“Did Owen have a good time?”
This he grudgingly concedes. “Yeah, he and Clayton and Everett played video games. My dad grilled hamburgers and steaks. He even wore a damn chef’s apron. I don’t think he ever helped my mom in the kitchen once the whole time they were married.” Peter pauses. “He didn’t do the dishes, though, so I guess he hasn’t changed that much. Still, I could tell he and Gayle were trying. She baked a cake. Not as good as yours, though.”
“What kind of cake?” I ask.
“Devil’s food cake. Kind of dry.” Peter hesitates before he says, “I invited him to graduation.”
“You did?” My heart swells.
“He kept asking about school, and . . . I don’t know. I thought about what you said, and I just did it.” He shrugs, like he doesn’t care much either way if his dad’s there or not. It’s an act. Peter cares. Of course he cares. “So you’ll meet him then.”
I snuggle closer to him. “I’m so proud of you, Peter.”
He gives a little laugh. “For what?”
“For giving your dad a chance even though he doesn’t deserve it.” I look up at him and say, “You’re a nice boy, Peter K.,” and the smile that breaks across his face makes me love him even more.
30
AFTER PETER DROPS ME OFF at home, I end up having just enough time to run to the grocery store and pick up chips and salsa, ice cream, challah bread, Brie, blood-orange soda—you know, all the essentials—and then come home and clean the upstairs bathroom and make up Margot’s bed with fresh sheets.
Daddy picks Margot up at the airport on the way home from work. It’s the first time she’s been home since Trina moved in. When we step inside the house with her suitcases, I see her looking around the living room; I see her eyes flit to the mantel, where there is now framed art that Trina brought over from her house—it’s an abstract painting of the shoreline. Margot’s expression doesn’t change, but I know she notices. How could she not? I moved Mommy and Daddy’s wedding portrait into my room the day before Trina moved in. Margot’s looking around the whole room now, silently noting everything that is different. The embroidered throw pillows Trina brought with her, a framed picture of her and Daddy on the day he proposed on the side table by the couch, the armchair we switched out for Trina’s. All of Trina’s little knickknacks, of which there are many. Now that I’m looking at it all through Margot’s eyes, it is kind of cluttered.
Margot takes off her shoes and opens the door to the shoe closet and sees how stuffed it is—Trina has a lot of shoes, too. “Geez, this closet is packed,” she says, shoving Trina’s cycling shoes to the side to make room for her booties.
After we lug her suitcases upstairs and Margot changes into comfy clothes, we come back down for a snack while Daddy fixes dinner. I’m sitting on the couch, chomping on chips, when Margot suddenly stands up and declares that she’s going to go through the shoe closet and get rid of all her old shoes. “Right now?” I say, my mouth full of chips.
“Why not?” she says. When Margot gets it into her head to do something, she does it right away.
She dumps everything out of the shoe closet and sits on the floor cross-legged, going through piles, deciding which ones to keep and which to donate to the Salvation Army. She holds up a pair of black boots. “To keep or to toss?”
“Keep them or give them to me,” I say, scooping salsa with a tortilla chip. “They look so cute with tights.”
She tosses them in the keep pile. “Trina’s dog sheds so much,” Margot grouses, plucking dog fur off of her leggings. “How do you ever wear black clothes?”
“There’s a lint roller in the shoe case. And I guess I don’t wear that many black clothes?” I really should wear black more often. Every fashion blog emphasizes the importance of a little black dress. I wonder if there will be a lot of occasions for a little black dress at college. “How often do you get dressed up at Saint Andrews?”
“Not that often. People mostly wear jeans and boots when they go out. Saint Andrews isn’t that dressy of a place.”
“You don’t get dressed up even to go to a wine-and-cheese night at your professor’s house?”
“We get dressed up for high table dinners with professors, but I’ve never been invited to one’s house. Maybe they do that at UNC, though.”
“Maybe!”
Margot holds up a pair of yellow rain boots. “Keep or toss?”
“Keep.”
“You’re no help. You’ve voted to keep everything.” She tosses the rain boots into the cardboard giveaway box.
It seems both of my sisters are pretty ruthless about throwing away old things. When Margot’s done sorting through everything, I go through the box one more time to see if there isn’t anything I can save. I end up taking her rain boots and a pair of patent-leather Mary Janes.
*
That night I’m heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth when I hear Trina’s hushed voice coming from Margot’s room. I stop in the hallway to listen like a little spy, like Kitty. “This is a little awkward, but you left this in the bathroom, so I stuck it in a drawer just in case you wanted to keep it private.”
Margot’s cool voice returns, “Keep it private from whom? Kitty?”
“Well, from your dad. Or whoever. I just wasn’t sure.”
“My dad’s an obstetrician. It’s not like he’s never seen birth-control pills before.”
“Oh, I know. I just . . .” Lamely she says again, “I just wasn’t sure. If it was a secret or not, I mean.”
“Well, thanks. I appreciate the thought, but I don’t keep secrets from my dad.”
I scurry back to my bedroom before I hear Trina’s reply. Eek.
*
The day before graduation, Peter comes over to hang out at the house. I’m sewing little flowers onto my graduation cap, Kitty’s watching TV on the floor on her beanbag, and Margot’s shelling beans into a mixing bowl. She has a recipe she wants to try out for dinner tonight. A wedding show is on the TV, one of those who-had-the-best-wedding type programs.
“Hey, for your dad’s wedding, what about one of those sky-lantern ceremonies, where you light up the lantern and make a wish and release it into the sky?” Peter pipes up. “I saw it in a movie.”
I’m impressed. “Peter, that’s a really nice idea!”
“I saw that in a movie too,” Kitty says. “Hangover Part Two?”
“Yeah!” I give them both a look. Peter is quick to ask, “Isn’t that an Asian tradition? Could be nice.”
“It’s not a Korean tradition, it’s Thai,” Kitty says. “Remember, the movie takes place in Thailand?”
“Not that it matters, because it’s not like Trina is even Asian,” says Margot. “Why would she need to appropriate Asian culture into her wedding just because we’re Asian? It doesn’t have anything to do with her.”