by Jenny Lee
I
Valentine’s Day is fraught with emotion for everyone,
but for teenage girls it’s the fucking worst.
It was a holiday with the sole purpose of shining a spotlight on romantic love, which tortured single people but also tormented those who were in relationships. In a way, it was almost easier to get through if a girl was single, because one could denounce the entire thing as a colossal waste of time, pointing out the fact that it was an arbitrary holiday made up by Hallmark to sell more greeting cards in 1913. This of course wasn’t entirely true. St. Valentine’s Day had much darker roots, originating in the third century A.D. in Rome as a day for matchmaking that involved the bloody sacrifice of animals, beating women to increase their fertility, and getting drunk and partying in the streets.
“Well, the getting drunk part will certainly be true for you and Steven,” Kimmie said, after her sister Lolly read the Wikipedia entry out loud to her and their mother during breakfast.
“Bitter much?” Lolly quickly retorted, knowing better than to get into it with Kimmie before her mother finished her first Lavazza espresso of the day. Danielle, their mother, was not a morning person, and probably hadn’t even heard Kimmie’s dig anyway.
Kimmie didn’t respond, mainly because her sister had spoken the truth. She was feeling incredibly depressed and had barely been able to drag herself to the breakfast table this morning, let alone change out of her pajamas. Kimmie had not gone to school for the last three days and was hoping for the same today.
Kimmie was never a kid who faked illness, and in fact had always been a paragon of health, so her mother had no reason to doubt her daughter’s complaints of headache and general achiness. It also helped that Kimmie’s mother was in a wonderfully distracted mood since returning Sunday night from her Saint Lucia vacation with her new boyfriend, David. Twelve days of couple’s massages, romantic walks on the beach, and candlelit dinners were almost enough to expunge the bitter taste of her divorce, or so Danielle thought until her ex-husband Kurt answered the door on Sunday night when she came to pick up the girls. Just seeing her ex-husband’s spray-tanned face smirking at her own freshly sunned face in the doorway was enough to make her clench her teeth. It was then that she heard from their father about her youngest daughter’s illness, how she had been complaining all week of not feeling well, finally being sent home early on Friday. “Did you take her to the doctor?” she asked, knowing his answer already.
“Nope. She had no fever, so I figured it was just a virus. I let her sleep all weekend,” he said.
Not wanting to ruin her relaxed island vibe, Danielle didn’t press him further and instead took the girls back to her apartment on Beekman Place. Kimmie went straight to bed after her temperature was checked, not even feeling up to hearing one story from her mother’s trip or seeing what goodies her mother had returned with. Lolly stayed up with her mom, oohing and ahhing over her pictures, all the while wondering if perhaps this would be the year she’d be invited to travel with Steven’s family to their house in Maui for the Christmas holidays. After Lolly opened her gifts—a new bikini, a new bikini wrap, and two-hundred-dollar Swarovski crystal mermaid-blue Havaianas (to wear after pedis instead of the gross freebies they give out)—her mother inquired about Jaylen’s sweet sixteen last weekend to find out if there was a connection to Kimmie’s illness.
Lolly was no fool, as she knew she would be held responsible for any of her sister’s questionable behavior, so she wisely hinted at boy troubles being the cause of the state of Kimmie’s health. “She’ll get over it, but it’s the absolute worst timing ever. Valentine’s Day is Thursday.”
It was Thursday now and bad timing or not, Danielle knew she couldn’t keep her daughter absent for one day longer without a doctor’s note. “Kimmie, get dressed,” Danielle said, not looking up from her iPhone. “Dr. Becker’s office squeezed you in, so we can’t be late.”
“Do I have to?” Kimmie whined in return. “Can’t I see him tomorrow?”
“No. You know I play doubles on Fridays and it’s too late for me to find a sub. Now scoot.” Danielle pointed to the door. After a big dramatic sigh Kimmie stood up and trudged out of the kitchen.
“Are you sure you want to take her out today?” Lolly whispered. “You can’t go anywhere in this city without seeing a delivery guy carrying flowers or balloons.”
Danielle grimaced, but then shook her head. “This whole thing can’t be over a silly boy. I want to get her tested for Lyme disease. I never should have let her recoup from her knee surgery with your father at what’s-her-tits’s Vermont cabin this summer.” Not wanting to ignore her other daughter, she asked, “So where is Steven taking you tonight?”
Lolly’s face lit up, and a wide smile spread across her face. “It’s a surprise. But I was hoping I could come home late tonight, please, Mom?”
Danielle nodded, knowing she’d be late herself from her own Valentine’s Day date. “Okay, but you better be home by midnight. Devon’s coming over to stay with Kimmie, so I’ll call if I’m not home by then. On Devon’s cell, not yours.”
Lolly nodded, pleased with the midnight curfew as she had been hoping for eleven thirty. Lolly had lied to her mother’s face, because she did know where she and Steven were having dinner: room service at the St. Regis hotel where Steven had booked them a room for the night. Their plan was to ditch school after fourth period and meet there by 2 P.M., which would give them a good ten hours of “celebration time.” Lolly had a red lace bra-and-panty set on under her Alice and Olivia dress as part of her present for Steven. She was going to do an elaborate striptease to “Love” by Kendrick Lamar that she had choreographed with a red leather Agent Provocateur riding crop she had bought on a whim when buying her new lingerie.
She also got Steven a new Apple Watch since she’d smashed his last one to bits using the marble base of the towel warming rack in Steven’s parents’ bathroom. She bought herself one, too, but chose matching stingray ullu bands instead of Hermès. She was still a smidge conflicted about the present but reminded herself she had forgiven him and perhaps it would be an apt reminder he could wear every day.
Lolly gave her mother a big hug before she left for school, wishing her a happy Valentine’s Day. “Text me after the doctor and tell me what’s up with Kimmie, okay?” she added, genuinely concerned about her little sister, at least for a moment. Lolly suspected that there was no hope of Kimmie getting better until this day was over and done with. After all, what girl wanted to be reminded there wasn’t a boy out there thinking of her the way Lolly knew Steven was thinking about her?
II
Anna was checking in at the front office of Greenwich Academy before homeroom because she had received an excused absence to attend the Westminster Dog Show in Manhattan. She had missed a half day of school the day before so she could see both her dogs show in their gender-specific Newfoundland breed groups. Gemma, failing to win top honors as Best Bitch, had received the Award of Merit, which, though still an honor, meant she wouldn’t advance further. But her brother, Jon Snow, short for “Jon Snow of the Wall,” had won Best of Breed. This meant he would advance and would be shown in the Working Dog group, which was to be judged at noon. If he won there, he’d advance to the main event of the evening, where he would compete for Best in Show on national television. Anna knew the competition was stiff and told herself she’d be fine if Jon Snow didn’t win, and that she should consider herself blessed to have gotten this far. She planned to stay and watch the festivities til the final dog won the polished pewter gallery bowl and was declared Best in Show.
She turned in her homework to May, the front office secretary, who was dressed in red from her shoes to her velvet red headband. “Don’t forget to check in at the theater…”
Greenwich Academy had instituted a new policy the Valentine’s Day of Anna’s freshman year that prohibited girls from receiving deliveries during classes. Being a school filled with predominantly wealthy girls, there was a lo
t of pressure on their boyfriends to send outrageously excessive gifts. It became competitive. (For years the Brunswick boys joked about V-Day having more casualties than D-Day, as some Academy girls broke off entire relationships if their beloved beaus didn’t come through with something truly breathtaking, or worse presented a subpar gift that underwhelmed its recipient.)
It all came to a head three years ago when flying in Ecuadorian roses for your girlfriend had suddenly become de rigueur, unbeknownst to some of Brunswick’s less attentive boyfriends, and Mavis C. called out Bridget B. on it: “Hey Bridget, I heard your roses aren’t even from Ecuador!” The two girls went after each other with field hockey sticks in the hallway and the fight resulted in a bloody lip, a fractured collarbone, and fifteen stitches. (HEY BRIDGET … T-shirts and hats were later sold, raising two grand for the Senior Skip Day trip.) The school’s Valentine’s Day policy now dictated that deliveries could only arrive at 8 A.M., noon, and 2 P.M. and were sent to the school’s performing arts center. Girls were permitted to see (but not post pics of) whatever was sent to them, but nothing could be removed from the theater until the end of the school day.
When Anna walked into the school’s five-hundred-seat theater, she was overwhelmed by the smell of roses. As it was close to the first-period bell, the theater wasn’t that crowded anymore. Anna walked up to Coach Sykes, who was on morning flower duty and wearing a lavender HEY BRIDGET T-shirt. Coach Sykes scanned her clipboard and told Anna she had two deliveries. Anna explained that she was leaving for the day so she’d be taking them with her now. She signed by her name and was told her gifts were in the number eleven section onstage.
For the past two years, Alexander had sent Anna a box of two dozen long-stemmed red roses, but she had specifically told him not to bother when they’d had dinner on Sunday night. She had taken the train to Westport to meet him at their favorite French bistro for a pre-Valentine’s Day meal and they’d celebrate again in two weeks when she went to Cambridge to visit him. As usual they were the youngest people in the restaurant and Alexander had arranged for roses to arrive for her during dessert. Alexander was always thoughtful, but somehow his gestures never felt very romantic, which Anna couldn’t quite explain.
The big fuss over Valentine’s Day was not something Anna fully got. Sure, she understood the appeal of flowers and presents, but at the age of seventeen she had received more incredible bouquets than most women would ever get in their lifetimes. And the perfunctory formality of this holiday always made her feel weird and a little hollow at times. Also, depending on her mood, cut flowers made Anna feel melancholy. It seemed sad to watch something so beautiful die just for her own pleasure.
Anna’s dad always sent her flowers, too, but this morning they had been waiting for her on the kitchen counter when she came downstairs. His card read: “For my lovely daughter, from the only man who will never disappoint you. Happy Valentine’s Day, Anna! Love, Daddy.” Her mother had given her a Day of Beauty gift certificate at the Four Seasons spa.
Anna walked up the stairs to the stage covered with dozens and dozens of vases filled with roses, at least forty giant teddy bears, and over a hundred boxes of chocolates. As she sifted through the deliveries, Anna wondered whether perhaps Steven had sent her flowers this year. It wasn’t normal for them to exchange gifts, but given Anna’s help this past weekend, she wouldn’t put it past him. Her brother was an incredibly generous guy, spending money like a madman. Anna never asked her brother about the allowance he received from their parents, but she knew it was larger than hers. That said, she knew her wardrobe budget for the year was double her brother’s, so it evened out. Steven explained away his excessive consumerism as being genetic; Koreans had a reputation for loving all designer goods and high-end electronics. Anna knew of this stereotype but never used it as an excuse when her credit card bills came in too high, which was rare for her and a monthly occurrence for her brother.
Her mother had been raised in typical old-money style, never in want of anything, but never ostentatious, though when she met Anna’s father at Yale, she admitted he turned her head. Every year of school he showed up with a new fancy car, and by the time they were seniors and he was sporting an orange Lamborghini, she found herself dawdling after class out front, knowing he’d drive by and offer her a ride. She had been resisting his wily charm and refusing rides from him for two years straight. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested in him earlier, but she was wise enough to the ways of rich boys to know he needed a few years to play the field.
Anna’s mother was raised to care very much about her name and reputation so there was no way she was going to be just another crossed-out name on some rich boy’s “fuck-it” list. When he pulled up that fall day of their senior year at Yale and asked her if she wanted to go leaf-peeping with him, she surprised herself (and him) by saying, “Only if you’ll let me drive.” Anna’s mother was the first and only girl who had ever been allowed to drive his Lamborghini, which to this day remained her father’s favorite car.
When Steven turned seventeen and got his license, their dad bought him a Porsche 911S with a glass top. Steven drove it for a month, received three speeding tickets, and then woke up one morning to find the car gone, replaced with a BMW M5. Anna drove a ten-year-old Mercedes station wagon, the hand-me-down “nanny’s car,” insisting she didn’t want some flashy car for her sweet sixteen present. Anna knew there was no point in her driving anything nicer when it was only going to get covered in dog hair and slobber. Anna was only permitted to drive in Connecticut, her dad being much too overprotective to let his precious baby girl drive in bad weather or in the city. “Remember, you’re still half Korean, which means everyone will assume you’re at least half a lousy driver.” Anna hated when her father joked about racial stereotypes, but as a good Korean daughter, she knew that correcting her father was impossible.
Finally she found a heart-shaped box addressed to her. She quickly opened the card to see her brother’s serial-killer penmanship: “Happy V-Day, Sis. I owe you big! Love, Steven.” She turned the box over and saw that he had sent her a dozen of her favorite chocolate mice from Burdick’s. She slipped it into her purse and continued looking. Not finding anything, she nearly gave up when she noticed a plain square cardboard box with her name written across the top in Sharpie. She only had time to scoop it up, having just received a text from Thomas, her driver, who was out front waiting to take her to Westminster.
Hurrying down the empty hallway, Anna wondered what was in the box. She had a feeling she knew who it was from, and the thought of him made her heart pound. She almost hoped that it was just some routine gift from her boyfriend but she knew in her gut that wasn’t the case. A twinge of guilt at how excited she was that it might not be from Alexander rattled her nerves, but only slightly, not enough to erase the giant smile from her face.
III
Kimmie stood outside the front of her mom’s apartment building, waiting for their Uber driver to arrive while Danielle ran back upstairs to get her nearly empty bottle of under-eye cream. Her mom’s itinerary was a trip to the doctor’s office and then a little shopping at Saks, which was only an avenue away from Dr. Becker’s office. Kimmie’s plan was a trip to the doctor, a refusal to accompany her mom to Saks, then back home to bed to continue watching My So-Called Life, an old high school show she’d found after a deep dive on Netflix.
Kimmie had wanted to wear sweats to the doctor, but her mom wouldn’t allow it. According to Kimmie’s mom, drawstring pants were the top of a very slippery slope for any teen girl. Her mom had been hypervigilant about her diet ever since she came home, constantly reminding Kimmie that she could no longer eat like someone who trains seven hours a day. Without a word, Kimmie went to her room and changed into black leggings and her oversized black Skull Cashmere sweater, which fit her current mind-set. Her mother’s response to her new outfit was not agreeable. “This isn’t LA, this is New York. We don’t consider SoulCycle tights proper attire. Go change. Mayb
e into something a little less gloomy?”
Kimmie stomped back to her room, hating her life just a little bit more than she did five minutes before. She replaced her tights with black jeans, but kept her skull-adorned sweater on.
“Seriously?” Kimmie muttered to herself as she saw her fourth Valentine’s Day reminder in the two minutes she had been standing outside. There had been one flower delivery van, one bicycle messenger carrying a signature box of long-stemmed roses under his arm, a doorman signing for a basket of pink tulips, and the car that just drove by with a giant red teddy bear in the passenger seat. Staring at the stupid bear, Kimmie didn’t know if she wanted to spit on the car window or sit down on the curb and cry. So far today, she had only cried twice, which wasn’t bad.
What a difference two weeks could make. As much as Kimmie presently despised this ludicrous holiday, she had spent most of the previous month harboring major Valentine’s Day fantasies. Her favorite involved Vronsky showing up at school for her at the end of the day, which of course would have been so delicious because her fellow classmates would have witnessed it. She imagined a scene akin to the last scene in Sixteen Candles, her mom’s favorite movie from her own teenage years. Kimmie had never heard of it, of course, since it was from the century before she had even been born. (She loved to say this because it made her mother crazy.) But she’d learned about it several years ago when she was back in New York on break from training camp during the year after their dad had married their current Stepmonster. (Kimmie’s mom had a rough six months following that unholy pairing.)
Kimmie had come home from the gym in the late afternoon to find her mom still in bed, watching the last minutes of Sixteen Candles over and over. But this wasn’t a normal viewing; this was something else entirely. Kimmie watched her mom view it seven times in a row and then called Lolly at school. Her sister wasn’t answering her cell, so Kimmie called the school’s front office and asked them to find her sister in play rehearsal because there was a family emergency.
