P.S. I Still Love You

Vehemently Stormy shakes her head, so hard her earrings whoosh. “The boy is a dog, pure and simple. He ought to treat you like a queen, not this other girl Genevieve.”

Alicia accuses, “You just want Lara Jean to date your great-grandson.”

“So what if I do!” With a gleam in her eye she says, “Say, Lara Jean. Have you got any plans tonight?”

At that we all laugh. “I can’t think about any boy but Peter right now,” I say. “Do you still remember your first love?”

Stormy’s had so many—could she possibly? But she nods. “Garrett O’Leary. I was fifteen and he was eighteen and we only ever had a dance, but the way I felt when he looked at me . . .” She shivers.

I look to my left at Alicia. “And yours was your husband, Phillip, right?”

To my surprise she shakes her head. “My first love was named Albert. He was my older brother’s best friend. I thought I would marry him. But it was not to be. I met my Phillip.” She smiles. “Phillip was the love of my life. And yet I never forgot Albert. How young I was once! Stormy, can you believe we were ever so young?”

Stormy does not give her usual blithe reply. Her eyes go moist, and as softly as I’ve ever heard her speak she says, “It’s all a million lifetimes ago. And yet.”

“And yet,” Alicia echoes.

They both smile at me fondly, with such true and genuine affection that new tears come to my eyes. “What will I do now that Peter’s not my boyfriend anymore?” I wonder out loud.

“You’ll just do what you did before he was your boyfriend,” Alicia says. “You’ll go about your day, and you will miss him at first, but over time it will ease. It will lessen.” She reaches out, touches her papery hand to my cheek. A smile plays at her lips. “All you need is time, and you, little one, have all the time in the world.”

It’s a comforting thought, but I don’t know if I believe it is true, not completely. I think that time might be different for young people. The minutes longer, stronger, more vibrant. All I know is that every minute without him feels interminably long, like I’m waiting, just waiting for him to come back to me. I, Lara Jean, know he isn’t, but my heart doesn’t seem to understand it’s over.

After, energies renewed, tears dried, I am with Janette in her office, going over party details. When she offhandedly mentions the sitting room, I freeze. “Janette, the sitting room isn’t going to be big enough.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. The main activities room is booked for bingo. They have a standing Friday night reservation.”

“But this party is a huge event! Can’t the bingo people be in the sitting room just for one night?”

“Lara Jean, I can’t move bingo. People from all over the community come here for that, including the leasing agent’s own mother. There are a lot of politics at play here. My hands are tied.”

“Well, what about the dining room?” We could move all the tables and set up the dance floor at the center of the room and then put the refreshments on a long table against the wall. It could work.

Janette gives me a look like Girl, please. “And who’s going to put away all the tables and chairs? You?”

“Well, me, and I’m sure I could round up some volunteers—”

“And have one of the residents put out their back and sue the home? No, gracias.”

“We wouldn’t need to put away all of the tables, just half. Couldn’t you get the staff to help?” Janette’s already shaking her head when inspiration hits me. “Janette, I heard that Ferncliff might bus over some of their residents. Ferncliff. They already call themselves the premier retirement community of the Blue Ridge Mountains.”

“Oh my God, Ferncliff is a dump. The people who work at that place are garbage. I have a master’s. ‘Premier retirement community of the Blue Ridge Mountains’? Ha! My ass.”

Now I just need to bring it home. “I’m telling you, Janette, if this dance isn’t up to par, it’s going to make us look like fools. We can’t let that happen. I want those Ferncliff residents to walk or wheel out of here wishing they were Belleview!”

“All right, all right. I’ll get the janitors to help set up the dining room.” Janette shakes her finger at me. “You’re like a dog with a bone, girl.”

“You won’t regret it,” I promise her. “For the pictures alone. We’ll put them all over the website. Everyone will want to be us!”

At this Janette’s eyes narrow with satisfaction, and I let out the breath I’ve been holding. This party has to go right. It just has to. It is my one bright spot.

43

SUNDAY NIGHT I CURL MY hair. Curling your hair is an intrinsically hopeful act. I like to curl mine at night and think about all the things that could happen tomorrow. Also, it generally looks much better slept on and not so poofy.

I’ve got half of it clipped and I’m almost done with one side when Chris comes climbing through my window. “I’m supposed to be grounded right now, so I have to wait until my mom falls asleep before I go home,” she says, taking off her motorcycle jacket. “Are you still depressed over Kavinsky?”

I wind another section of hair around the curling iron barrel. “Yes. I mean, it hasn’t even been forty-eight hours yet.”

Chris puts her arm around me. “I hate to say it, but this has been a train wreck from the start.”

I give her a wounded look. “Thanks a lot.”

“Well, it’s true. The way you guys got together was weird, and then the whole hot tub video thing.” She takes the curling iron from me and starts curling her own hair. “Although, I will say that it was probably good for you to go through all that. You were really sheltered, hon. You can be very judgmental.”

I snatch the curling iron back from her and make like I’m going to bonk her over the head with it. “Are you here to cheer me up or to tell me all of my flaws?”

“Sorry! I’m just saying.” She offers me a cheery smile. “Don’t be sad for too long. It’s not your style. There are other guys besides Kavinsky. Guys who aren’t my cousin’s sloppy seconds. Guys like John McClaren. He’s hot. I’d go for him myself if he wasn’t into you.”

Softly, I say, “I can’t think about anyone else right now. Peter and I just broke up.”

“There’s heat between you and Joh

I ignore her and keep curling my hair, one lock at a time.

Peter still sits in front of me in chemistry. I didn’t know you could miss someone even more acutely when they’re only a few feet away. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t look at me, not even once. I didn’t fully comprehend what a big part of my life he’d become. He’d become so . . . familiar to me. And now he’s just gone. Not gone, still here, just not available to me, which might be even worse. For a minute there it was really good. It was really, really good. Wasn’t it good? Maybe really, really good things aren’t meant to last for too long; maybe that’s what makes them all the more sweet, the temporariness of them. Maybe I’m just trying to make myself feel better. It’s working, barely. Barely is enough for now.

After class is over, Peter lingers at his desk, and then he turns around and says, “Hey.”

My heart leaps. “Hey.” I have this sudden, wild thought that if he wants me back, I’ll say yes. Forget my pride, forget Genevieve, forget it all.

“So I want my necklace back,” he says. “Obviously.”

My fingers fly to the heart locket hanging from around my neck. I wanted to take it off this morning, but I couldn’t bear to.

Now I have to give it back? Stormy has a whole box of trinkets and tokens from old boyfriends. I didn’t think I’d have to return my one token from a boy. But it was expensive, and Peter is practical. He could get his money back, and his mom could resell it. “Of course,” I say, fumbling with the clasp.