Always and Forever, Lara Jean
Page 20

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.