Did I tell you my older sister Margot’s all the way in Scotland, at St.
Andrews? It’s where Prince William and Kate Middleton met.
Maybe she’ll meet a prince, too, haha! Where do you want to go to
college? Do you know what you want to study? I think I want to stay
in state. Virginia has great public schools and it’ll be much cheaper,
but I guess the main reason is I’m very close to my family and I don’t
want to be too-too far away. I used to think I might want to go to
UVA and live at home, but now I’m thinking dorms are the way to
go for a true college experience.
Don’t forget to send back my letter, Lara Jean
Daddy’s at the hospital, but he’s made a big pot of oatmeal, a vat of it like you see in a soup
kitchen. By this time it’s gummy and I have to put half a bottle of maple syrup and dried cherries on
mine to make it palatable, and even then I’m not sure if I like oatmeal. I make a bowl for me with
some chopped-up pecans on top, and a bowl with just honey on top for Kitty. “Have some gruel,” I
call out. She’s in front of the TV, of course.
We sit on stools at the breakfast bar and eat our gruel. I will say there is something satisfying about
it, the way it sticks to your insides like paste. As I eat, I keep my eyes toward the window.
Kitty snaps her fingers in my face. “Hello! I asked you a question.”
“Has the mail come yet?” I ask.
“The mailman doesn’t come until after twelve on Saturdays,” Kitty says, licking honey off her
spoon. Eyeing me she says, “Why have you been so excited about the mail all week?”
“I’m waiting for a letter,” I say.
“From who?”
“Just... no one important.” A rookie mistake. I should’ve made up a name, because Kitty’s eyes
narrow, and now she’s really interested.
“If it wasn’t someone important, you wouldn’t be so gaga looking out the window for it. Who’s it
from?”
“If you must know, it’s actually a letter from me. One of those love letters of mine you sent out.” I
reach across the table and pinch her arm. “It’s coming back my way.”
“From the boy with the funny name. Ambrose. What kind of name is Ambrose?”
“Do you remember him at all? He used to live on our street.”
“He had yellow hair,” Kitty says. “He had a skateboard. He let me play with it once.”
“That sounds like him,” I say, remembering. Of all the boys, he had the most patience with Kitty,
even though she was a pain.
“Stop smiling,” Kitty commands. “You already have a boyfriend. You don’t need two.”