Always and Forever, Lara Jean
Page 64
“Honey, I appreciate that so much, I really do, but it’s not just transferring that I’m worrying about. I’m worried about his mind-set. When he gets to UVA, he needs to be focused. He’s going there to be a student athlete. He can’t be driving down to North Carolina every weekend. It just isn’t practical. You’re both so young. Peter’s already making big life decisions based on you, and who even knows what’s going to happen with you two in the future. You’re teenagers. Life doesn’t always work out the way you think it’s going to work out. . . . I don’t know if Peter ever told you this, but Peter’s dad and I got married very young. And I’d—I’d just hate to see you two make the same mistakes we did.” She hesitates. “Lara Jean, I know my son, and he’s not going to let you go unless you let him go first.”
I blink.
“He’d do anything for you. That’s his nature. He’s loyal to his very core. Unlike his father.” Mrs. Kavinsky looks at me with sympathetic eyes. “I know you care about Peter and you want what’s best for him. I hope you’ll give what I said some thought.” She hesitates, then says, “Please don’t mention anything to him. Peter would be very upset with me.”
I struggle to find my voice. “I won’t.”
Her smile is bright, relieved. “You’re a sweet girl, Lara Jean. I know you’ll do the right thing.” She pats my hands and releases them. Then she changes the subject, asking me about my dad’s wedding.
When I get back to my car, I flip down the mirror and see that my cheeks are still stained pink. It feels like the time in seventh grade when Chris’s mom found her cigarettes and she thought we’d both been smoking them. I wanted to say it wasn’t me, but I couldn’t. I just shriveled up with shame. That’s how I feel right now. Like I’ve gotten in trouble.
Was it foolish of Peter and me to think that we could be the exception to the rule? Is Peter’s mom right? Are we making a huge mistake? Suddenly it feels like every decision we make is so momentous, and I’m so scared to make the wrong one.
* * *
Back at home, Daddy, Margot, and Kitty are in the living room debating over where to go for dinner. It’s such a normal thing to be discussing on a Thursday evening, but I feel so strange, because it’s as if the earth is shifting beneath my feet, and the ground isn’t steady anymore, but everyone around me is talking about food.
“What do you feel like, Lara Jean?” Daddy asks me.
“I’m not very hungry,” I say, looking down at my phone. What will I say to Peter when he calls? Do I tell him? “I might just stay home.”
Daddy peers at me. “Are you all right? Coming down with something? You look pale.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine.”
“How about Seoul House?” Margot suggests. “I’ve really been craving Korean food.”
Daddy hesitates, and I know why. Trina doesn’t exactly have the most sophisticated palate. She lives off of Diet Coke and chicken fingers; kale salads are about as adventurous as she gets. When we order sushi, she’ll only eat California rolls and cooked shrimp. She doesn’t eat any fish at all. But nobody’s perfect.
“Trina’s not big on Korean food,” I say, to spare Daddy having to say it. My phone buzzes, but it’s just an email from UNC’s housing department.
Incredulous, Margot says, “Are you serious?”
“It’s a little spicy for her.” Hastily he adds, “But it’s fine. She can get the bulgogi sliders or the fried rice.”
“I don’t want Korean food either,” Kitty says.
“We’ll go to Seoul House,” Daddy says. “Trina will be fine.”
As soon as Daddy goes to make a reservation, I say to Margot, “Don’t judge Trina for not liking Korean food. She can’t help it if she can’t eat spicy stuff.”
Kitty is quick to jump in with, “Yeah, don’t judge her.”
A hurt look flashes across Margot’s face, and she protests, “I didn’t say anything!”
“We know what you were thinking,” I say. I know what she’s thinking because I’ve had the same thought. And I’m now in the curious position of having to defend Trina for something I also think is annoying. It wouldn’t kill Trina to broaden her culinary horizons.
“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?”
I blink.
“He’d do anything for you. That’s his nature. He’s loyal to his very core. Unlike his father.” Mrs. Kavinsky looks at me with sympathetic eyes. “I know you care about Peter and you want what’s best for him. I hope you’ll give what I said some thought.” She hesitates, then says, “Please don’t mention anything to him. Peter would be very upset with me.”
I struggle to find my voice. “I won’t.”
Her smile is bright, relieved. “You’re a sweet girl, Lara Jean. I know you’ll do the right thing.” She pats my hands and releases them. Then she changes the subject, asking me about my dad’s wedding.
When I get back to my car, I flip down the mirror and see that my cheeks are still stained pink. It feels like the time in seventh grade when Chris’s mom found her cigarettes and she thought we’d both been smoking them. I wanted to say it wasn’t me, but I couldn’t. I just shriveled up with shame. That’s how I feel right now. Like I’ve gotten in trouble.
Was it foolish of Peter and me to think that we could be the exception to the rule? Is Peter’s mom right? Are we making a huge mistake? Suddenly it feels like every decision we make is so momentous, and I’m so scared to make the wrong one.
* * *
Back at home, Daddy, Margot, and Kitty are in the living room debating over where to go for dinner. It’s such a normal thing to be discussing on a Thursday evening, but I feel so strange, because it’s as if the earth is shifting beneath my feet, and the ground isn’t steady anymore, but everyone around me is talking about food.
“What do you feel like, Lara Jean?” Daddy asks me.
“I’m not very hungry,” I say, looking down at my phone. What will I say to Peter when he calls? Do I tell him? “I might just stay home.”
Daddy peers at me. “Are you all right? Coming down with something? You look pale.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine.”
“How about Seoul House?” Margot suggests. “I’ve really been craving Korean food.”
Daddy hesitates, and I know why. Trina doesn’t exactly have the most sophisticated palate. She lives off of Diet Coke and chicken fingers; kale salads are about as adventurous as she gets. When we order sushi, she’ll only eat California rolls and cooked shrimp. She doesn’t eat any fish at all. But nobody’s perfect.
“Trina’s not big on Korean food,” I say, to spare Daddy having to say it. My phone buzzes, but it’s just an email from UNC’s housing department.
Incredulous, Margot says, “Are you serious?”
“It’s a little spicy for her.” Hastily he adds, “But it’s fine. She can get the bulgogi sliders or the fried rice.”
“I don’t want Korean food either,” Kitty says.
“We’ll go to Seoul House,” Daddy says. “Trina will be fine.”
As soon as Daddy goes to make a reservation, I say to Margot, “Don’t judge Trina for not liking Korean food. She can’t help it if she can’t eat spicy stuff.”
Kitty is quick to jump in with, “Yeah, don’t judge her.”
A hurt look flashes across Margot’s face, and she protests, “I didn’t say anything!”
“We know what you were thinking,” I say. I know what she’s thinking because I’ve had the same thought. And I’m now in the curious position of having to defend Trina for something I also think is annoying. It wouldn’t kill Trina to broaden her culinary horizons.
“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?”
