note for us on the refrigerator saying he got called into the hospital, and he’ll see us for dinner that night. Margot’s still jet-lagged, so she got up early and fixed scrambled eggs and bacon. I’m luxuriously spreading eggs on buttered toast and listening to the rain tap on the roof, when I say, “What if I didn’t go to school today, and we did something fun?”
Kitty brightens. “Like what?”
“Not you. You still have to go to school. I’m basically done. No one cares if I go anymore.”
“I think Daddy probably cares,” Margot says.
“But if we could do anything . . . what would we do?”
“Anything?” Margot bites into her bacon. “We’d take the train to New York City and enter the Hamilton lottery, and we’d win.”
“You guys can’t go without me,” Kitty says.
“Be quiet, And Peggy,” I say, giggling.
She glares at me. “Don’t call me And Peggy.”
“You don’t even know what we’re talking about, so calm down.”
“I know you’re cackling about it like a witch. Also, I do so know about Hamilton , because you play the soundtrackall day long.” She sings, “Talk less; smile more.”
“For your information, it’s a cast recording, not a soundtrack,” I say, and she makes a big show of rolling her eyes.
In truth, if Kitty’s anyone, she’s a Jefferson. Wily, stylish, quick with a comeback. Margot’s an Angelica, no question. She’s been sailing her own ship since she was a little girl. She’s always known who she was and what she wanted. I suppose I’m an Eliza, though I’d much rather be an Angelica. In truth I’m probably And Peggy. But I don’t want to be the And Peggy of my own story. I want to be the Hamilton.
* * *
It rains all day, so as soon as we get home from school, the first thing Kitty and I do is get back into our pajamas. Margot never got out of hers. She’s wearing her glasses, her hair in a knot at the top of her head (it’s too short to stay put), Kitty is in a big tee, and I’m happy it’s cold enough to wear my red flannels. Daddy is the only one still in his day clothes.
We order two large pizzas for dinner that night, plain cheese (for Kitty) and a supreme with the works. We’re on the living room couch, shoving oozy slices of pizza into our mouths, when Daddy suddenly says, “Girls, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” He clears his throat like he does when he’s nervous. Kitty and I exchange a curious look, and then he blurts out, “I’d like to ask Trina to marry me.”
I clap my hands to my mouth. “Oh my God!”
Kitty’s eyes bulge, her mouth goes slack, and then she flings her pizza aside and lets out a shriek so loud that Jamie Fox-Pickle jumps. She catapults herself at Daddy, who laughs. I jump up and hug his back.
I can’t stop smiling. Until I look at Margot, whose face is completely blank. Daddy’s looking at her too, eyes hopeful and nervous. “Margot? You still there? What do you think, honey?”
“I think it’s fantastic.”
“You do?”
She nods. “Absolutely. I think Trina’s great. And Kitty, you adore her, don’t you?” Kitty’s too busy squealing and flopping around on the couch with Jamie to answer. Softly, Margot says, “I’m happy for you, Daddy. I really am.”
The absolutely is what gives her away. Daddy’s too busy being relieved to notice, but I do. Of course it’s weird for her. She’s still getting used to seeing Ms. Rothschild in our kitchen. She hasn’t gotten to see all the ways Ms. Rothschild and Daddy make sense. To Margot, she’s still just our neighbor who used to wear terry-cloth booty shorts and a bikini top to mow the lawn.
“I’ll need your guys’s help with the proposal,” Daddy says. “Lara Jean, I’m sure you’ll have some ideas for me, right?”
Confidently I say, “Oh, yeah. People have been doing promposals, so I have lots of inspiration.”
Margot turns to me and laughs, and it almost sounds real. “I’m sure Daddy
Kitty brightens. “Like what?”
“Not you. You still have to go to school. I’m basically done. No one cares if I go anymore.”
“I think Daddy probably cares,” Margot says.
“But if we could do anything . . . what would we do?”
“Anything?” Margot bites into her bacon. “We’d take the train to New York City and enter the Hamilton lottery, and we’d win.”
“You guys can’t go without me,” Kitty says.
“Be quiet, And Peggy,” I say, giggling.
She glares at me. “Don’t call me And Peggy.”
“You don’t even know what we’re talking about, so calm down.”
“I know you’re cackling about it like a witch. Also, I do so know about Hamilton , because you play the soundtrackall day long.” She sings, “Talk less; smile more.”
“For your information, it’s a cast recording, not a soundtrack,” I say, and she makes a big show of rolling her eyes.
In truth, if Kitty’s anyone, she’s a Jefferson. Wily, stylish, quick with a comeback. Margot’s an Angelica, no question. She’s been sailing her own ship since she was a little girl. She’s always known who she was and what she wanted. I suppose I’m an Eliza, though I’d much rather be an Angelica. In truth I’m probably And Peggy. But I don’t want to be the And Peggy of my own story. I want to be the Hamilton.
* * *
It rains all day, so as soon as we get home from school, the first thing Kitty and I do is get back into our pajamas. Margot never got out of hers. She’s wearing her glasses, her hair in a knot at the top of her head (it’s too short to stay put), Kitty is in a big tee, and I’m happy it’s cold enough to wear my red flannels. Daddy is the only one still in his day clothes.
We order two large pizzas for dinner that night, plain cheese (for Kitty) and a supreme with the works. We’re on the living room couch, shoving oozy slices of pizza into our mouths, when Daddy suddenly says, “Girls, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” He clears his throat like he does when he’s nervous. Kitty and I exchange a curious look, and then he blurts out, “I’d like to ask Trina to marry me.”
I clap my hands to my mouth. “Oh my God!”
Kitty’s eyes bulge, her mouth goes slack, and then she flings her pizza aside and lets out a shriek so loud that Jamie Fox-Pickle jumps. She catapults herself at Daddy, who laughs. I jump up and hug his back.
I can’t stop smiling. Until I look at Margot, whose face is completely blank. Daddy’s looking at her too, eyes hopeful and nervous. “Margot? You still there? What do you think, honey?”
“I think it’s fantastic.”
“You do?”
She nods. “Absolutely. I think Trina’s great. And Kitty, you adore her, don’t you?” Kitty’s too busy squealing and flopping around on the couch with Jamie to answer. Softly, Margot says, “I’m happy for you, Daddy. I really am.”
The absolutely is what gives her away. Daddy’s too busy being relieved to notice, but I do. Of course it’s weird for her. She’s still getting used to seeing Ms. Rothschild in our kitchen. She hasn’t gotten to see all the ways Ms. Rothschild and Daddy make sense. To Margot, she’s still just our neighbor who used to wear terry-cloth booty shorts and a bikini top to mow the lawn.
“I’ll need your guys’s help with the proposal,” Daddy says. “Lara Jean, I’m sure you’ll have some ideas for me, right?”
Confidently I say, “Oh, yeah. People have been doing promposals, so I have lots of inspiration.”
Margot turns to me and laughs, and it almost sounds real. “I’m sure Daddy
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