“All right, all right. Just take it,” the man says begrudgingly, and I beam at him and start to pull my wallet out of my purse, but he waves me off.

“Thank you! Thank you so much.” I clutch the reindeer to my chest. Maybe haggling isn’t as hard as I thought.

Peter winks at me, and then he says to the man, “I’ll bring my van closer so we can load up the chairs.”

They go out the back, and I hang around, looking at the framed pictures on the wall. I wonder if they’re for sale too. Some of them look really old: black-and-white pictures of men in suits and hats. There’s one picture of a girl in a confirmation dress, it’s white and lacy like a wedding gown. The girl isn’t smiling, but she has a mischievous glint in her eye that reminds me of Kitty.

“That’s my daughter, Patricia.”

I turn around. It’s an old man in a navy blue sweater and stiff jeans. He’s leaning against the staircase watching me. He looks very frail; his skin is paper white and thin.

“She lives in Ohio. She’s an accountant.” He’s still gazing at me, like I remind him of someone.

“Your house is lovely,” I say, even though it isn’t. It’s old; it could use a good cleaning. But the things inside it are lovely.

“It’s empty now. All my things sold up. Can’t take it with you, you know.”

“You mean when you die?” I whisper.

He glares at me. “No. I mean to the nursing home.”

Whoops. “Right,” I say, and I giggle the way I do when I feel awkward.

“What do you have there in your hand?”

I lift it up. “This. He—the man in the suit gave it to me. Do you want it back? I didn’t pay for it. It’s part of a lot.”

He smiles, and the wrinkles in his paper skin deepen. “That was Patty’s favorite.”

I hold it out to him. “Maybe she’d like to keep it?”

“No, you have it. It’s yours. She couldn’t even be bothered to help me move, so.” He gives a spiteful nod. “Is there anything else you want to take? I’ve got a trunk full of her old clothes.”

Yikes. Family drama. Best not to get involved in that. But vintage clothes! That’s tempting.

* * *

When Peter finds me, I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor in the music room, looking through an old trunk. Mr. Clarke is snoozing on the couch next to me. I found a mod minidress the color of cotton candy pink that I’m crazy about, and a sleeveless button-down with little daisies on it that I can tie at the waist. “Look, Peter!” I lift up the dress. “Mr. Clarke said I could have it.”

“Who’s Mr. Clarke?” Peter asks, and his voice fills the room.

I point at him and put my finger to my lips.

“Well, we’d better get out of here fast before the guy in charge of the sale sees him giving stuff away for free.”

I get up in a hurry. “Bye, Mr. Clarke,” I say, not too loud. Probably better to let him sleep. He was very down earlier, when he was telling me about his divorce.

Mr. Clarke’s eyes flutter open. “Is this your feller?”

“No, not really,” I say, and Peter throws his arm around my shoulder and says, “Yes, sir. I’m her feller.”

I don’t like the way he says it, like he’s making fun. Of both me and Mr. Clarke. “Thank you for the clothes, Mr. Clarke,” I say, and he sits up straight and reaches for my hand. I give it to him and he kisses it, and his lips feel like dry moth’s wings.

“You’re welcome, Patty.”

I give him a good-bye wave and grab my new things. As we walk out the front door, Peter says, “Who’s Patty?” and I pretend I don’t hear.

I must fall asleep in about two seconds from the excitement of the day, because the next thing I know, we’re parked in my driveway, and Peter’s shaking my shoulder, saying, “We’re here, Lara Jean.”

I open my eyes. I’m clutching my dress and shirt to my chest like a security blanket, and my reindeer is in my lap. My new treasures. I feel like I just robbed a bank and got away with it. “Thanks for today, Peter.”

“Thanks for coming with me.” Then, abruptly, he says, “Oh yeah. I forgot to ask you something. My mom wants you to come over to dinner tomorrow night.”

My mouth drops. “You told your mom about us?”

Peter gives me a dirty look. “Kitty knows about us! Besides, my mom and I are close. It’s just her and me and my brother, Owen. If you don’t want to come, then don’t come. But just know that my mom will think you’re rude if you don’t.”

“I’m just saying . . . the more people that know, the harder it is to manage. You have to keep lies restricted to as few people as possible.”

“How do you know so much about lying?”

“Oh, I used to lie all the time as a kid.” I didn’t think of it as lying, though. I thought of it as playing make-believe. I told Kitty she was adopted and her real family was in a traveling circus. It’s why she took up gymnastics.

40

I’M NOT SURE HOW DRESSED up I should get for dinner at Peter’s house. At the store his mom seems so fancy. I just don’t want to meet her and have her be thinking of all the ways that I’m lacking compared to Genevieve. I don’t see why I have to meet her at all.

But I do want her to like me.

I go through my closet, and then Margot’s closet. I finally pick a cream-colored sweater and a blouse with a Peter Pan collar, with a corduroy mustard circle skirt. Plus tights and flats. Then I put on some makeup, which I hardly ever wear. I put on peach blush and I try to do some eye makeup, but I end up washing everything off and starting over again, this time with just mascara and lip gloss.