There’s a pause. “Lara Jean, have you sent in your William and Mary deposit yet?”
“I’m about to! It’s not due until May first.”
“Are you thinking about changing your mind?”
“No! I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. Things have been crazy around here, with all the wedding planning and everything.”
“It sounds like the wedding is getting really big. I thought they just wanted to do a simple thing.”
“We’re weighing our options. It’ll still be simple. I just think the day should be really special, something we’ll always remember.”
After we get off the phone, I go downstairs to put my ice cream bowl in the sink, and on the way back, I stop in the living room, where Mommy and Daddy’s wedding portrait hangs above the fireplace. Her dress is lace, with cap sleeves and a flowy skirt. Her hair is up, in a side bun, with a few tendrils that slip out. She’s wearing diamond earrings I never saw her wear in real life. She hardly ever wore jewelry, or much makeup, either. Daddy’s in a gray suit, but no gray in his hair yet; his cheeks are apple smooth, no stubble. She looks the way I remember her, but he looks so much younger.
It hits me that we’ll have to move the picture. It would just be too awkward for Trina to have to look at it every day. She doesn’t seem bothered by it now, but after she’s living here, after they’re married, she’s bound to feel differently. I could hang it in my room, though Margot might want it too. I guess I’ll ask her when she’s back.
* * *
Trina’s friend Kristen comes over after dinner later that week, armed with a bottle of rosé and a stack of bridal magazines. The way Trina talks about Kristen, I was picturing someone really intimidating and tall, but Kristen is my height. She has brown hair cut in a short bob, tan skin. I’m impressed by her collection of Martha Stewart Weddings—it goes back years and years. “Please just don’t crease the corners,” she says, which makes me frown. As if I would ever.
“I think we should discuss the bridal shower first,” she says. She’s petting Jamie Fox-Pickle; his sandy head is in her lap. I’ve never seen him take to a stranger so quickly, which I take to be a good sign.
I say, “I thought a tea party could be fun. I’d make little sandwiches with the crusts cut off, and little bite-sized scones, and clotted cream . . .”
“I was thinking a SoulCycle party,” Kristen says. “I’d have matching neon tank tops made that say ‘Team Trina.’ We could rent out the whole class!”
I try not to look disappointed, and just nod like, Hmm.
“Guys, both of those ideas sound so great, but I’m thinking no bridal shower,” Trina interjects. Kristen gasps and I do too. With an apologetic smile she explains, “We have too much stuff as it is. The whole point of a bridal shower is to shower the bride with everything she’ll need for her house, and I can’t think of one thing we’d need.”
“We don’t have an ice cream maker,” I say. I’ve been wanting to experiment with ice creams for a while now, but the one I want is more than four hundred dollars. “And Daddy’s always talking about a pasta machine.”
“We can buy those things for ourselves. We’re grown-ups, after all.” Kristen opens her mouth to argue, but Trina says, “Kris, I’m firm on this. No bridal shower. I’m in my forties, for Pete’s sake. I’ve been to this rodeo before.”
Stiffly Kristen says, “I don’t see what that has to do with anything. The point of a bridal shower is to make the bride feel special and loved. But fine. If it’s that important to you, we won’t do one.”
“Thank you,” Trina says. She leans over and puts her arm around Kristen, who gives her a stern look.
“But where I will not negotiate is a bachelorette. You’ve gotta have a bach. Period.”
Smiling, Trina says, “I will not fight you on that. Maybe we can do your SoulCycle idea for my bachelorette.”
“No way. We gotta go big. So, Vegas, am I right? You love Vegas. I’m gonna e-mail the girls tonight so Sarah’s husband can get us a suite at the Bellagio—”
“It’s gonna be a no on Vegas,” Trina says. “The bachelorette has to be local and PG so the girls can come.”
“What girls?” Kristen demands.
Trina points to me. “My girls.” She smiles at me shyly and I smile back, feeling warm inside.
“What if we did karaoke?” I suggest, and Trina claps her hands in delight.
Kristen’s mouth drops. “No offense, Lara Jean, but what the hell is going on here, Trina! You can’t have your future stepchildren at your bach. It’s just not right. We’re not gonna be able to celebrate the way you’re supposed to celebrate a bach. Like the old days—aka get naked wasted so you can live up your last moments as a single woman.”
Trina looks at me and shakes her head. “For the record, we never got ‘naked wasted.’ ” To Kristen she says, “Kris, I don’t think of them as my future stepchildren. They’re just . . . the girls. But don’t worry. We’ll have fun. Margot’s in college, and Lara Jean’s practically in college. They can be exposed to a little sangria and chardonnay.”
“You do love your white wine,” I say, and Trina swats at my shoulder.
Kristen exhales loudly. “Well, what about the little one?”
“Kitty’s very mature for her age,” Trina says.
Kristen crosses her arms. “I’m putting my foot down. You can’t bring a child on a bachelorette. It isn’t right.”
“Kris!”
At this I feel like I have to speak up. “I’m going to side with Kristen on this one. We won’t be able to bring Kitty to karaoke. She’s too young. They won’t let an eleven-year-old in.”
“She’ll be so disappointed, though.”
“She’ll live,” I say.
Kristen sips on her rosé and says, “Disappointment is good for kids; it prepares them for the real world, where it’s not all about them and their feelings.”
Trina rolls her eyes. “If you’re putting your foot down on having Kitty at the bachelorette, I’m putting my foot down on penises. I mean it, Kris. No penis cake, no penis straws, no penis pasta. No penises, period.”
I blush. There’s such a thing as penis pasta?
“Fine.” Kristen pushes out her lower lip.
“All right, then. Can we move on to the actual wedding, please?”
I run and get my laptop and pull up my vision board, which is when Kitty decides to grace us with her presence. She’s been in the living room watching TV. “Where are we in the planning?” she wants to know.
Kristen eyes her before saying, “Let’s talk food.”
“What about food trucks?” I suggest. “Like, a waffle truck?”
Kristen purses her lips. “I was thinking barbecue. Trina loves barbecue.”
“Hmm,” I say. “But a lot of people do barbecue, don’t they? It’s kind of . . .”
“Played out?” Kitty suggests.
“I was going to say common.” But yeah.