*
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.
22
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.