Always and Forever, Lara Jean (To All the Boys I've Loved Before #3) - Page 15/41

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!”

Always and Forever, Lara Jean (To All the Boys I've Loved Before #3) - Page 11

I’M THE ONE WHO GOES

to the airport to pick up Margot and Ravi, while Daddy puts finishing touches on dinner and Kitty does her homework. I put the address into the

GPS

, just in case, and I make it there without incident, thank God. Our airport is small, so I just circle around while I wait for the two of them to come out.

When I pull up to the curb, Margot and Ravi are waiting, sitting on their suitcases. I park and then jump out and run over to Margot and throw my arms around her. Her hair is freshly bobbed around her chin, she’s wearing a sweatshirt and leggings, and as I squeeze her tight, I think

Oh, how I’ve missed my sister!

I let go, and then I take a good look at Ravi, who is taller than I realized. He is tall and skinny with dark skin and dark hair and dark eyes and long lashes. He looks so unlike Josh, but so like a boy that Margot would date. He has one dimple, on his right cheek. “It’s nice to meet you in real life, Lara Jean,” he says, and right away I’m bowled over by his accent. My name sounds so much fancier all dressed up in an English accent.

I’m feeling nervous, and then I see that his T-shirt says

DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY

, and I relax. He’s a Potter person, like us. “It’s nice to meet you, too. So what house are you?”

He grabs both Margot’s and his suitcases and loads them into the trunk. “Let’s see if you can guess. Your sister got it wrong.”

“Only because you were trying to impress me for the first month I knew you,” she protests. Ravi laughs and climbs into the backseat. I think it’s a good sign of his character that he doesn’t automatically go for shotgun. Margot looks at me. “Do you want me to drive?”

I’m tempted to say yes, because I always like it better when Margot drives, but I shake my head, jingle my keys high. “I’ve got it.”

She raises her eyebrows like she’s impressed. “Good for you.”

She goes to the passenger side, and I get in the front seat. I look at Ravi in my rearview mirror. “Ravi, by the time you leave our house, I will have figured out

your

house.”

* * *

When we get home, Daddy and Kitty and Ms. Rothschild are waiting for us in the living room. Margot looks startled to see her there sitting on the couch with Daddy, her bare feet in his lap. I’ve grown so used to it, to her being around, that it feels to me like Ms. Rothschild is part of the family now. It hadn’t occurred to me how jarring it would be for Margot. But the truth is, Ms. Rothschild and Margot haven’t spent a lot of time together because she’s been away at school; she wasn’t around when Ms. Rothschild and Daddy first started dating and she’s only been home once since, for Christmas.

As soon as Ms. Rothschild sees Margot, she jumps up to

give her a big hug and compliments her on her hair. She hugs Ravi, too. “God, you’re a tall drink of water!” she quips, and he laughs, but Margot just has a stiff smile on her face.

Until she sees Kitty, who she wraps up in a bear hug and then, seconds later, squeals, “Oh my God, Kitty! Are you wearing a bra now?” Kitty gasps and glares at her, her cheeks a dull angry red.

Abashed, Margot mouths,

Sorry.

Ravi hurries to step forward and shake Daddy’s hand. “Hello, Dr. Covey, I’m Ravi. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Oh, we’re glad to have you, Ravi,” Daddy says.

Then Ravi smiles at Kitty and lifts his hand in greeting and says, a tad awkwardly, “Hi, Kitty.”

Kitty nods at him without making eye contact. “Hello.”

Margot is still staring at Kitty in disbelief. I’ve been here all along, so it’s harder for me to see how much Kitty has grown in the past year, but it’s true, she has. Not so much in the chest department—the bra is merely ornamental at this point—but in other ways.

“Ravi, can I get you something to drink?” Ms. Rothschild chirps. “We have juice, Fresca, Diet Coke, water?”

“What’s a Fresca?” Ravi asks, his brow furrowed.

Her eyes light up. “It’s a delicious grapefruity soda. Zero calories! You have to try it!” Margot watches as Ms. Rothschild goes to the kitchen and opens up the cabinet where we keep our cups. Filling a glass with ice, she calls out, “Margot, what about you? Can I get you something?”

“I’m fine,” Margot answers in a pleasant enough tone, but

I can tell she doesn’t appreciate being offered a drink in her own home by someone who doesn’t live there.

When Ms. Rothschild returns with Ravi’s Fresca, she presents it to him with a flourish. He thanks her and takes a sip. “Very refreshing,” Ravi says, and she beams.

Daddy claps his hands together. “Should we take the bags upstairs? Give you guys a chance to freshen up before dinner? We’ve got the guest room all set up.” He gives me a fond look before saying, “Lara Jean put in a new pair of slippers and a robe for you, Ravi.”

Before Ravi can reply, Margot says, “Oh, that’s so nice. But actually, I think Ravi’s just going to stay with me in my room.”

It’s as if Margot has dropped a stink bomb in the middle of our living room. Kitty and I are looking at each other with huge

OMG

eyes; Daddy just looks stunned and at a complete loss for words. When I made up the guest room for Ravi, folded a set of towels for him on the side of the bed, and put out the robe and slippers, it never occurred to me that he’d be staying in Margot’s room. Clearly, the thought never occurred to Daddy either.

Daddy’s face is growing redder by the second. “Oh, um . . . I don’t know if . . .”

Margot purses her lips nervously as she waits for Daddy to finish his sentence. We’re all waiting, but he can’t seem to figure out what to say next. His eyes dart over to Ms. Rothschild for help, and she puts her hand on the small of his back in support.

Poor Ravi looks supremely uncomfortable. My first thought was that he was a Ravenclaw like Margot; now I’m thinking he’s a Hufflepuff like me. In a soft voice he says, “I truly don’t mind staying in the guest room. I’d hate to make things awkward.”

Daddy starts to answer him, but Margot gets there first. “No, it’s totally fine,” she assures Ravi. “Let’s go get the rest of our stuff out of the car.”

The second they leave, Kitty and I turn to each other. At the same time we say, “Oh my God.”

Kitty ponders, “Why do they need to stay in the same room together? Do they have to have sex that bad?”

“Enough, Kitty,” Daddy says, his tone sharper than I’ve heard him use with her. He turns and leaves, and I hear the sound of his office door closing. His office is where he goes when he is really mad. Ms. Rothschild gives her a stern look and follows after him.

Kitty and I look at each other again. “Yikes,” I say.

“He didn’t have to snap,” Kitty says sullenly. “I’m not the one whose boyfriend is staying in my bed.”

“He didn’t mean it.” I tuck her against me, wrapping my arms around her bony shoulders. “Gogo has a lot of nerve, huh?” She’s very impressive, my sister. I just feel sorry for Daddy. This isn’t a fight he’s used to having—or any kind of fight at all, really.

Of course I text Peter right away and tell all. He sends back a lot of wide-eyed emojis. And:

Do you think your dad would let us stay in the same room??

Which I ignore.

* * *

When Ravi goes upstairs to wash up and change, Ms. Rothschild says she has dinner out with the girls, so she’d better get going. I can tell Margot is relieved. After Ms. Rothschild leaves, Kitty takes Jamie Fox-Pickle for a walk, and Margot and I head to the kitchen to fix a salad to go with the chicken Daddy’s roasting. I’m eager to have a moment alone with her so we can talk about the whole sleeping-arrangements situation, but I don’t get a chance to ask, because as soon we step into the kitchen, Margot hisses at me, “Why didn’t you tell me Daddy and Ms. Rothschild are so serious?”

“I told you she’s over here for dinner almost every night!” I whisper back. I start rinsing a basket of cherry tomatoes so the sound of the water running will give us cover.

“She was walking around like she lives here! And since when do we have Fresca? We’ve never been a Fresca-drinking family.”

I start slicing the tomatoes in half. “She loves it, so I always make sure to buy a case when I go to the store. It’s actually very refreshing. Ravi seemed to like it.”

“That’s not the point!”

“What’s your problem with Ms. Rothschild all of a sudden? You guys got along great when you were home for Christmas—” I break off as Daddy walks into the kitchen.

“Margot, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Margot pretends to be busy counting out silverware. “Sure, what’s up, Daddy?”

Daddy glances at me, and I look back down at the tomatoes.

I am staying for moral support. “I would prefer if Ravi stayed in the guest room.”

Margot bites her lip. “Why?”

There’s an awkward silence before Daddy says, “I’m just not comfortable—”

“But Daddy, we’re in college. . . . You do realize we’ve shared a bed before, right?”

Wryly he says, “I had my suspicions, but thank you for that confirmation.”

“I’m almost twenty years old. I’ve been living away from home, thousands of miles away, for nearly two years.” Margot glances over at me and I shrink down. I should’ve left when I had the chance. “Lara Jean and I aren’t little kids anymore—”

“Hey, don’t bring me into this,” I say, as jokingly as I can.

Daddy sighs. “Margot, if you’re set on this, I’m not going to stop you. But I would just remind you that this is still my house.”

“I thought it was

our

house.” She knows she’s won this battle, so she keeps her voice light as meringue.

“Well, you freeloaders don’t pay the mortgage on it, I do, so that should make it my house slightly more.” With that final dad joke, he puts on oven mitts and takes the sizzling chicken out of the oven.

When we sit down to eat, Daddy stands at the head of the table and carves the chicken with the fancy new electric carving knife Ms. Rothschild got him for his birthday. “Ravi, can I offer you dark meat or white?”

Ravi clears his throat. “Um, I’m so sorry, but I actually don’t eat meat.”

Daddy gives Margot a horrified look. “Margot, you didn’t tell me Ravi was a vegetarian!”

“Sorry,” she says, grimacing. “I totally forgot. But Ravi loves salad!”

“I truly do,” he assures Daddy.

“I’ll take Ravi’s portion,” I offer. “I’ll take two thighs.”

Daddy saws off two thighs for me. “Ravi, tomorrow morning I’m making you a mean breakfast enchilada. No meat!”

Smiling, Margot says, “We’re going to

early tomorrow morning. Maybe the day he leaves?”

“Done,” Daddy says.

Kitty is unnaturally subdued. I’m not sure if it’s nervousness from having a boy she doesn’t know sit at her dining room table, or if it’s just because she’s getting older, and she’s less a kid in the way she interacts with new people. Though I suppose a twenty-one-year-old boy is really more of a young man.

Ravi has such nice manners—probably because he is English, and isn’t it a fact that English people have better manners than Americans? He says sorry a lot. “Sorry, can I just . . .” “Sorry?” His accent is charming, I keep saying pardon so he’ll speak again.

For my part, I try to lighten the mood with questions about England. I ask him why English people call private school public school, if his public school was anything like Hogwarts, if he’s ever met the royal family. His answers are: because they are open to the paying public; they had head

boys and head girls and prefects but no Quidditch; and he once saw Prince William at Wimbledon, but only the back of his head.

After dinner, the plan is for Ravi, Margot, Peter, and me to go to the movies. Margot invites Kitty to come along, but she demurs, citing her homework as the reason. I think she’s just nervous around Ravi.

I get ready in my room, dab a little perfume, a little lip balm, put on a sweatshirt over my cami and jeans because the theater gets cold. I’m ready fast, but Margot’s door is closed, and I can hear them talking quietly yet intensely. It’s a strange thing to see her door closed. I feel like a little spy standing outside the door, but it’s awkward, because who knows if Ravi has a shirt on, or what? It’s so adult, that closed door, those hushed voices.

Through the door I clear my throat and say, “Are you guys ready? I told Peter we’d meet him at eight.”

Margot opens the door. “Ready,” she says, and she doesn’t look happy.

Ravi steps out behind her, carrying his suitcase. “I’m just going to drop this off in the guest room, and then I’m all set,” he says.

As soon as he’s gone, I whisper to Margot, “Did something happen?”

“Ravi didn’t want to make a bad impression on Daddy by us staying in the same room. I told him it was fine, but he doesn’t feel comfortable.”

“That’s very considerate of him.” I wouldn’t say so to

Margot, but it was totally the right move. Ravi just keeps rising in my estimation.

Reluctantly she says, “He’s a very considerate guy.”

“Really handsome, too.”

A smile spreads across her face. “And there’s that.”

* * *

Peter’s already at the movie theater when we arrive, I’m sure because of Margot. He has no problem being late for me, but he would never dare be late for my big sister. Ravi buys all four of our tickets, which Peter is really impressed by. “Such a classy move,” he whispers to me as we sit down. Peter deftly maneuvers it so we’re sitting me, Peter, Ravi, Margot, so he can keep talking to him about soccer. Or football, as Ravi says. Margot gives me an amused look over their heads, and I can tell all the unpleasantness from before is forgotten.

After the movie, Peter suggests we go for frozen custards. “Have you ever had frozen custard before?” he asks Ravi.

“Never,” Ravi says.

“It’s the best, Rav,” he says. “They make it homemade.”

“Brilliant,” Ravi says.

When the boys are in line, Margot says to me, “I think Peter’s in love—with my boyfriend,” and we both giggle.

We’re still laughing when they get back to our table. Peter hands me my pralines and cream. “What’s so funny?”

I just shake my head and dip my spoon into the custard.

Margot says, “Wait, we have to cheers my sister getting into William and Mary!”

My smile feels frozen as everyone clinks their custard cups against mine. Ravi says, “Well done, Lara Jean. Didn’t Jon Stewart go there?”

Surprised, I say, “Why yes, yes he did. That’s a pretty random fact to know.”

“Ravi’s specialty is random facts,” Margot says, licking her spoon. “Don’t get him started on the mating habits of bonobos.”

“Two words,” Ravi says. Then he looks from Peter to me and whispers, “Penis fencing.”

Margot’s so lit up around Ravi. I once thought she and Josh were meant for each other, but now I’m not so sure. When they talk about politics, they’re both equally passionate, and they go back and forth, challenging each other but also conceding points. They’re like two flints sparking. If they were on a

show, I could see them as rival residents at a hospital who first grudgingly respect each other and then fall madly in love. Or two political aides at the White House, or two journalists. Ravi is studying bioengineering, which has not a lot to do with Margot’s anthropology, but they sure make a great team.

* * *

The next day, Margot takes Ravi to Washington,

, and they visit a few of the museums on the Mall and the Lincoln Memorial and the White House. They invited Kitty and me to go along, but I said no on behalf of both of us because I was pretty sure they would want some time alone and because I wanted to be cozy at home and work on

my scrapbook for Peter. When they get back that night, I ask Ravi what his favorite thing to do in

was, and he says the National Museum of African American History and Culture by far, which makes me regret my decision not to go, because I haven’t been there yet.

We turn on a

BBC

show on Netflix that Margot has been raving about, and it was filmed near where Ravi grew up, so he points out landmark places like his first job and his first date. We eat ice cream right out of the cartons, and I can tell that Daddy likes Ravi by the way he keeps urging him to have more. I’m sure he noticed that Ravi is staying in the guest room, and I’m sure he appreciates the gesture. I hope Ravi and Margot keep dating, because I could see him in our family forever. Or at least stay together long enough for Margot and me to take a trip to London and stay at his house!

Ravi has to leave for Texas the next afternoon, and while I’m sad to see him go, I’m also a little bit glad, because then we get to have Margot all to ourselves before she leaves again.

When we say good-bye, I point at him and say, “Hufflepuff.”

He grins. “You got it in one.” Then he points at me. “Hufflepuff?”

I grin back. “You got it in one.”

* * *

That night we’re in my bedroom watching

on my laptop when Margot brings up college—which is how I know that on some level she was waiting for Ravi to go too, so she

could talk to me about real things. Before we load the next episode, she looks over at me and says, “Can we talk about

UVA

? How are you feeling about it now?”

“I was sad, but it’s all right. I’m still going to go there.” Margot gives me a quizzical look, and I explain, “I’m going to transfer after freshman year. I talked to Mrs. Duvall, and she said if I got good grades at William and Mary, I would definitely get in as a transfer.”

Her forehead wrinkles up. “Why are you talking about transferring from William and Mary when you aren’t even there yet?” When I don’t answer right away, she says, “Is this because of Peter?”

“No! I mean, it is, in part, but not completely.” I hesitate before saying the thing I haven’t said out loud. “You know that feeling, like you’re meant to be somewhere? When I visited William and Mary, I didn’t get that feeling. Not like with

UVA

.”

“It might be that no school gives you the exact feeling you have with

UVA

,” Margot says.

“Maybe so—which is why I’m going to transfer after a year.”

She sighs. “I just don’t want you to live a half life at William and Mary because the whole time you’re wishing you were with Peter at

UVA

. The freshman-year experience is so important. You should at least give it a fair chance, Lara Jean. You might really love it there.” She gives me a look heavy with meaning. “Remember what Mommy said about college and boyfriends?”

How could I forget?

Don’t

be the girl who goes to college with a boyfriend

“I remember,” I say.

Margot takes my laptop and goes on the William and Mary website. “This campus is so pretty. Look at this weather vane! It all looks like something out of an English village.”

I perk up. “Yeah, it kind of does.” Is it as pretty as

UVA

’s campus? No, not to me, but then I don’t think anywhere is as pretty as Charlottesville.

“And look, William and Mary has a guacamole club. And a storm-watchers club. And oh my God! Something called a wizards-and-muggles club! It’s the largest Harry Potter club at any

university.”

“Wow! That

pretty neat. Do they have a baking club?”

She checks. “No. But you could start one!”

“Maybe . . . That would be fun. . . .” Maybe I

should

join a club or two.

She beams at me. “See? There’s a lot to be excited about. And don’t forget the Cheese Shop.”

The Cheese Shop is a specialty food store right by campus, and they sell cheese, obviously, but also fancy jams and bread and wine and gourmet pastas. They make really great roast beef sandwiches with a house dressing—a mayonnaisey mustard that I have tried to duplicate at home, but nothing tastes as good as in the shop, on their fresh bread. Daddy loves to stop at the Cheese Shop for new mustards and a sandwich. He’d be happy to have an excuse to go there. And Kitty, she loves the Williamsburg outlet mall. They sell kettle corn there, and it’s really addictive. They pop it right in front

of you, and the popcorn is so hot, it melts the bag a little.

“Maybe I could get a job in Colonial Williamsburg,” I say, trying to get into the spirit. “I could churn butter. Wear period garb. Like, a calico dress with an apron or whatever they wore in Colonial times. I’ve heard they’re not allowed to speak to each other in modern-day language, and kids are always trying to trip them up. That could be fun. The only thing is, I’m not sure if they hire Asian people because of historical accuracy. . . .”

“Lara Jean, we live in the time of

Hamilton

! Phillipa Soo is half-Chinese, remember? If she can play Eliza Hamilton, you can churn butter. And if they refuse to hire you, we’ll put it on social media and make them.” Margot tilts her head and looks at me. “See! There’s so much to be excited about, if you let yourself be.” She puts her hands on my shoulders.

“I’m trying,” I say. “I really am.”

“Just give William and Mary a chance. Don’t dismiss it before you even get there. Okay?”

I nod. “Okay.”

Always and Forever, Lara Jean (To All the Boys I've Loved Before #3) - Page 12/

THE NEXT MORNING IS GRAY

and rainy out and it’s just us three girls, because Daddy’s left a note for us on the refrigerator saying he got called into the hospital, and he’ll see us for dinner that night. Margot’s still jet-lagged, so she got up early and fixed scrambled eggs and bacon. I’m luxuriously spreading eggs on buttered toast and listening to the rain tap on the roof, when I say, “What if I didn’t go to school today, and we did something fun?”

Kitty brightens. “Like what?”

“Not you. You still have to go to school. I’m basically done. No one cares if I go anymore.”

“I think Daddy probably cares,” Margot says.

“But if we could do anything . . . what would we do?”

“Anything?” Margot bites into her bacon. “We’d take the train to New York City and enter the

Hamilton

lottery, and we’d win.”

“You guys can’t go without me,” Kitty says.

“Be quiet, And Peggy,” I say, giggling.

She glares at me. “Don’t call me And Peggy.”

“You don’t even know what we’re talking about, so calm down.”

“I know you’re cackling about it like a witch. Also, I do so know about

Hamilton

, because you play the soundtrack

all day long.” She sings, “Talk less; smile more.”

“For your information, it’s a cast recording, not a soundtrack,” I say, and she makes a big show of rolling her eyes.

In truth, if Kitty’s anyone, she’s a Jefferson. Wily, stylish, quick with a comeback. Margot’s an Angelica, no question. She’s been sailing her own ship since she was a little girl. She’s always known who she was and what she wanted. I suppose I’m an Eliza, though I’d much rather be an Angelica. In truth

I’m

probably And Peggy. But I don’t want to be the And Peggy of my own story. I want to be the Hamilton.

* * *

It rains all day, so as soon as we get home from school, the first thing Kitty and I do is get back into our pajamas. Margot never got out of hers. She’s wearing her glasses, her hair in a knot at the top of her head (it’s too short to stay put), Kitty is in a big tee, and I’m happy it’s cold enough to wear my red flannels. Daddy is the only one still in his day clothes.

We order two large pizzas for dinner that night, plain cheese (for Kitty) and a supreme with the works. We’re on the living room couch, shoving oozy slices of pizza into our mouths, when Daddy suddenly says, “Girls, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” He clears his throat like he does when he’s nervous. Kitty and I exchange a curious look, and then he blurts out, “I’d like to ask Trina to marry me.”

I clap my hands to my mouth. “Oh my God!”

Kitty’s eyes bulge, her mouth goes slack, and then she flings her pizza aside and lets out a shriek so loud that Jamie Fox-

Pickle jumps. She catapults herself at Daddy, who laughs. I jump up and hug his back.

I can’t stop smiling. Until I look at Margot, whose face is completely blank. Daddy’s looking at her too, eyes hopeful and nervous. “Margot? You still there? What do you think, honey?”

“I think it’s fantastic.”

“You do?”

She nods. “Absolutely. I think Trina’s great. And Kitty, you adore her, don’t you?” Kitty’s too busy squealing and flopping around on the couch with Jamie to answer. Softly, Margot says, “I’m happy for you, Daddy. I really am.”

The

absolutely

is what gives her away. Daddy’s too busy being relieved to notice, but I do. Of course it’s weird for her. She’s still getting used to seeing Ms. Rothschild in our kitchen. She hasn’t gotten to see all the ways Ms. Rothschild and Daddy make sense. To Margot, she’s still just our neighbor who used to wear terry-cloth booty shorts and a bikini top to mow the lawn.

“I’ll need your guys’s help with the proposal,” Daddy says. “Lara Jean, I’m sure you’ll have some ideas for me, right?”

Confidently I say, “Oh, yeah. People have been doing promposals, so I have lots of inspiration.”

Margot turns to me and laughs, and it almost sounds real. “I’m sure Daddy will want something more dignified than ‘Will You Marry Me’ written in shaving cream on the hood of somebody’s car, Lara Jean.”

“Promposals have gotten way more sophisticated than in your day, Gogo,” I say. I’m playing along, teasing her so she

can feel normal again after the bomb Daddy just dropped.

“

day? I’m only two years ahead of you.” She tries to sound light, but I can hear the strain in her voice.

“Two years is like dog years when it comes to high school. Isn’t that right, Kitty?” I pull her toward me and hug her tight to my chest. She squirms away.

“Yeah, both of you guys are ancient beings,” Kitty says. “Can I be a part of the proposal too, Daddy?”

“Of course. I can’t get married without you guys.” He looks teary. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

Kitty is hopping up and down like a little kid. “Yeah!” she cheers. She’s over the moon, and Margot sees it too, how important this is to her.

“When are you going to propose?” Margot asks.

“Tonight!” Kitty pipes up.

I glare at her. “No! That’s not enough time to think up the perfect way. We need a week at least. Plus you don’t even have a ring. Wait a minute, do you?”

Daddy takes off his glasses and wipes his eyes. “Of course not. I wanted to wait and talk to you girls first. I want all three of you to be here for the proposal, so I’ll do it when you come back for the summer, Margot.”

“That’s too far away,” Kitty objects.

“Yes, don’t wait that long, Daddy,” Margot says.

“Well, you’ll have to help me pick out the ring at least,” Daddy says.

“Lara Jean has a better eye for that kind of thing,” Margot says serenely. “Besides, I barely know Ms. Rothschild. I

haven’t a clue what kind of ring she’d like.”

A shadow crosses over Daddy’s face. It’s the

I barely know Ms. Rothschild

that put it there.

I rush to put on my best Hermione voice. “You ‘haven’t a clue’?” I tease. “P.S., did you know you’re still American, Gogo? We don’t talk as classy as that in America.”

She laughs; we all do. Then, because I think she saw that brief shadow too, she says, “Make sure to take tons of pictures so I can see.”

Gratefully Daddy says, “We will. We’ll videotape it, whatever it is. God, I hope she says yes!”

“She’ll say yes, of course she’ll say yes,” we all chorus.

* * *

Margot and I are wrapping slices of pizza in plastic and then double wrapping in foil. “I told you guys two pizzas would be too much,” she says.

“Kitty will eat it for her after-school snack,” I say. “So will Peter.” I glance toward the living room, where Kitty and Daddy are snuggled up on the couch, watching

. Then I whisper, “So how do you really feel about Daddy asking Ms. Rothschild to marry him?”

“I think it’s completely bonkers,” she whispers back. “She lives across the street, for pity’s sake. They can just date like two grown-ups. What’s the point of getting

married

?”

“Maybe they just want it to be official. Or maybe it’s for Kitty.”

“They haven’t even been dating that long! How long has it been, six months?”

“A little longer than that. But Gogo, they’ve known each other for years.”

She stacks up the slices of foiled pizza and says, “Can you imagine how weird it’ll be to have her living here?”

Her question gives me pause. Ms. Rothschild

at the house a lot, but that’s not the same as living here. She has her own ways of doing things, and so do we. Like, she wears shoes at her house, but we don’t wear them here, so she takes them off when she comes over. And, now that I think about it, she’s never slept over here before; she always goes back home at the end of the night. So that might feel a little weird. Also, she stores bread in the refrigerator, which I hate, and to be quite honest, her dog Simone sheds a lot and has been known to pee on the carpet. But the thing is, since I’m not going to

UVA

, I won’t be around much longer—I’ll be away at college. “Neither of us will be living here full-time though,” I say at last. “Just Kitty, and Kitty’s thrilled to death.”

Margot doesn’t respond right away. “Yes, they do seem really close.” She goes to the freezer and makes space for the pizza, and with her back facing me she says, “Don’t forget, we have to go prom-dress shopping before I leave.”

“Ooh, okay!” It feels like two seconds ago that we were shopping for Margot’s prom dress, and now it’s my turn.

Daddy, who I didn’t realize had walked into the kitchen, pipes up with, “Hey, maybe Trina could go too?” He casts a hopeful look my way. I’m not the one he should be looking at. I already love Ms. Rothschild. It’s Margot she has to win over.

I look over at Margot, who is giving me wide panic eyes. “Um . . . ,” I say. “I think it should just be a Song girls thing this time.”

Daddy nods like he understands. “Ah. Got it.” Then he says to Margot, “Can the two of us spend a little daughter-dad time together before you leave? Maybe take our bikes on a trail?”

“Sounds good,” she says.

When his back is turned, Margot mouths,

Thank you.

I feel disloyal to Ms. Rothschild, but Margot is my sister. I have to be on her side.

* * *

I think maybe Margot’s feeling guilty about cutting Ms. Rothschild out of the dress shopping expedition, because she keeps trying to make it more of a thing. When we go to the mall the next day after school, she announces that we’ll each pick two dresses, and I have to try all of them on no matter what, and then we’ll rate them. She even printed out thumbs-up and thumbs-down emojis and made paddles for us to use.

It’s cramped in the dressing room, and there are dresses everywhere. Margot gives Kitty the job of rehanging and organizing, but Kitty’s already given it up in favor of playing Candy Crush on Margot’s phone.

Margot hands me one of her picks first—it’s a flowy black dress with fluttery cap sleeves. “You could do your hair up for this one.”

Without looking up, Kitty says, “I would go with beachy waves.”

Margot makes a face at her in the mirror.

“Is black really me, though?” I wonder.

“You should try wearing black more often,” Margot says. “It really suits you.”

Kitty picks at a scab on her leg. “When I go to prom, I’m going to wear a tight leather dress,” she says.

“It can get hot in Virginia in May,” I say, as Margot zips me up. “You could wear a leather dress to homecoming though, since it’s in October.”

We study my reflection in the mirror. The dress is too big in the bodice, and the black makes me look like a witch, but a witch in an ill-fitting dress.

“I think you need bigger boobs for that dress,” Kitty says. She holds up the thumbs-down paddle.

I frown at her in the mirror. She’s right, though. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“Did Mommy have big boobs?” Kitty asks suddenly.

“Hmm. I think they were on the small side,” Margot says. “Like an A?”

“What size do you wear?” she asks.

“A B.”

Eyeing me, Kitty says, “And Lara Jean’s small like Mommy.”

“Hey, I’m practically a B!” I protest. “I’m a large A. An almost B. Somebody unzip me.”

“Tree has big boobs,” Kitty says.

“Are they real?” Margot asks as she pulls down my zipper.

I step out of the dress and hand it over to Kitty to hang. “I think so.”

“They’re real. I’ve seen her in a bikini, and hers spread when she’s lying down, and that’s how you know. The fake

ones stay in place like scoops of ice cream.” Kitty picks up Margot’s phone again. “Also, I asked her.”

“If they were fake, I doubt she’d tell you that,” Margot says.

Kitty frowns at her. “Tree doesn’t lie to me.”

“I’m not saying she’d lie; I’m saying she might be private about plastic surgery! Which is her right!” Kitty just shrugs coolly.

I quickly put on the next dress to get off the subject of Ms. Rothschild’s boobs. “What do you guys think of this one?”

They both shake their heads and reach for the thumbs-down paddle at the same time. At least they are united in their dislike of my dress.

“Where’s my pick? Try mine on next.” Kitty’s pick is a skin-tight, white, off-the-shoulder bandage dress I would never in a million years wear, and she knows it. “I just want to see it on you.”

I try it on to appease her, and Kitty insists it’s the best dress of all the dresses, because she wants to have the winning pick. In the end, none of the dresses are my style, but I’m not bothered by it. Prom is still more than a month away, and I want to scour vintage shops before I commit to anything from a regular store. I like the idea of a lived-in dress, a dress that has gone places, seen things, a dress that a girl like Stormy might’ve worn to a dance.

When Margot leaves for Scotland the next morning, she makes me promise to send pictures of potential dresses so she can weigh in. She doesn’t say another word about Ms. Rothschild, but then, she wouldn’t, because that’s not her style.

Always and Forever, Lara Jean (To All the Boys I've Loved Before #3) - Page 14

IT’S DECIDED THAT DADDY WILL

propose to Ms. Rothschild on Saturday, after hiking on one of their favorite trails. He’s going to do it right by a waterfall. The plan is for Peter and Kitty and me to hide behind trees and record the whole thing, then pop out with a romantic picnic basket. Daddy was nervous about the video part, in case Ms. Rothschild doesn’t say yes, but Kitty begged. “It’s for Margot,” she kept saying, when really she’s just nosy and wants to see it go down. Of course I do too. Peter’s along for the ride, literally. He’s giving us a ride.

That morning, before he leaves to pick up Ms. Rothschild, Daddy says, “Guys, if it doesn’t look like it’s going to be a yes, can you stop videotaping?”

I’m carefully wrapping roast beef sandwiches in wax paper. I look up to say, “She’s going to say yes.”

“Just promise me you’ll quietly slip away,” he says. He gives Kitty a pointed look.

“You got it, Dr. Covey,” Peter says, lifting his hand for a high five.

As they slap hands, I say, “Daddy, did you pack the ring?”

“Yup!” Then he frowns. “Wait, did I?” He pats his pockets and unzips the inside compartment of his windbreaker. “Damn, I forgot it!” Then he runs upstairs.

Peter and I exchange a look. “I’ve never seen your dad so stressed out,” he says, popping a grape in his mouth. “He’s usually a cool customer.”

I slap Peter’s hand away from the grapes.

Kitty steals a grape and says, “He’s been like this all week.”

Daddy runs back downstairs with the engagement ring. Kitty and I helped him pick it out. It’s a white-gold princess cut with a diamond halo. I was certain about the princess cut and Kitty was certain about the halo.

Daddy heads off to pick up Ms. Rothschild, and I finish putting together the picnic basket. I’m glad to have an excuse to bring it out. I bought it from a yard sale ages ago, and I haven’t used it once. I pack a bottle of champagne, a perfect cluster of grapes, the sandwiches, a wedge of Brie, crackers.

“Pack a bottle of water, too,” Peter says. “They’ll be dehydrated from the hike.”

“And probably from all the crying after she says yes,” Kitty says.

“Should we play some music for them, when he gets down on one knee?” Peter suggests.

“We didn’t discuss that part of the plan, and Daddy’s nervous enough as it is,” I say. “He can’t be thinking about how we’re hiding in the bushes waiting to cue up music for them. It’ll make him self-conscious.”

“Besides, we can add the music in post,” Kitty says. “We need to be able to hear the dialogue.”

I give her a look. “Katherine, this isn’t a movie. This is real life.”

I leave them to go to the downstairs bathroom, and after I wash my hands, I’m turning off the faucet when I hear Kitty say, “Peter, when Lara Jean’s gone, will you still come visit me sometimes?”

“Course I will.”

“Even if you guys break up?”

There’s a pause. “We’re not breaking up.”

“But if you do?” she presses.

“We won’t.”

She ignores this. “Because we never see Josh anymore, and he said he’d visit too.”

Peter scoffs. “Are you kidding me? You think I’m the same as Sanderson?

Me?

I’m a completely different league than him. I’m insulted you would even compare us.”

Kitty lets out a relieved kind of laugh, the kind that sounds more like a sigh. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Trust me, kid. You and I have our own thing.”

I love him so much for that I could cry. He’ll look after Kitty for me, I know he will.

* * *

Daddy told us they’d get to the waterfall around noon, so we should be there by eleven forty-five to get into position. We end up going a little earlier than that, just to be on the safe side, at Kitty’s insistence.

We pick a hiding spot far enough away that Ms. Rothschild won’t spot us, but close enough to see. Kitty and I hide behind a tree, and Peter crouches behind one close by, phone in his hand, ready to record. Kitty wanted to be

the one to do it, but I make the executive decision that it should be Peter, because he isn’t as emotionally invested in this moment and will have a steady hand.

Just after twelve, they come up the trail. Ms. Rothschild is laughing about something, and Daddy is laughing robotically with that same nervous look on his face. It’s funny to watch them interact when she doesn’t know we’re watching. Kitty was right; it is a bit like a movie. He looks somehow younger next to her—maybe it’s because he’s in love. They walk over to the waterfall, and Ms. Rothschild sighs with happiness. “God, it’s gorgeous up here,” she says.

“I can barely hear anything,” Kitty whispers to me. “The waterfall is too loud.”

“Shh. You’re the one being loud.”

“Let’s take a picture,” Daddy says, fishing around in his windbreaker pocket.

“I thought you were morally opposed to selfies!” She laughs. “Hold on, let me try and fix my hair for this momentous occasion.” She pulls her hair out of its ponytail holder and tries to fluff it up. Then she pops what looks like a cough drop or a piece of candy in her mouth.

Daddy’s taking so long that for a second I’m afraid he’s lost the ring or his nerve, but then he gets down on one knee. Daddy clears his throat. It’s happening. I grab Kitty’s hand and squeeze it. Her eyes are shining. My heart is bursting.

“Trina, I never expected to fall in love again. I thought I got my shot, and I was okay with that, because I had my girls. I didn’t realize anything was missing. Then came you.”

Ms. Rothschild’s hands are covering her mouth. She has tears in her eyes.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Trina.” Ms. Rothschild starts choking on her candy, and Daddy leaps up off his knee and starts pounding her on the back. She’s coughing like crazy.

From his tree Peter whispers, “Should I go do the Heimlich on her? I know how to do it.”

“Peter, my dad’s a doctor!” I whisper back. “He’s got it.”

As her coughing subsides, she stands up straight and wipes her eyes. “Wait. Were you asking me to marry you?”

“I was trying to,” Daddy says. “Are you all right?”

“Yes!” She claps her hands to her cheeks.

“Yes, you’re all right, or yes, you’ll marry me?” Daddy asks her, and he’s only half kidding.

“Yes, I’ll marry you!” she screams, and Daddy reaches for her, and they kiss.

“This feels private,” I whisper to Kitty.

“It’s all part of the show,” she whispers back.

Daddy hands Ms. Rothschild the ring box. I can’t quite make out what he says next, but whatever it was, it makes her double over laughing.

“What’s he saying?” Kitty asks me, just as Peter says, “What did he say?”

“I can’t hear! Both of you be quiet! You’re ruining the video!”

Which is when Ms. Rothschild looks over in our direction.

Shoot.

We all pop back behind our respective trees, and then I hear Daddy’s wry voice call out, “You can come out, guys. She said yes!”

We run out from behind the trees; Kitty launches herself into Ms. Rothschild’s arms. They fall over onto the grass, and Ms. Rothschild is laughing breathlessly, her laughter echoing through the woods. I hug Daddy, and meanwhile Peter’s still playing videographer, recording the moment for posterity like the good boyfriend he is.

“Are you happy?” I ask, looking up at my dad.

His eyes brimming with tears, he nods and hugs me tighter.

And just like that, our little family grows bigger.

Always and Forever, Lara Jean (To All the Boys I've Loved Before #3) - Page 15/

IT’S THE FIRST NIGHT WE’VE

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.

Daddy comes out with the wooden salad bowl in his hands. Dryly he says, “So you’re saying marrying me is a headache?”

“Of

course

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.”

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?”

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.

“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.”

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.

* * *

“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’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!”

“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!”