Always and Forever, Lara Jean (17 page)

“Stormy’s real name was Edith? It’s so serious. It sounds like someone who wears wool skirts and heavy stockings, and drinks chamomile tea at night. Stormy drank cocktails!”

John laughs. “I know, right?”

“So then where did the name Stormy come from? Why not Edie?”

“Who knows?” John says, a wry smile on his lips. “She’d have loved your speech.” He gives me a warm, appreciative sort of look. “You’re such a nice girl, Lara Jean.” I’m embarrassed, I don’t know what to say. Even though we never dated, seeing John again is what I imagine seeing an old boyfriend feels like. A wistful sort of feeling. Familiar, but just a little bit awkward, because there’s so much left unsaid between us.

Then he says, “Stormy kept asking me to bring my girlfriend to visit her, and I never got around to it. I feel bad about that now.”

As casually as I can, I say, “Oh, are you dating someone?”

He hesitates for just a split-second and then nods. “Her name is Dipti. We met at a Model
UN
convention at
UVA
. She beat me out for the gavel for our committee.”

“Wow,” I say.

“Yeah, she’s awesome.”

We both start to speak at the same time.

“Do you know where you’re going to school?”

“Have you decided—?

We laugh, and a sort of understanding passes between us. He says, “I haven’t decided. It’s between College Park and William and Mary. College Park has a good business school, and it’s really close to
DC
. William and Mary’s ranked higher, but Williamsburg is in the boonies. So I don’t know yet. My dad’s bummed, because he really wanted me to go to
UNC
, but I didn’t get in.”

“I’m sorry.” I decide not to mention that I got wait-listed at
UNC
.

John shrugs. “I might try and transfer there sophomore year. We’ll see. What about you? Are you going to
UVA
?”

“I didn’t get in,” I confess.

“Aw man! I hear they were insanely selective this year. My school’s salutatorian didn’t get in, and her application was killer. I’m sure yours was too.”

Shyly, I say, “Thanks, John.”

“So where are you gonna go if not
UVA
?”

“William and Mary.”

His face breaks into a smile. “Seriously? That’s awesome! Where’s Kavinsky going?”

“
UVA
.”

He nods. “For lacrosse, right.”

“What about . . . Dipti?” I say it like I don’t remember her name, even though I do, I mean, I just heard him say it not two minutes ago. “Where’s she going?”

“She got in early to Michigan.”

“Wow, that’s so far.”

“A whole lot farther than
UVA
and William and Mary, that’s for sure.”

“So are you guys going to . . . stay together?”

“That’s the plan,” John says. “We’re going to at least give the long-distance thing a try. What about you and Peter?”

“That’s our plan too, for the first year. I’m going to try to transfer to
UVA
for the second year.”

John clinks his cup against mine. “Good luck, Lara Jean.”

“You too, John Ambrose McClaren.”

“If I end up going to William and Mary, I’m going to call you.”

“You better,” I say.

I stay at Belleview a lot longer than I expected. Someone brings out their old records and then people start dancing, and Mr. Perelli insists on teaching me how to rumba, in spite of his bad hip. When Janette puts on Glenn Miller’s song “In the Mood,” my eyes meet John’s, and we share
a secret smile, both of us remembering the
USO
party. It was like something out of a movie. It feels like a long time ago now.

It’s strange to feel happy at a memorial for someone you loved, but that’s how I feel. I’m happy that the day has gone well, that we’ve sent Stormy off in style. It feels good to say a proper good-bye, to have the chance.

*  *  *

When I get back from Belleview, Peter’s sitting on my front steps with a Starbucks cup. “Is nobody home?” I ask, hurrying up the walk. “Did you have to wait long?”

“Nah.” Still sitting, he reaches out his arms and pulls me in for a hug around my waist. “Come sit and talk to me for a minute before we go inside,” he says, burying his face in my stomach. I sit down next to him. He asks, “How was Stormy’s memorial? How’d your speech go?”

“Good, but first tell me about Days on the Lawn.” I grab his Starbucks cup out of his hands and take a sip of coffee, which is cold.

“Eh. I sat in on a class. Met some people. Not that exciting.” Then he takes my right hand in his, traces his finger over the lace of my gloves. “These are cool.”

There’s something bothering him, something he isn’t saying. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

He looks away. “My dad showed up this morning and wanted to come with us.”

My eyes widen. “So . . . did you let him come?”

“Nope.” Peter doesn’t elaborate. Just, nope.

Hesitantly, I say, “It seems like he’s trying to have a relationship with you, Peter.”

“He had plenty of chances and now it’s too late. That ship has fucking sailed. I’m not a kid anymore.” He lifts his chin. “I’m a man, and he didn’t have anything to do with it. He just wants the credit. He wants to brag to his golf buddies that his son is playing lacrosse for
UVA
.”

I hesitate. Then I think of how his dad looked when he was watching Peter out on the lacrosse field. There was such pride in his eyes—and love. “Peter . . . what if—what if you gave him a chance?”

Peter’s shaking his head. “Lara Jean, you don’t get it. And you’re lucky not to get it. Your dad’s freaking awesome. He’d do anything for you guys. My dad’s not like that. He’s just in it for himself. If I let him back in, he’ll just fuck up again. It’s not worth it.”

“But maybe it is worth it. You never know how long you have with people.” Peter flinches. I’ve never said something like that to him before, brought my mom up like that, but after losing Stormy, I can’t help it. I have to say it because it’s true and because I’ll regret it if I don’t. “It’s not about your dad. It’s about you. It’s about not having regrets later. Don’t hurt yourself just to spite him.”

“I don’t want to talk about him anymore. I came over here to make you feel better, not to talk about my dad.”

“Okay. But first, promise me you’ll think about inviting him to graduation.” He starts to speak, and I interrupt him. “Just think about it. That’s all. It’s a whole month away. You don’t
have to decide anything right now, so don’t say yes or no.”

Peter sighs, and I’m sure he’s going to tell me no, but instead he asks, “How’d your speech go?”

“I think it went okay. I think Stormy would’ve liked it. I talked about the time she got caught skinny-dipping and the police came and she had to ride home in a squad car. Oh, and John made it back in time.”

Peter nods in a diplomatic sort of way. I’d told him John might be coming today, and all he said was “Cool, cool,” because of course he couldn’t say anything different. John was Stormy’s grandson, after all. “So where’s McClaren going to school?”

“He hasn’t decided yet. It’s between Maryland and William and Mary.”

Peter’s eyebrows fly up. “
Really.
Well, that’s awesome.” He says it in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t think it’s awesome at all.

I give him a funny look. “What?”

“Nothing. Did he hear that you’re going there?”

“No, I just told him today. Not that one thing has anything to do with the other. You’re being really weird right now, Peter.”

“Well, how would you feel if I told you Gen was going to
UVA
?”

“I don’t know. Not that bothered?” I mean that sincerely. All of my bad feelings about Peter and Genevieve feel like such a long time ago. Peter and I have come so far since then. “Besides, it’s completely different. John and I never
even dated. We haven’t spoken in months. Also, he has a girlfriend. Also, he hasn’t even decided if he’s going there or not.”

“So where’s his girlfriend going then?”

“Ann Arbor.”

He makes a dismissive sound. “That ain’t gonna last.”

Softly I say, “Maybe people will look at you and me and think the same thing.”

“It’s literally not the same thing at all. We’re only going to be a couple of hours apart, and then you’re transferring. That’s one year tops. I’ll drive down on weekends. It’s literally not a big deal.”

“You just said literally twice,” I say, to make him smile. When he doesn’t, I say, “You’ll have practice and games. You won’t want to be at William and Mary every weekend.” It’s the first time I’ve had this thought.

For just a moment Peter looks stung, but then he shrugs and says, “Fine, or you’ll come up here. We’ll get you used to the drive. It’s basically all just I-64.”

“William and Mary doesn’t let freshmen have cars. Neither does
UVA
. I checked.”

Peter brushes this off. “So I’ll get my mom to drop my car off when I want to come see you. It’s not like it’s far. And you can take the bus. We’ll make it work. I’m not worried about us.”

I am, a little, but I don’t say so, because Peter doesn’t seem to want to talk about practicalities. I guess I don’t either.

Scooting closer to me, he asks, “Want me to stay over tonight?
I can come back after my mom goes to bed. I can distract you if you get sad.”

“Nice try,” I tell him, pinching his cheek.

“Did Josh ever spend the night? With your sister, I mean.”

I ponder this. “Not that I know of. I mean, I really doubt it. We’re talking about my sister and Josh, after all.”

“That’s them,” Peter says, dipping his head low and rubbing his cheek against mine. He loves how soft my cheeks are; he’s always saying that. “We’re nothing like them.”

“You’re the one who brought them up,” I start to say, but then he is kissing me, and I can’t even finish a thought, much less a sentence.

THE MORNING OF PROM, KITTY
comes in my room as I’m painting my toes. “What do you think about this color with my dress?” I ask her.

“It looks like you dipped your toenails in Pepto-Bismol.”

I peer down at my feet. It kind of does look like that. Maybe I should do a beige color instead.

The consensus is that the dress requires an updo. “To show off your collarbone,” Trina says. I’ve never thought of my collarbone as something to be shown off; in fact I’ve never thought of my collarbone at all.

After lunch Kitty goes with me to the hair salon, to supervise. She tells the stylist, “Don’t make it too
done
, do you know what I mean?”

The stylist gives me a nervous look in the mirror. “I think so? You want it to look natural?” She’s talking to Kitty, not me, because it’s obvious who is in charge. “Like a natural chignon?”

“But not too natural. Think Grace Kelly.” Kitty pulls up a picture on her phone and shows it to her. “See, like this, but we want the bun to the side.”

“Just please don’t use too much hairspray,” I say meekly, as the stylist coils my hair into a knot at the nape of my neck and shows Kitty.

“That’s great,” Kitty says to her. To me she says, “Lara Jean, she has to use hairspray if you want it to stay up.”

Suddenly I’m having second thoughts about an updo. “Are we sure about the updo?”

“Yes,” Kitty says. To the stylist she says, “We’re doing the updo.”

*  *  *

The updo is more “done” than I’m used to. My hair is in a side bun; the top is smooth like a ballerina. It’s pretty, but when I look in the mirror, I don’t recognize myself. It’s an older, sophisticated version of me who’s going to the opera, or the symphony.

After all the time the woman at the salon spent putting my hair up, I end up taking it down when I get home. Kitty yells at me as she brushes my hair out, but I bear it. Tonight I want to feel like me.

“How are we doing your grand entrance?” Kitty asks me as she sweeps the brush through my hair one last time.

“Grand entrance?” I repeat.

“When Peter gets here. How are you going to enter the room?”

Trina, who is lying on my bed eating a Popsicle, pipes up with, “When I went to prom, we did a thing where the dads walked the girls down the stairs and then somebody would announce you.”

I look at them both like they are nuts. “Trina, I’m not getting married. I’m going to prom.”

“We could turn off all the lights and put on music, and
then you walk out and do a pose at the top of the stairs—”

“I don’t want to do that,” I interrupt.

Her forehead creases. “What part?”

“All of it.”

“But you need a moment where everybody looks at you and only you,” Kitty says.

“It’s called a first look,” Trina explains. “Don’t worry, I’ll get the whole thing on video.”

“If we’d thought about this earlier, we could’ve really done it up, and maybe it would’ve gone viral.” Kitty shakes her head at me in a disgusted way, as if this is somehow my fault.

“The last thing I need is to go viral again,” I tell her. Pointedly I say, “Remember my hot tub video?”

She at least looks a little abashed, for a second. “Let’s not linger on the past,” she says, fluffing up my hair.

“Hey, birthday girl,” Trina says to me. “Is the plan still to go for barbecue tomorrow night?”

“Yup,” I say. With Stormy passing away and prom and the wedding and everything else, I haven’t given my birthday much thought. Trina wanted to throw me a big party, but I told her I’d rather just have a family dinner out, and cake and ice cream back at the house. Trina and Kitty are baking the cake while I’m at prom, so we’ll see how that goes!

*  *  *

When Peter and his mom arrive, I’m still running around doing last minute things.

“Guys, Peter and his mom are here,” my dad calls up the stairs.

“Perfume!” I screech to Kitty, who sprays me. “Where’s my clutch?”

Trina tosses it to me. “Did you pack a lipstick?”

I open it to check. “Yes! Where are my shoes?”

“Over here,” Kitty says, picking them up off the floor. “Hurry up and get strapped in. I’ll go downstairs and tell them you’re coming.”