17

I THINK MY DAD IS on a date. tonight he said he had plans with a friend, and he shaved and put on a
nice button-down shirt and not one of his ratty sweaters. He was in a hurry to leave, so I didn’t ask
who the friend was. Someone from the hospital, probably. Daddy doesn’t exactly have wide social
circles. He’s shy. Whoever it is, this sounds like a good thing.
As soon as he leaves, I turn to Kitty, who is lying on the couch watching TV and licking the sour
off sour gummies. Jamie lies asleep next to her. “Kitty, do you think Daddy’s—”
“On a date? Duh.”
“And you’re okay with it?”
“Sure. Though I’d rather it was with someone I knew and already liked.”
“What if he got married again? Would you be okay with that?”
“Sure. So you can quit making your concerned-big-sister face at me, all right?”
I try to smooth my face out like a blank sheet of paper. Serenely I say, “So you’re saying you’re
okay with Daddy getting married again.”
“It’s just a date, Lara Jean. People don’t get married off of one measly date.”
“But they do off of a lot of dates.”
A flash of worry crosses her face, and then she says, “We’ll just wait and see. There’s no point in
getting all revved up yet.”
I wouldn’t say I’m revved up, exactly, but I am curious. When I told Grandma I wouldn’t mind if
Daddy dated, I meant it, but I do want to know that she’s good enough for him, whoever she is. I
change the subject. “What do you want for your birthday?” I ask her.
“I’ve got a list going,” she says. “A new collar for Jamie. Leather. With spikes. A treadmill.”
“A treadmill!”
“Yeah, I want to teach Jamie how to walk on one.”
“I doubt Daddy will go for a treadmill, Kitty. They’re really expensive, and besides, where would
we even put it?”
“Okay fine. Scratch the treadmill. I also want night-vision goggles.”
“You should cc Margot on that.”
“What kinds of special things can I get only from Scotland?” she asks.
“Genuine Scottish shortbread. A tartan kilt. What else... golf balls. Loch Ness monster
paraphernalia.”
“What’s paraphernalia?”
“A stuffed Loch Ness monster. A Loch Ness T-shirt. Maybe a glow-in-the-dark poster.”
“Stop right there. That’s a good idea. I’m gonna add that to my list.”
After Kitty goes to bed, I clean up the kitchen—I even scrub the stove with a Brillo pad and
organize the refrigerator—so that I can give Daddy the third degree the second he gets home. I’m
refilling the flour canister when Daddy walks through the door. Casually I say, “How was your date?”
He frowns in confusion. “Date? I went to the symphony with my colleague Marjorie. Her husband
came down with the flu, and she didn’t want the ticket to go to waste.”
I deflate. “Oh.”