Always and Forever, Lara Jean
Page 63

“Sure,” I say.
Peter rolls on top of me. My heart is thrumming in my chest, the way it does whenever I am close to him, but now even more so, because everything’s about to change. I’m going somewhere with him I’ve never gone before. He’s careful to keep his weight on his forearms, to not crush me, but I don’t mind the weight of his body on mine. His hand is in my hair the way I like; his lips are warm. We’re both breathing fast.
And then he’s suddenly not kissing me anymore. I open my eyes and he’s hovering above me, his brow furrowed. “Is this because we had a fight last night? Because, Covey—”
“It’s not because of the fight. I just—I just want to feel close to you.” Peter’s looking at me so intently, and I can tell he’s waiting for more, for me to give him some grand reason. It’s pretty simple, really. “It’s not all of a sudden. I want to have sex with you because I love you and I want it to be you.”
“But why me?”
“Because—because you’re my first love, so who else would it be?”
Peter rolls off me and sits up; his head is in his hands.
I sit up too, pulling the sheet up around me. “What’s wrong?” He doesn’t say anything for what feels like forever. “Please just say it.” I’m starting to feel sick to my stomach.
“I don’t want to do this right now.”
“Why not?” I whisper.
He can’t look at me. “I don’t know. . . . I just have a lot on my mind. Between lacrosse, and my dad not showing up at graduation, and now you’re leaving for the summer.”
“Not the whole summer. Just July. I’ll be back at the end of July! Why are you fast-forwarding the whole summer away?”
Peter shakes his head. “It just seems like you’re leaving and you don’t really care.”
“You know it wasn’t my choice! My dad surprised me! You’re not being fair, Peter.”
He looks at me for a long beat. “What about UNC? Are you even planning on transferring to UVA anymore? When it was William and Mary, it was a given, and now it doesn’t seem like it.”
I wet my lips. My heart is pounding out of control. “I’m not sure. Maybe? But maybe not. UNC feels different to me.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s obvious.”
“Don’t make it sound like a bad thing! Would you rather I go somewhere and be unhappy?”
“Temporarily unhappy,” he corrects.
“Peter!”
“Come on, Lara Jean. Do you really think that shitty of me?”
“No. I . . . I just don’t understand why you’re acting this way. I want to at least give UNC a real chance. I want to give myself a chance.” My eyes well up with tears, and it’s hard to speak. “And I think you should want that for me too.”
Peter flinches like I’ve hit him. This bed is small, but it feels like he’s so far away from me right now. I ache inside, wanting to go to him. But I can’t.
Silently he puts his shirt back on. “I think I’m gonna go,” he says. Then he gets up, walks out the door, and leaves. I wait for the front door to shut before I start to cry.
 
 
35

AS WE PACK UP THE car that morning, I keep thinking Peter might show up to take me home, but he doesn’t, and I don’t reach out to him, either. I ride back up to Virginia with the girls. I don’t hear anything from Peter until the next day. I get a text that says:
I’m sorry for last night. I was a dick.
We’re gonna make this work, I promise.
I have to do some stuff for my mom but can I see you later?
I text back:
Yes.
He texts back:
I really am sorry.
I love you.
I’m starting to text back, I love you, too, when my phone rings. It’s Peter’s house number, and I answer it eagerly.
“I love you, too,” I say.
There is surprised silence on the other end, then a little laugh to cover it up. “Hi, Lara Jean. This is Peter’s mom.”
I am mortified. “Oh! Hi, Mrs. Kavinsky.”
She wants me to come over and chat with her. She says Peter isn’t home, that it’ll be just the two of us. She must have sent him out to run errands for her so she could ask me over. What can I do but go?
I put on a yellow sundress and lipstick, brush my hair, and drive to Peter’s house. She answers the door with a ready smile on her face; she’s wearing a gingham blouse and Bermuda shorts. “Come on in,” she says.
I follow her into the kitchen, and she says, “Lara Jean, would you like something to drink? Sun tea?”
“Sure,” I say, climbing onto a stool.
Peter’s mom pours me a glass of sun tea out of a plastic frosted pitcher. She hands me the glass and says, “Thank you for coming over here to visit with me, just us girls. There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”
“Sure,” I say again. My skin is prickling.
She takes my hands in hers. Her hands are cool and dry; mine suddenly feel clammy. “Peter’s been through a lot, and he’s worked so hard. I’m sure you know how disappointing it was for him when his dad didn’t come to graduation.” Her eyes search mine, and I nod. “He pretends he doesn’t care, but he’s hurting inside. He came back from Beach Week talking about transferring to UNC for his sophomore year. Did you know that?”
I can feel all the blood rush to my face. “No, I didn’t know that. He . . . he hasn’t said a word to me about it.”
She nods, as if she suspected as much. “If he were to transfer, he wouldn’t be able to play for a year. That means he wouldn’t keep his athletic scholarship. Out-of-state tuition is very expensive, as I’m sure you know.”
It is. Daddy said it would be all right, that Margot only has two more years of college, and Kitty has ages before it’s her turn. But I know it’s expensive. And I know, even though we don’t talk about it, that my dad makes more money than Peter’s mom does.
“Peter’s dad says he wants to contribute, but his dad isn’t someone to be depended on. So I can’t count on him.” She pauses delicately. “But I’m hoping I can count on you.”
I rush to say, “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll tell Peter not to transfer to North Carolina.”