Always and Forever, Lara Jean
Page 30

“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.
“But Trina loves barbecue!”
“Can y’all please stop talking about me like I’m not here?” Trina says. “I do love barbecue. And can we do Mason jars?”
I’m expecting Kitty to denigrate Mason jars again, but she doesn’t say anything of the sort. She says, “What do we think about edible flowers in the drinks?” I’m pretty sure that was one of my ideas that she just stole.
Trina does a shimmy in her seat. “Yes! I love it!”
I’m quick to add, “We could do a nice punch bowl and float some flowers on top.”
Kristen gives me an approving look.
Bolstered, I grandly say, “And as for the cakes, we’ll need a wedding cake and a groom’s cake.”
“Do we really need two cakes?” Trina asks, chewing on her nail. “There won’t be that many people there.”
“This is the South; we have to have a groom’s cake. For yours I was thinking yellow cake with vanilla buttercream frosting.” Trina beams at me. That’s her favorite kind of cake, just plain. Not exactly exciting to bake, but it’s her favorite. “For Daddy’s, I was thinking . . . a Thin Mint cake! Chocolate cake with mint frosting, but with Thin Mints crumbled on top.” I have such a vision for this cake.
This time Kitty’s the one to give me an approving nod. I feel more in my element then I have in weeks.
 
 
17

KITTY’S MIXING NAIL-POLISH COLORS ON a paper plate while I’m looking up “celebrity updos” for Trina’s wedding hair. I’m lying on the couch, with pillows propped up behind me, and she is on the floor, with nail-polish bottles all around her. Suddenly she asks me, “Have you ever thought about, like, what if Daddy and Trina have a baby and it looks like Daddy?” Kitty thinks of all sorts of things that would never have occurred to me. I hadn’t once thought of that—that they might have a baby or that this pretend baby wouldn’t look like us. The baby would be all Daddy and Trina. No one would have to wonder whose child he was or calculate who belongs to who. They’d just assume.