Always and Forever, Lara Jean
Page 49
“The perfect cookie is best eaten while still warm, but still delicious at room temperature.”
“If you don’t quit talking, they won’t be warm anymore,” Kitty grumbles. I shoot her a glare, but truthfully, I’m glad she’s here to be a buffer between Peter and me. Her presence makes things feel normal.
“In the baking world, it is a truth universally acknowledged that Jacques Torres has perfected the chocolate chip cookie. Peter, you and I tasted it for ourselves just a few months ago.” I’m really stretching it now to make them suffer. “How will my cookie measure up? Spoiler alert. It’s amazing.”
Kitty slides off her stool. “That’s it. I’m out of here. A chocolate chip cookie isn’t worth all this.”
I pat her on the head. “Oh, naive little Kitten. Dear, foolish girl. This cookie is worth all this and more. Sit or you will not partake.”
Rolling her eyes, she sits back down.
“My friends, I have finally found it. My white whale. My golden ring. The cookie to rule them all.” With a flourish, I whisk off the tea towel and present them with my flat, chewy, non-puffy cookies, artfully arranged on the plate.
To my dismay, Peter shoves one in his mouth whole. With his mouth full he says, “Delicious!”
He’s still worried that I’m upset, so he’ll say anything right now. “Eat slower. Savor it, Peter.”
“I am, trust me.”
Kitty is the true critic to please. Eagerly I say, “I used muscovado sugar. Can you taste that hint of molasses?”
She is munching thoughtfully. “I can’t taste the difference between this one and the one you made two batches ago.”
“This time I used chocolate fèves and not chunks. See the way the chocolate melts in streaks?”
“What’s a fève?”
“It’s a disc.”
“Then just say disc. Also didn’t Daddy get mad because you spent thirty dollars on chocolate?”
“I wouldn’t say he was mad. Maybe annoyed. But I think he’ll agree that it’s worth it.” Kitty gives me a look, like, Yeah, right, and I mumble, “It’s Valrhona, okay? It doesn’t come cheap. And also, it was a two-pound bag! Look, that isn’t the point. Can’t you tell how much crispier the edges are, and how much chewier it is in the center? Do I need to explain to you guys again about Silpat versus parchment paper?”
“We got it,” Kitty says.
Peter hooks his finger into the loop of my jeans and pulls me closer. “Best cookie of my life,” he declares. He’s really laying it on thick, but I’m not quite done being mad.
“You guys are so corny,” Kitty says. “I’m taking my share of the cookies and getting out of here.” She starts stacking cookies on a napkin, rapid-fire.
“Only take three!”
She puts two back, then heads upstairs.
Peter waits until she is gone before he asks, “Are you still pissed at me? I’ll never drink on a night I’m supposed to drive you ever again, I promise.” He gives me his winning smile.
“Are you really okay with me going to UNC?” I ask him.
His smile fades, and there is a slight hesitation before he nods. “It’s like you said. We’ll get the hang of it, whatever it is.” For the briefest of moments his eyes search mine, and I know he’s looking for reassurance. That’s when I put my arms around him and hug him tight to me, tight enough that he knows I’m here; I won’t let go.
27
NOW THAT I’VE MADE MY decision to go to UNC, there are suddenly things to do, and right away. I inform William and Mary I’m not coming; I send in my deposit to UNC. I tell my guidance counselor, Mrs. Duvall, who is overjoyed. She tells me I’m the only one from our class going there, and she can’t wait to add it to the list of accepted schools. “I knew you’d make me proud,” she says, nodding her head. “I knew it.” Our caps and gowns have arrived, and Peter and I go to the gym to pick ours up, along with graduation announcements.
We sit down on the bleachers to try our caps on, and Peter tilts mine to the side and says, “You look cute.”
I blow him a kiss. “Let me see your announcements.” I want to see his name all fancy in calligraphy.
He passes me the box and I open it. I run my fingers along the embossed letters. Peter Grant Kavinsky. Then I say, “Have you given any more thought to inviting your dad?”
Peter looks around to see if anyone’s listening before saying in a low voice, “Why do you keep bringing that up?”
I reach out and touch Peter’s cap. “Because I think that, deep down, you want him to be there. If only so he can see all that you’ve accomplished and all that he’s missed out on.”
“We’ll see,” he says, and I leave it at that. It’s Peter’s decision.
* * *
On the way home from school Peter asks me, “Wanna see a movie tonight?”
“I can’t,” I say. “Trina’s friend Kristen is coming over to go over final details of Trina’s bachelorette party.”
He gives me a sly look. “Are you guys going to a strip club?”
“No! Ew. Like I would ever want to see any of that.”
“See any of what?” he demands.
“Oiled-up muscles.” I shudder. “I’m just glad you don’t have big muscles.”
Peter frowns. “Hey, I’m built.”
I squeeze his bicep, and he automatically flexes against my fingers. “You’re nice and lean with little muscles.”
“You really know how to emasculate a guy, Covey,” he says as he turns down my street.
I feel bad, because now I’m remembering how he said he wasn’t in the same shape the other guys on the lacrosse team were in. “I like you just the way you are,” I quickly say, and he laughs, so he can’t be that hurt.
“What’s your dad doing for his bachelor party?”
I laugh. “Have you met my dad? He’s the last person who would ever have a bachelor party. He doesn’t even have any guy friends to have a party with!” I stop and consider this. “Well, I guess Josh is the closest thing he has. We haven’t seen much of him since he went to school, but he and my dad still e-mail every so often.”
“If you don’t quit talking, they won’t be warm anymore,” Kitty grumbles. I shoot her a glare, but truthfully, I’m glad she’s here to be a buffer between Peter and me. Her presence makes things feel normal.
“In the baking world, it is a truth universally acknowledged that Jacques Torres has perfected the chocolate chip cookie. Peter, you and I tasted it for ourselves just a few months ago.” I’m really stretching it now to make them suffer. “How will my cookie measure up? Spoiler alert. It’s amazing.”
Kitty slides off her stool. “That’s it. I’m out of here. A chocolate chip cookie isn’t worth all this.”
I pat her on the head. “Oh, naive little Kitten. Dear, foolish girl. This cookie is worth all this and more. Sit or you will not partake.”
Rolling her eyes, she sits back down.
“My friends, I have finally found it. My white whale. My golden ring. The cookie to rule them all.” With a flourish, I whisk off the tea towel and present them with my flat, chewy, non-puffy cookies, artfully arranged on the plate.
To my dismay, Peter shoves one in his mouth whole. With his mouth full he says, “Delicious!”
He’s still worried that I’m upset, so he’ll say anything right now. “Eat slower. Savor it, Peter.”
“I am, trust me.”
Kitty is the true critic to please. Eagerly I say, “I used muscovado sugar. Can you taste that hint of molasses?”
She is munching thoughtfully. “I can’t taste the difference between this one and the one you made two batches ago.”
“This time I used chocolate fèves and not chunks. See the way the chocolate melts in streaks?”
“What’s a fève?”
“It’s a disc.”
“Then just say disc. Also didn’t Daddy get mad because you spent thirty dollars on chocolate?”
“I wouldn’t say he was mad. Maybe annoyed. But I think he’ll agree that it’s worth it.” Kitty gives me a look, like, Yeah, right, and I mumble, “It’s Valrhona, okay? It doesn’t come cheap. And also, it was a two-pound bag! Look, that isn’t the point. Can’t you tell how much crispier the edges are, and how much chewier it is in the center? Do I need to explain to you guys again about Silpat versus parchment paper?”
“We got it,” Kitty says.
Peter hooks his finger into the loop of my jeans and pulls me closer. “Best cookie of my life,” he declares. He’s really laying it on thick, but I’m not quite done being mad.
“You guys are so corny,” Kitty says. “I’m taking my share of the cookies and getting out of here.” She starts stacking cookies on a napkin, rapid-fire.
“Only take three!”
She puts two back, then heads upstairs.
Peter waits until she is gone before he asks, “Are you still pissed at me? I’ll never drink on a night I’m supposed to drive you ever again, I promise.” He gives me his winning smile.
“Are you really okay with me going to UNC?” I ask him.
His smile fades, and there is a slight hesitation before he nods. “It’s like you said. We’ll get the hang of it, whatever it is.” For the briefest of moments his eyes search mine, and I know he’s looking for reassurance. That’s when I put my arms around him and hug him tight to me, tight enough that he knows I’m here; I won’t let go.
27
NOW THAT I’VE MADE MY decision to go to UNC, there are suddenly things to do, and right away. I inform William and Mary I’m not coming; I send in my deposit to UNC. I tell my guidance counselor, Mrs. Duvall, who is overjoyed. She tells me I’m the only one from our class going there, and she can’t wait to add it to the list of accepted schools. “I knew you’d make me proud,” she says, nodding her head. “I knew it.” Our caps and gowns have arrived, and Peter and I go to the gym to pick ours up, along with graduation announcements.
We sit down on the bleachers to try our caps on, and Peter tilts mine to the side and says, “You look cute.”
I blow him a kiss. “Let me see your announcements.” I want to see his name all fancy in calligraphy.
He passes me the box and I open it. I run my fingers along the embossed letters. Peter Grant Kavinsky. Then I say, “Have you given any more thought to inviting your dad?”
Peter looks around to see if anyone’s listening before saying in a low voice, “Why do you keep bringing that up?”
I reach out and touch Peter’s cap. “Because I think that, deep down, you want him to be there. If only so he can see all that you’ve accomplished and all that he’s missed out on.”
“We’ll see,” he says, and I leave it at that. It’s Peter’s decision.
* * *
On the way home from school Peter asks me, “Wanna see a movie tonight?”
“I can’t,” I say. “Trina’s friend Kristen is coming over to go over final details of Trina’s bachelorette party.”
He gives me a sly look. “Are you guys going to a strip club?”
“No! Ew. Like I would ever want to see any of that.”
“See any of what?” he demands.
“Oiled-up muscles.” I shudder. “I’m just glad you don’t have big muscles.”
Peter frowns. “Hey, I’m built.”
I squeeze his bicep, and he automatically flexes against my fingers. “You’re nice and lean with little muscles.”
“You really know how to emasculate a guy, Covey,” he says as he turns down my street.
I feel bad, because now I’m remembering how he said he wasn’t in the same shape the other guys on the lacrosse team were in. “I like you just the way you are,” I quickly say, and he laughs, so he can’t be that hurt.
“What’s your dad doing for his bachelor party?”
I laugh. “Have you met my dad? He’s the last person who would ever have a bachelor party. He doesn’t even have any guy friends to have a party with!” I stop and consider this. “Well, I guess Josh is the closest thing he has. We haven’t seen much of him since he went to school, but he and my dad still e-mail every so often.”
