Delicately I say, “Just FYI, it’s ‘I couldn’t care less,’ not ‘I could care less.’ Because if you could, then you are technically caring.”
Trina rolls her eyes, and Kitty slides back into her chair and says, “Why are you like this, Lara Jean?”
I shove her in the side. To Trina I say, “Kristen is a grown woman, so I’m sure she’ll be fine with whatever us kids do. She’s an adult.”
Trina doesn’t look so sure. “She won’t want anything that shows her arms. She’ll try to convince you to put a matching cardigan on top.”
“Um, no.”
Trina puts her hands up. “You have to take it up with Kristen. Like I said, I could care less.” She crosses her eyes at me, and I laugh and so does Kitty.
“Wait a minute, can we talk more about this mixer you didn’t go to?” Daddy asks, his brow furrowed. “That sounded like a really nice event.”
“I’ll go to the next one,” I promise him. Of course, I don’t mean it.
There’s no point in me going to mixers and getting attached to people when I’m only going to be there nine months.
*
After I make myself a bowl of ice cream, I go upstairs and text Margot to see if she is awake. She is, so I immediately call her to shore up support on the dress situation, and Kitty’s right—Margot doesn’t care either way.
“I’ll do whatever you guys want to do,” she says.
“The hottest places in hell are reserved for people who maintain neutrality in times of crisis,” I say, licking my spoon.
She laughs. “I thought the hottest places in hell were reserved for women who don’t help other women.”
“Well, I suppose hell has a lot of rooms. Honestly, don’t you think Kitty will look silly in a tuxedo? It’s a backyard wedding. The feel is supposed to be ethereal!”
“I don’t think she’ll look any sillier than you’ll look in a flower crown all by yourself. Just let her wear it, and you wear your flower crown, and I’ll be neutral. Honestly, I don’t even see the point in me being a bridesmaid when Ms. Rothschild and I barely know each other. I mean, I know she’s doing it to be nice, but it’s so not necessary. It’s all a bit much.”
Now I’m regretting stirring the waters and pushing the whole tuxedo-versus-flower-crown issue. The last thing I want is for Margot to get any ideas about dropping out of the wedding. She’s lukewarm on Trina at best. Hastily I say, “Well, we don’t have to wear flower crowns. You and I could wear plain dresses and Kitty could wear her tux, and that would look fine.”
“How was that William and Mary mixer today? Did you meet any cool people?”
“How does everybody but me know about the mixer!”
“It was on the fridge.”
“Oh. I didn’t go.”
There’s a pause. “Lara Jean, have you sent in your William and Mary deposit yet?”
“I’m about to! It’s not due until May first.”
“Are you thinking about changing your mind?”
“No! I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. Things have been crazy around here, with all the wedding planning and everything.”
“It sounds like the wedding is getting really big. I thought they just wanted to do a simple thing.”
“We’re weighing our options. It’ll still be simple. I just think the day should be really special, something we’ll always remember.”
After we get off the phone, I go downstairs to put my ice cream bowl in the sink, and on the way back, I stop in the living room, where Mommy and Daddy’s wedding portrait hangs above the fireplace. Her dress is lace, with cap sleeves and a flowy skirt. Her hair is up, in a side bun, with a few tendrils that slip out. She’s wearing diamond earrings I never saw her wear in real life. She hardly ever wore jewelry, or much makeup, either. Daddy’s in a gray suit, but no gray in his hair yet; his cheeks are apple smooth, no stubble. She looks the way I remember her, but he looks so much younger.
It hits me that we’ll have to move the picture. It would just be too awkward for Trina to have to look at it every day. She doesn’t seem bothered by it now, but after she’s living here, after they’re married, she’s bound to feel differently. I could hang it in my room, though Margot might want it too. I guess I’ll ask her when she’s back.
*
Trina’s friend Kristen comes over after dinner later that week, armed with a bottle of rosé and a stack of bridal magazines. The way Trina talks about Kristen, I was picturing someone really intimidating and tall, but Kristen is my height. She has brown hair cut in a short bob, tan skin. I’m impressed by her collection of Martha Stewart Weddings—it goes back years and years. “Please just don’t crease the corners,” she says, which makes me frown. As if I would ever.
“I think we should discuss the bridal shower first,” she says. She’s petting Jamie Fox-Pickle; his sandy head is in her lap. I’ve never seen him take to a stranger so quickly, which I take to be a good sign.
I say, “I thought a tea party could be fun. I’d make little sandwiches with the crusts cut off, and little bite-sized scones, and clotted cream . . .”
“I was thinking a SoulCycle party,” Kristen says. “I’d have matching neon tank tops made that say ‘Team Trina.’ We could rent out the whole class!”
I try not to look disappointed, and just nod like, Hmm.
“Guys, both of those ideas sound so great, but I’m thinking no bridal shower,” Trina interjects. Kristen gasps and I do too. With an apologetic smile she explains, “We have too much stuff as it is. The whole point of a bridal shower is to shower the bride with everything she’ll need for her house, and I can’t think of one thing we’d need.”
“We don’t have an ice cream maker,” I say. I’ve been wanting to experiment with ice creams for a while now, but the one I want is more than four hundred dollars. “And Daddy’s always talking about a pasta machine.”
“We can buy those things for ourselves. We’re grown-ups, after all.” Kristen opens her mouth to argue, but Trina says, “Kris, I’m firm on this. No bridal shower. I’m in my forties, for Pete’s sake. I’ve been to this rodeo before.”
Stiffly Kristen says, “I don’t see what that has to do with anything. The point of a bridal shower is to make the bride feel special and loved. But fine. If it’s that important to you, we won’t do one.”
“Thank you,” Trina says. She leans over and puts her arm around Kristen, who gives her a stern look.
“But where I will not negotiate is a bachelorette. You’ve gotta have a bach. Period.”
Smiling, Trina says, “I will not fight you on that. Maybe we can do your SoulCycle idea for my bachelorette.”
“No way. We gotta go big. So, Vegas, am I right? You love Vegas. I’m gonna e-mail the girls tonight so Sarah’s husband can get us a suite at the Bellagio—”
“It’s gonna be a no on Vegas,” Trina says. “The bachelorette has to be local and PG so the girls can come.”
“What girls?” Kristen demands.