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 DC 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.