50

AFTER JOHN DROPS ME OFF at home, I run across the street to pick up Kitty from Ms.
Rothschild’s. And she invites me in for a cup of tea. Kitty is asleep on the couch with the TV on low
in the background. We settle on the other couch with our cups of Lady Grey, and she asks me how the
party went. Maybe it’s because I’m still on a high from the night, or maybe it’s the bobby pins so tight
on my head that I feel woozy, or it could be the way her eyes light up with genuine interest as I begin
to talk, but I tell her everything. The dance with John, how everyone cheered, Peter and Genevieve,
even the kiss.
She starts fanning herself when I tell about the kiss. “When that boy drove up in that uniform—ooh,
girl.” She whistles. “It made me feel like a dirty old lady, because I knew him when he was little. But
dear God he is handsome!”
I giggle as I pull the bobby pins from the top of my head. She leans forward and helps me along.
My cinnamon bun unravels, and my scalp tingles with relief. Is this what it’s like to have a mother?
Late-night boy talk over tea?
Ms. Rothschild’s voice gets low and confidential. “Here’s the thing. My one piece of advice to
you. You have to let yourself be fully present in every moment. Just be awake for it, do you know
what I mean? Go all in and wring every last drop out of the experience.”
“So do you not have any regrets, then? Because you always went all in?” I’m thinking of her
divorce, how it was the talk of the neighborhood.
“Oh God, no. I have regrets.” She laughs a husky laugh, the sexy kind that only smokers or people
with colds get to have. “I don’t know why I’m sitting here trying to give you advice. I’m a single
divorcée and I’m forty. Two. Forty-two. What do I know about anything? That’s a rhetorical question,
by the way.” She lets out a sigh filled with longing. “I miss cigarettes so much.”
“Kitty will check your breath,” I warn, and she laughs that husky laugh again.
“I’m afraid to cross that girl.”
“‘Though she be but little, she is fierce,’” I intone. “You’re wise to be afraid, Ms. Rothschild.”
“Oh my God, Lara Jean, will you please just call me Trina? I mean, I know I’m old, but I’m not
that old.”
I hesitate. “Okay. Trina... do you like my dad?”
She goes a little red. “Um. Yeah, I think he’s a great guy.”
“To date?”
“Well, he’s not my usual type. And also he hasn’t shown any particular interest in me, either, so,
ha-ha!”
“I’m sure you know Kitty’s been trying to set you two up. Which, if that’s unwelcome, I can
definitely make her stop.” I correct myself. “I can definitely try to make her stop. But I think she might
be onto something. I think you and my dad could be good together. He loves to cook, and he likes to
build fires, and he doesn’t mind shopping because he brings a book. And you, you seem fun, and
spontaneous and just really... light.”
She smiles at me. “I’m a mess is what I am.”
“Messiness can be good, especially for someone like my dad. It’s worth a date, at least, don’t you