“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
THAT NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING, when my cakes are cooling on the kitchen counter and everyone at my house is setting up lawn chairs outside, I drive over to Chris’s to say good-bye.
As soon as she lets me in, she says, “I’m not letting you in here if you cry.”
“I can’t help it. I feel like this is going to be the last time I ever see you.” A tear slips down my cheek. There is a finality to this moment. I know it, I just know it. Chris is catapulting on to the next thing. Even if we see each other again, it won’t be like this. She’s a restless spirit. I’m lucky to have had her for as long as I did.
“You’ll probably see me again next week when I fly right back home,” she jokes, and there is the tiniest note of trepidation in her voice. Chris, with all her bluster and bravado, is nervous.
“No way. You’re just getting started. This is it, Chris.” I jump up and hug her. I’m trying not to cry. “It’s all happening now.”
“What is?”
“Life!”
“You’re so corny,” she says, but I could swear I see tears in her eyes.
“I brought you something,” I tell her. I take the present out of my bag and give it to her.
She tears off the wrapping paper and opens the box. It’s a picture of the two of us in a little heart frame, no bigger than a Christmas tree ornament. We are at the beach, in matching bathing suits; we are twelve, maybe thirteen. “Hang this up on your wall wherever you go so people know you have somebody waiting for you back home.”
Her eyes tear up and she brushes them with the back of her hand. “Oh my God, you’re the worst,” she says.
I’ve heard people say you meet your best friends in college, and they’re the ones you’ll know your whole life, but I’m certain that I’ll know Chris my whole life too. I’m a person who saves things. I’ll hold on forever.
* * *
When I get back home, Trina’s at SoulCycle. Daddy is still outside setting up the chairs, Margot is steaming our bridesmaid dresses, and Kitty is cutting paper flags for the bunting that will go over the dessert table. I get to work icing the wedding cake—yellow cake with buttercream frosting, just like I promised Trina. Daddy’s groom’s cake is already done, Thin Mints and all. This is my second try with the wedding cake—I scrapped the first one because I didn’t trim enough off the tops of the layers and when I stacked it, the cake looked hopelessly lopsided. This second one is still a tiny bit uneven, but a thick layer of buttercream covers all manner of sins, or so I keep telling myself.
“You’re putting enough frosting on that cake to give us all diabetes,” Kitty remarks.
I bite my tongue and keep spinning the cake and frosting the top so it’s smooth. “It looks all right, doesn’t it, Margot?”
“It looks professionally done,” she assures me, zooming the steamer along the hem of her dress.
As I sail past Kitty, I can’t resist saying, “P.S., the last three flags you cut are crooked.”