Always and Forever, Lara Jean
Page 56
* * *
At graduation all the girls wear white dresses. All white everything. I’m wearing Margot’s dress from two years ago—sleeveless with Swiss dots and a crisp knee-length skirt. Trina’s taken up the hemline for me because I’m shorter. Margot wore it with Converse, and I’m wearing white patent-leather sandals with a T-strap and little perforations.
In the car on the way over, I smooth down my skirt and say to Kitty, “Maybe you could wear this dress for your high school graduation too, Kitten. And you’ll pose by the oak tree just like we did. It’ll be a beautiful triptych.” I wonder what shoes Kitty will wear. She’s about as likely to wear white stilettos as she is white Reeboks or white roller skates.
Kitty makes a sour-lemon face. “I don’t want to wear the same dress as you and Margot. I want my own dress. Besides, it’ll really be out of style by then.” She pauses. “What’s a triptych?”
“It’s, um, three pieces of art that come together and make one.” Furtively, I google “triptych” on my phone to make sure I’m telling her the right thing. “It’s, like, three panels, sort of hinged side by side. They’re meant to be appreciated together.”
“You’re reading that off your phone.”
“I was just double-checking,” I say. I smooth my dress down again, making sure my cap is in my bag. I’m graduating from high school today. It snuck up on me—growing up, I mean. In the driver’s seat, Trina’s looking for a parking spot, and Margot’s next to her, texting on her phone; Kitty’s next to me, looking out the window. Daddy has driven separately, to pick up Grandma. Nana, Daddy’s mom, is in Florida with her boyfriend and won’t be able to make it. I only wish my own mom were here for this. All these big moments she’s missing, that she’ll keep missing. I have to believe that she knows, that somehow she still sees. But I also just wish I could have a hug from my mom on my graduation day.
* * *
Throughout the valedictorian speech, I keep looking out in the crowd for Peter’s family. I wonder if his dad is sitting with Peter’s brother and his mom, or separately. I wonder if I’ll get to meet Peter’s two half brothers too. I’ve already spotted my own family—they are hard to miss. Every time I look in their direction, they all wave madly. Plus, Trina’s wearing a wide brimmed Kentucky Derby hat. Whoever is sitting in the row behind her probably can’t see a thing. Margot exercised a lot of self-control by not rolling her eyes when Trina came downstairs wearing it. Even Kitty said it was “a bit much,” but Trina asked me what I thought and I said I loved it, which I kind of do.
Our principal calls my name, “Lara Jean Song Covey,” but he pronounces it Laura, which trips me up for a second.
When I accept my diploma from him and shake his hand, I whisper, “It’s Lara, not Laura.”
My plan was to blow my family a kiss as I walked across the stage, but I get so nervous that I forget. Over the applause I can hear Kitty’s whoop, Daddy’s whistle. When it’s Peter’s turn, I clap and scream like crazy, and of course everyone else does too. Even the teachers clap extra loud for him. It’s so obvious when teachers have favorites. Not that I could blame them for loving Peter. We all do.
After we are declared graduates, after we throw our caps in the air, Peter makes his way past the throngs of people to find me. As he moves through the crowd, he’s smiling, making jokes, saying hi to people, but there’s something wrong. There’s a blankness in his eyes, even as he grabs me for a hug. “Hey,” he says, kissing me swiftly on the lips. “So we’re officially college kids now.”
Looking around, I straighten my robe and say, “I didn’t see your mom and Owen in the stands. Did your dad sit with them? Are your brothers here? Should I come over now or after I take pictures with my family?”
Peter shakes his head. He doesn’t quite meet my eyes. “My dad couldn’t come last minute.”
“What! Why?”
“There was some kind of emergency. Who knows.”
I’m stunned. His dad seemed so sincere when I saw him at the lacrosse game. “I hope it was a really big emergency to miss his own son’s high school graduation.”
“It’s fine.” Peter shrugs like he doesn’t care either way, but I know that can’t be true. His jaw is set so tight, he could break his teeth.
Over his shoulder I see my family making their way through the crowds to get to me. You can’t miss Trina’s hat, even in this swarm of people. My dad’s carrying a big bouquet of all different-colored roses. Grandma’s wearing a cranberry-colored suit; her hair is freshly permed.
I feel so rushed and panicky for more time with Peter, to comfort him, to just be at his side. I grab his hand. “I’m sorry,” I say, and I want to say more, of course I do, but my family arrives, and everyone’s hugging me. Peter says hi to my grandma and takes some pictures with us before he escapes to find his mom and brother. I call out to him, but he’s too far away, and he doesn’t turn around.
After we take pictures, Daddy, Trina, Grandma, Kitty, Margot, and I go to a Japanese restaurant for lunch. We order plates and plates of sashimi and sushi, and I wear a napkin bib so soy sauce doesn’t fling onto my white dress. Trina sits next to Grandma and chatters in her ear about all manner of things, and I can just hear Grandma thinking, Damn, this girl talks a lot—but she’s trying, and that’s what Grandma appreciates. I’m trying to be festive and appreciative and in the moment, since this lunch is in my honor, but all I can think of is Peter and how hurt I am on his behalf.
Over mochi ice cream, Grandma tells us about all the places she wants to take us in Korea: the Buddhist temples, the outdoor food markets, the skin clinic where she goes to get her moles lasered off. She points at a tiny mole on Kitty’s cheek and says, “We’ll get that taken care of.”
Daddy looks alarmed, and Trina’s quick to ask, “Isn’t she too young?”
Grandma waves her hand. “She’ll be fine.”
Then Kitty asks, “How old do you have to be to get a nose job in Korea?” and Daddy nearly chokes on his beer.
Grandma gives her a threatening look. “You can never, ever change your nose. You have a lucky nose.”
Kitty touches it gingerly. “I do?”
At graduation all the girls wear white dresses. All white everything. I’m wearing Margot’s dress from two years ago—sleeveless with Swiss dots and a crisp knee-length skirt. Trina’s taken up the hemline for me because I’m shorter. Margot wore it with Converse, and I’m wearing white patent-leather sandals with a T-strap and little perforations.
In the car on the way over, I smooth down my skirt and say to Kitty, “Maybe you could wear this dress for your high school graduation too, Kitten. And you’ll pose by the oak tree just like we did. It’ll be a beautiful triptych.” I wonder what shoes Kitty will wear. She’s about as likely to wear white stilettos as she is white Reeboks or white roller skates.
Kitty makes a sour-lemon face. “I don’t want to wear the same dress as you and Margot. I want my own dress. Besides, it’ll really be out of style by then.” She pauses. “What’s a triptych?”
“It’s, um, three pieces of art that come together and make one.” Furtively, I google “triptych” on my phone to make sure I’m telling her the right thing. “It’s, like, three panels, sort of hinged side by side. They’re meant to be appreciated together.”
“You’re reading that off your phone.”
“I was just double-checking,” I say. I smooth my dress down again, making sure my cap is in my bag. I’m graduating from high school today. It snuck up on me—growing up, I mean. In the driver’s seat, Trina’s looking for a parking spot, and Margot’s next to her, texting on her phone; Kitty’s next to me, looking out the window. Daddy has driven separately, to pick up Grandma. Nana, Daddy’s mom, is in Florida with her boyfriend and won’t be able to make it. I only wish my own mom were here for this. All these big moments she’s missing, that she’ll keep missing. I have to believe that she knows, that somehow she still sees. But I also just wish I could have a hug from my mom on my graduation day.
* * *
Throughout the valedictorian speech, I keep looking out in the crowd for Peter’s family. I wonder if his dad is sitting with Peter’s brother and his mom, or separately. I wonder if I’ll get to meet Peter’s two half brothers too. I’ve already spotted my own family—they are hard to miss. Every time I look in their direction, they all wave madly. Plus, Trina’s wearing a wide brimmed Kentucky Derby hat. Whoever is sitting in the row behind her probably can’t see a thing. Margot exercised a lot of self-control by not rolling her eyes when Trina came downstairs wearing it. Even Kitty said it was “a bit much,” but Trina asked me what I thought and I said I loved it, which I kind of do.
Our principal calls my name, “Lara Jean Song Covey,” but he pronounces it Laura, which trips me up for a second.
When I accept my diploma from him and shake his hand, I whisper, “It’s Lara, not Laura.”
My plan was to blow my family a kiss as I walked across the stage, but I get so nervous that I forget. Over the applause I can hear Kitty’s whoop, Daddy’s whistle. When it’s Peter’s turn, I clap and scream like crazy, and of course everyone else does too. Even the teachers clap extra loud for him. It’s so obvious when teachers have favorites. Not that I could blame them for loving Peter. We all do.
After we are declared graduates, after we throw our caps in the air, Peter makes his way past the throngs of people to find me. As he moves through the crowd, he’s smiling, making jokes, saying hi to people, but there’s something wrong. There’s a blankness in his eyes, even as he grabs me for a hug. “Hey,” he says, kissing me swiftly on the lips. “So we’re officially college kids now.”
Looking around, I straighten my robe and say, “I didn’t see your mom and Owen in the stands. Did your dad sit with them? Are your brothers here? Should I come over now or after I take pictures with my family?”
Peter shakes his head. He doesn’t quite meet my eyes. “My dad couldn’t come last minute.”
“What! Why?”
“There was some kind of emergency. Who knows.”
I’m stunned. His dad seemed so sincere when I saw him at the lacrosse game. “I hope it was a really big emergency to miss his own son’s high school graduation.”
“It’s fine.” Peter shrugs like he doesn’t care either way, but I know that can’t be true. His jaw is set so tight, he could break his teeth.
Over his shoulder I see my family making their way through the crowds to get to me. You can’t miss Trina’s hat, even in this swarm of people. My dad’s carrying a big bouquet of all different-colored roses. Grandma’s wearing a cranberry-colored suit; her hair is freshly permed.
I feel so rushed and panicky for more time with Peter, to comfort him, to just be at his side. I grab his hand. “I’m sorry,” I say, and I want to say more, of course I do, but my family arrives, and everyone’s hugging me. Peter says hi to my grandma and takes some pictures with us before he escapes to find his mom and brother. I call out to him, but he’s too far away, and he doesn’t turn around.
After we take pictures, Daddy, Trina, Grandma, Kitty, Margot, and I go to a Japanese restaurant for lunch. We order plates and plates of sashimi and sushi, and I wear a napkin bib so soy sauce doesn’t fling onto my white dress. Trina sits next to Grandma and chatters in her ear about all manner of things, and I can just hear Grandma thinking, Damn, this girl talks a lot—but she’s trying, and that’s what Grandma appreciates. I’m trying to be festive and appreciative and in the moment, since this lunch is in my honor, but all I can think of is Peter and how hurt I am on his behalf.
Over mochi ice cream, Grandma tells us about all the places she wants to take us in Korea: the Buddhist temples, the outdoor food markets, the skin clinic where she goes to get her moles lasered off. She points at a tiny mole on Kitty’s cheek and says, “We’ll get that taken care of.”
Daddy looks alarmed, and Trina’s quick to ask, “Isn’t she too young?”
Grandma waves her hand. “She’ll be fine.”
Then Kitty asks, “How old do you have to be to get a nose job in Korea?” and Daddy nearly chokes on his beer.
Grandma gives her a threatening look. “You can never, ever change your nose. You have a lucky nose.”
Kitty touches it gingerly. “I do?”
