“She doesn’t look fine!”
Trina stands up straight, her hand still on my back. “Dan, Lara Jean’s a young woman now. You can’t see it, because you still see her as a little girl, but she’s grown up so much in the time I’ve known her. She can handle herself.”
Margot breaks in. “Daddy, I let her have a few sips of my drink—that’s it. She really doesn’t have any tolerance. Frankly, it’s something she should work on before she gets to college. Don’t blame Trina.”
Daddy looks from Margot to Trina and back to Margot. She is standing shoulder to shoulder with Trina, and in that moment they are united. Then he looks over at me. “You’re right. This is all on Lara Jean. Get in the car.”
On the way home we have to pull over once so I can throw up again. It’s not the pomegranate martini that’s making me want to die. It’s the look on Peter’s face. The way the light in his eyes went away. The hurt—if I close my eyes I can see it. The only other time I’ve seen him look that way was when his dad didn’t show up at graduation. And now that look is there because of me.
I start to cry in the car. Big sobs that make my shoulders shake.
“Don’t cry,” my dad says with a sigh. “You’re in trouble, but not that big of trouble.”
“It’s not that. I broke up with Peter.” I can barely get the words out. “Daddy, if you could’ve seen the look on his face. It was—terrible.”
Bewildered, he asks, “Why did you break up with him? He’s such a nice boy.”
“I don’t know,” I weep. “Now I don’t know.”
He takes one hand off the steering wheel and squeezes my shoulder. “It’s all right. It’s all right.”
“But—it isn’t.”
“But it will be,” he says, stroking my hair.
I made the right choice tonight. I did, I know it. Letting him go was the right thing.
I can see the future, Peter. That way lies heartbreak. I won’t do it. Better to part while we can still see each other in a certain way.
37
I WAKE UP IN THE middle of the night crying, and my first thought is, I want to take it back. I’ve made a huge mistake and I want to take it all back. Then I cry myself back to sleep.
In the morning, my head throbs, and now I’m the one throwing up in the bathroom, just like the girls at Beach Week, only there’s no one to hold my hair back. I feel better after, but I lie on the bathroom floor for a while in case another wave of nausea hits. I fall asleep there, and wake up to Kitty shaking me by the arm. “Move, I have to pee,” she says, stepping over me.
“Help me up,” I say, and she drags me to my feet. She sits down to pee and I splash cold water on my face.
“Go eat some toast,” Kitty says. “It’ll soak up the alcohol in your stomach.”
I brush my teeth and stumble downstairs to the kitchen, where Daddy is cooking eggs and Margot and Trina are eating yogurt.
“Rise and shine, little girl,” Trina says with a grin.
“You look like someone ran you over with a truck,” Margot says.
“You’d be grounded right now if it weren’t for the wedding,” Daddy says, trying to sound stern and failing. “Eat some scrambled eggs.”
I gag at the thought.
“First eat some toast,” Margot instructs. “It’ll soak up the alcohol.”
“That’s what Kitty said.”
Trina points her spoon at me. “And then, once you’ve put some food in your belly, you can have two Advil. Never, ever take Advil on an empty stomach. You’ll be feeling much better in no time.”
“I’m never drinking again,” I vow, and Margot and Trina exchange a smirk. “I’m serious.”
I spend the whole day in bed, lights off with the curtains drawn. I want so badly to call Peter. To ask him to forgive me. I don’t even remember everything I said. I remember the gist of it, but the memory itself is blurry. The one thing I do remember so clearly, what I’ll never forget, is the stricken look on his face, and it makes me hate myself for putting it there.
I give in. I text him. Just three words.
I’m so sorry.
I see the . . . on the other end. My heart pounds madly as I wait. But the reply never comes. I try calling, but my call goes straight to voice mail, and I hang up. Maybe he’s already deleted me from his phone, like he did his dad. Maybe he’s just . . . done.
38
CHRIS IS THE FIRST TO leave. she comes by the house that week and says, “I can’t go to your dad’s wedding this weekend. I’m leaving for the Dominican Republic tomorrow.”
“What?”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Chris doesn’t look the least bit sorry; she has a huge grin on her face. “It’s so crazy. A spot opened up for me at an eco-hotel, and there’s no way I can pass this up. They speak Spanish in the Dominican Republic, too, right?”
“Yes. But I thought you were going to Costa Rica!”
Shrugging, she says, “This other opportunity came up so I pounced on it.”
“But—I can’t believe you’re leaving so soon! You weren’t supposed to leave until August. When do you come back?”
“I don’t know. . . . I guess that’s the beauty of it. I could stay for six months, or something else will come up and I’ll go there.”
I blink. “So you’re leaving for good, then?”
“Not for good. Just for now.”
Something inside of me knows that this really is for good. I don’t see Chris coming back here a year from now to go to Piedmont Virginia Community College. This is Chris, the stray cat, who comes and goes as she pleases. She’ll always land on her cat tippy-toes.
“Don’t look so sad. You’ll be fine without me. You have Kavinsky.” For a second I can’t breathe. Just hearing his name is like a dagger in my heart. “Anyway we’re all leaving soon enough. I’m just glad I’m not going to be left behind.”
That’s how it would feel to her—staying here, going to a community college, working at Applebee’s. I feel a surge of gladness that instead of that, she’s off on an adventure. “I just can’t believe you’re leaving so soon.” I don’t tell her that Peter and I broke up, that I don’t have him anymore. Today isn’t about me and Peter; it’s about Chris, and her exciting new future. “Can I at least come help you pack?”
“I’m already packed! I’m only bringing the essentials. My leather jacket, bikinis, a few crystals.”
“Shouldn’t you bring sneakers and work gloves and that kind of thing, just in case?”
“I’ll wear sneakers on the plane, and whatever else I need, I’ll get when I’m there. That’s the whole point of an adventure. Pack light and figure the rest out as you go.”
I thought we’d have more time, me and Chris in my bedroom, sharing secrets late into the night, eating chips in bed. I wanted to cement our friendship before she left: Lara Jean and Chrissy, like the old days.
It’s all ending.
39