’s in the shower,” I tell her.
Kristen tilts her head
and squints at me. “You’re missing something.” She puts down her glass and digs into her clutch and pulls out a lipstick. “Put this on.”
“Oh . . . is it the color you’re wearing?” I ask.
“Yes! It’s called Toast of New York. It was the shit back in the day!”
“Um . . . ,” I hedge. Kristen looks like she smeared Hershey’s kisses all over her lips and then the chocolate dried.
“Just trust me,” she says.
“I was thinking about wearing this.” I put down my hairbrush and show her a shiny pink lip gloss. “Didn’t the Spice Girls wear lip gloss like this? Weren’t they from the nineties?”
Kristen frowns. “They were more late nineties, early two thousands, but yes. I guess that’ll work.” She points her lipstick at Margot. “You need this, though. Your outfit isn’t nineties enough.” She watches as Kitty puts the finishing touches on Margot’s nails. “I used to use a Sharpie,” Kristen says. “You girls don’t know how lucky you are to have all these options. We used to have to make do. Sharpies for black, Wite-Out for white.”
“What’s Wite-Out?” Kitty asks her.
“Oh my God. You children don’t even know what Wite-Out is?”
As soon as Kristen turns her back to pick up her cocktail, Kitty bares her teeth at her and hisses silently.
“I saw you in the mirror,” Kristen says.
“I meant for you to,” Kitty says back.
Kristen eyes her. “Hurry up and finish with your sister’s nails so you can do mine.”
“I’m almost done,” Kitty says.
A minute later the doorbell rings, and all three of them head downstairs. I hear Kristen yell, “You get the door; I’ll get the drinks!”
* * *
Trina’s sorority sister Monique is wearing a slip dress with big sunflowers splashed all over it, and a white T-shirt underneath, plus black platform Mary Janes that look like space shoes. Her friend Kendra from SoulCycle is wearing overalls with a pink ribbed cami and a matching pink scrunchie in her hair. A lot of the stuff people are wearing, the kids from school wear too. Fashion really is cyclical.
The nineties theme was the right call, because Trina is delighted by all of it.
“I love your dress!” Kendra says to me.
“Thank you!” I say. “It’s vintage.”
She recoils in real horror. “Oh my God. Are the nineties considered vintage now?”
Trina says, “Yes, girl. Their nineties are our seventies.”
She shudders. “That’s terrifying. Are we old?”
“We’re geriatric,” Trina says, but cheerfully.
In the car on the way to the karaoke bar, I get a text from Peter—it’s a picture of him and my dad in their suits, smiling big. My heart lurches when I see it. How do I let a boy like that go?
* * *
We have a private room reserved at the karaoke bar. When the waitress comes around, Margot orders a pomegranate margarita, which Trina notices, but she doesn’t say anything. What could she say? Margot’s in college. She’ll be twenty in a month.
“Is that good?” I ask her.
“It’s really sweet,” she says. “Do you want a sip?”
I would surely love a sip. Peter’s texted twice from the steakhouse, asking how my night is going, and my stomach is tied up in knots. Furtively I look over at Trina, who is doing a duet with Kristen. She might not have said anything to Margot, but I have a feeling she will say something to me.
“In Scotland, the drinking age is eighteen,” Margot says.
I take a quick sip, and it’s good, tart and icy.
Meanwhile, everybody’s looking through songbooks, trying to decide what songs to put in. The rule of the night is only nineties music. It takes a while for people to get warmed up, but then the drinks start coming fast and furious, and people are shouting out song numbers for the queue.
Trina’s friend Michelle goes up next. She croons, “There was a time, when I was so broken-hearted . . .”
“I like this song,” I say. “Who sings this song?”
Kristen pats me on the head indulgently. “Aerosmith, baby girl. Aerosmith.”
They all get up and sing Spice Girls.
Margot and I sing “Wonderwall” by Oasis. When I sit back down, I’m breathless.
Trina’s SoulCycle friend Kendra is swaying to the beat of whatever nineties song Trina and Kristen are dueting, her frosted martini glass in the air. It’s acid green.
“What are you drinking, Kendra?” I ask her.
“Apple martini.”
“That sounds good. Can I try it?”
“Yeah, have a sip! They’re so fruity you can’t even taste it.”
I take a little hummingbird sip. It is sweet. It tastes like a Jolly Rancher.
When Kristen and Trina’s number is up, they fall on the couch beside me, and Kendra jumps up to sing a Britney Spears song.
Kristen is slurring, “I just want us to stay close, you know? Don’t be boring. Don’t be, like, a mom all of a sudden, okay? I mean, I know you have to be a mom, but like, don’t be a mom mom.”
“I won’t be a mom mom,” Trina says soothingly. “I could never be a mom mom.”
“You have to promise to still come to Wine Down Wednesdays.”
“I promise.”
Kristen lets out a sob. “I just love you so much, girl.”
Trina has tears in her eyes too. “I love you, too.”
Kendra’s martini is just sitting on the table all alone. I take another sip when no one is looking, because it does taste good. And then another. I’ve finished the glass when Trina spots me. She raises her eyebrows. “I think you might’ve had a little too much fun at Beach Week.”
“I barely drunk a thing at Beach Week, Trina!” I protest. I frown. “Is it drunk or is it drank?”
Trina looks alarmed. “Margot, is your sister drunk?”
I put my hands up. “Guys, guys, I don’t even drank!”
Margot sits down next to me, examines my eyes. “She’s drunk.”
I’ve never been drunk before in my life. Am I drunk now? I do feel very relaxed. Is that what drunk feels like, when your limbs are loose, kind of silky?
“Your dad is going to kill me,” Trina says with a groan. “They just dropped Kitty off back at home. They’ll be here any minute. Lara Jean, drink a lot of water. Drink this whole glass. I’m going to get another pitcher.”
When she returns a few minutes later, the bachelor party is in tow. She gives me a warning look. Don’t act drunk, she mouths. I give her a thumbs-up. Then I jump up and throw my arms around Peter.
“Peter!” I shout above the music. He looks so cute in his button-down and tie. So cute I could cry. I bury my face in his neck like a squirrel. “I’ve missed you so, so very much.”
Peter peers at me. “Are you drunk?”
“No, I only had like two sips. Two drinks.”
“Trina let you drink?”
“No.” I giggle. “I stole sips.”
“We’d better get you out of here before your dad sees you,” Peter says, eyes darting around. My dad is looking through a songbook with Margot, who is giving me a look that says, Get it together.
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt a living soul.”
“Let’s go out to the parking lot so you can get some air,” he says, putting his arm around me and hustling me out the door and through the restaurant.
We step outside, and I sway on my feet a little. Peter’s trying not to smile. “You’re drunk.”
“I guess I’m a weightlight!”
“Lightweight.” He pinches my cheeks.
“Right. Weightlight. I mean, lightweight.” Why is that so funny? I can’t stop laughing. But then I see the way he is looking at me, with such tenderness, and I stop. I don’t feel like laughing anymore. I feel like crying. Look at the way he made my dad’s bachelor party so special. Look at all the ways he loves me so well. I have to love him back just as much. I didn’t know what I was g
oing to do until this very moment, but now I know. “There’s something I want to say to you.” I straighten up suddenly and accidentally knock Peter in the collarbone, which makes him cough. “I’m sorry. Here’s what I want to say to you. I want you to do what you’re supposed to do and I want to do what I’m supposed to do.”
He has a half smile on his face. Shaking his head at me, he says, “What are you talking about, Covey?”
“I’m talking about, I don’t think we should be in a long-distance—a long-distance relationship.”
His smile is fading. “What?”
“I think that you need to do all the things you need to do at UVA, like play lacrosse, and study, and I need to do what I need to do at UNC, and if we try to stay together, everything will just fall apart. So we can’t. We just, we just can’t.”
He blinks and then his face goes very still. “You don’t want to stay together?”
I shake my head, and the hurt on his face sobers me up. “I want you to do what you’re supposed to do. I don’t want you to do something for me. UVA is what you’ve worked for, Peter. That’s where you have to be. Not at UNC.”
He turns ashen. “Did you talk to my mom?”
“Yes. I mean, no . . .”
The muscle in his jaw twitches. “Got it. Say no more.”
“Wait, listen to me, Peter—”
“Nah, I’m good. Just for the record, I mentioned UNC to my mom as a throwaway possibility. It wasn’t anything definite. Just something I threw out there. But it’s cool if you don’t want me to come.” He starts to walk away from me, and I grab his arm to stop him.
“Peter, that’s not what I’m saying! I’m saying that if you came, if you gave up everything you’ve worked for at UVA, you’d only end up resenting me.”
Flatly he says, “Just stop it, Lara Jean. I saw this coming a mile away. Ever since you decided to go to UNC, you’ve been saying good-bye to me.”
My arm drops away from him. “What does that even mean?”
“There’s the scrapbook, for one thing. You said it was to remember us by. Why would I need something to remember us by, Lara Jean?”
“That isn’t how I meant it! I spent months working on that scrapbook. You’re putting this all on me, but you’re the one who’s been pushing me away. Ever since Beach Week!”
