IT�S THE FIRST NIGHT WE�VE
all been together for dinner since the engagement, and Daddy�s in the kitchen making a salad. Us girls are sitting in the living room just hanging out. Kitty is doing her homework; Ms. Rothschild is sipping on a glass of white wine. It�s all very mellow�perfect timing for me to bring up wedding business. I�ve spent the last week working on a mood board for Daddy and Ms. Rothschild�s wedding:
Pride and Prejudice
the movie, a whole wall of roses for the photo-booth area,
The Virgin Suicides
, wine-bottle floral centerpieces as a nod to Charlottesville wineries.
When I present it to Ms. Rothschild on my laptop, she looks vaguely alarmed. She sets down her wine glass and looks closer at the screen. �This is beautiful, Lara Jean. Really lovely. You�ve put a lot of time into this!�
So much time, in fact, that I skipped Peter�s lacrosse game this week, plus a movie night at Pammy�s. But this is important. Of course I don�t say any of this out loud; I just smile a beatific smile. �Does this vision feel in line with what you were thinking?
�Well . . . to be honest, I think we were thinking we�d just go to the justice of the peace. Selling my house and figuring out how I�m going to fit all my junk in here is enough of a headache already.�
Daddy comes out with the wooden salad bowl in his hands. Dryly he says, �So you�re saying marrying me is a headache?�
She rolls her eyes. �You know what I�m saying, Dan! It�s not like you have the time to plan a big wedding either.� She takes a sip of wine and turns to me. �Your dad and I have both been married before, so neither of us feels like making a big fuss. I�ll probably just wear a dress I already have.�
�Of
course
we should make a big fuss. Do you know how many years it took Daddy to find someone who�d eat his cooking and watch his documentaries?� I shake my head. �Ms. Rothschild, you�re a miracle. For that we
have
to celebrate.� I call out to my dad, who�s disappeared back into the kitchen. �Did you hear that, Daddy? Ms. Rothschild wants to go to
city hall
. Please disabuse her of this notion.�
�Will you please stop calling me Ms. Rothschild? Now that I�m going to be your wicked stepmother, you should at least call me Trina. Or Tree. Whatever feels right to you.�
�How about Stepmother?� I suggest, all innocence. �That feels pretty right.�
She swats at me. �Girl! I will cut you.�
Giggling, I dart away from her. �Let�s get back to the wedding. I don�t know if this is a sensitive issue or not, but did you keep your old wedding photos? I want to see what your bridal style was.�
Ms. Rothschild pulls a terrible face. �I think I threw out everything. I might have a picture tucked in an album somewhere. Thank God I got married before social media
was a thing. Can you imagine, getting divorced and having to take down all your wedding pictures?�
�Isn�t it bad luck to talk about divorce when you�re planning your wedding?�
She laughs. �Well then, we�re already doomed.� I must look alarmed because she says, �I�m kidding! I�ll hunt around for a wedding picture to show you if you want, but honestly, I�m not real proud of it. Smoky eye was the thing back then, and I took it a little too far. Plus I did that early two thousands thing with the chocolate lip liner and the frosted lip.�
I try to keep my face neutral. �Right, okay. What about your dress?�
�One-shoulder, with a mermaid style skirt. It made my butt look amazing.�
�I see.�
�Quit judging me!�
Daddy puts his hand on Ms. Rothschild�s shoulder. �What if we did it here at the house?�
�Like in the backyard?� She considers this. �I think that could be nice. A little barbecue, just family and a few friends?�
�Daddy doesn�t have any friends,� Kitty says from across the living room, her math book in her lap.
Daddy frowns at her. �I do too have friends. I have Dr. Kang from the hospital, and there�s Marjorie, and Aunt D. But er, yes, it would be a small group on my side.�
�Plus Nana,� Kitty says, and both Daddy and Ms. Rothschild look nervous at the mention of Nana. Daddy�s mother isn�t the friendliest person.
�Don�t forget Grandma,� I throw in.
Grandma and Ms. Rothschild met at Thanksgiving, and while Daddy didn�t explicitly introduce her as his girlfriend, Grandma is shrewd and she doesn�t miss a thing. She gave Ms. Rothschild the third degree, asking if she had any kids of her own, how long she�d been divorced, if she had any student-loan debt. Ms. Rothschild held up pretty well, and when I walked Grandma out to the car to say good-bye, she said Ms. Rothschild was �not bad.� She said she dressed young for her age, but she also said that Ms. Rothschild had a lot of energy and a brightness to her.
�I�ve already done the big wedding thing,� Ms. Rothschild says. �It�ll be small on my side too. A few friends from college, Shelly from work. My sister Jeanie, my SoulCycle friends.�
�Can we be your bridesmaids?� Kitty asks, and Ms. Rothschild laughs.
�Kitty! You can�t just ask that.� But I turn to Ms. Rothschild, waiting to hear what she will say.
�Sure,� she says. �Lara Jean, would you be okay with that?�
�I would be honored,� I say.
�So you three girls, and my friend Kristen, because she�ll kill me if I don�t ask her.�
I clap my hands together. �Now that that�s settled, let�s get back to the dress. If it�s going to be a backyard wedding, I feel like your dress should reflect that.�
�As long as it has sleeves so my bat wings don�t flap around,� she says.
�Ms. Roth�I mean, Trina, you don�t have bat wings,� I say. She�s very in shape from all her Pilates and SoulCycle.
Kitty�s eyes light up. �What are bat wings? That sounds gross.�
�Come here, and I�ll show you.� Kitty obeys, and Ms. Rothschild lifts her arm and stretches it out; then at the last second she grabs Kitty and tickles her. Kitty�s dying laughing, and so is Ms. Rothschild.
Breathlessly she says, �Gross? That�ll teach you to call your wicked stepmother-to-be gross!�
Daddy looks as happy as I�ve ever seen him.
* * *
Later that night in our bathroom, Kitty�s brushing her teeth, and I�m scrubbing my face with a new exfoliant I ordered off a Korean beauty site. It�s walnut shells and blueberry. �Mason jars and gingham�but elegant,� I muse.
�Mason jars are played out,� Kitty says. �Look on Pinterest. Literally everybody does Mason jars.�
Her words do have the ring of truth. �Well, I�m definitely wearing a flower crown on my head. I don�t care if you say it�s played out.�
Flatly she says, �You can�t wear a flower crown.�
�Why not?�
She spits out toothpaste. �You�re too old. That�s for flower girls.�
�No, you aren�t envisioning it correctly. I wasn�t thinking baby�s breath. I was thinking little pink and peach roses, with a lot of greenery. Pale green greenery, you know that kind?�
She shakes her head, resolute. �We aren�t fairies in a forest. It�s too cutesy. And I know Gogo�s going to agree with me.�
I have a sinking feeling she will too. I decide to put this argument aside for now. It won�t be won today. �For dresses, I was thinking we could wear vintage. Not off-white, but tea-stained white. Sort of nightgown-style. Very ethereal�not fairy, more like celestial being.�
�I�m wearing a tuxedo.�
I nearly choke. �A what!�
�A tuxedo. With matching Converse.�
�Over my dead body!�
Kitty shrugs.
�Kitty, this wedding isn�t black tie. A tuxedo isn�t going to look right at a backyard wedding! The three of us should match, like a set! The Song girls!�
�I�ve already told Tree and Daddy, and they both love the idea of me in a tux, so get over it.� She�s got that look on her face, the obstinate look she gets when she�s really digging her heels in. Like a bull.
�At the very least you should wear a seersucker suit, then. It will be too hot for a tuxedo, and seersucker breathes.� I feel like I�ve made a concession here, so she should too, but no.
�You don�t get to decide everything, Lara Jean. It�s not your wedding.�
�I know that!�
�Well, just keep it in mind.�
I reach out to shake her, but she flounces off before I can. Over her shoulder, she calls out, �Worry about your own life!�
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