Chapter Text
New York by day was exactly like the movies.
Lara Jean Song Covey wandered through Greenwich Village, one hand loosely grasping her shouldered backpack, the other in her pocket, firmly grasping her phone. Because even though she’d been a New Yorker for over a year, she was just as afraid of pickpockets as she was on the first day she touched down at Newark Airport. And, she supposed, some habits were just hard to break.
Despite this, her inner romantic, which, she supposed, was also her outer romantic, couldn’t help but marvel at the place she called home. Autumn was in full swing, the sky a comforting slate grey, the streetlights twinkling amber in the early evening light. Fallen leaves dusted the sidewalks, turning them a sea of crimson and mahogany under her black Mary Janes. She couldn’t help the private smile from creeping onto her face. She felt like she’d stepped right into You’ve Got Mail. But just as quickly as it came, her smile faded. Because her fall rom-com was missing a pretty important part.
Lara Jean and Peter Kavinsky hadn’t lasted through college.
A few weeks after graduation, Lara Jean -ever accommodating, rarely ruffled Lara Jean- had found herself…changing. Maybe it was what happened when you started college. Maybe Lara Jean’s mom had been right, and going to college with a boyfriend was never a good idea. Maybe it was her actually starting to feel like an adult. But suddenly she would see the way Peter acted, and instead of smiling, she’d feel…embarrassed. Confused. That he was being childish. And after that, things began to snowball. Almost overnight, she found that he had less time for her, or she for him, or both of them for each other. And the time they did have felt perfunctory and almost awkward. And despite her travelling all the way to LA to see him in freshman year, things felt…off. He was easily irritated. She got more closed off. And by the end of her visit, the two of them sat down and spoke into existence what both of them had been feeling.
It wasn’t going to work.
Both of them had cried. Whispered to the other that they would never find somebody quite like them, but they were doing the right thing. The hard thing. Because sometimes you have to do the hard thing, even if it breaks your heart.
When it ended, Lara Jean wrote Peter Kavinsky fifty-two letters. Unsent, obviously, but by the fortieth she was feeling like the decision they’d made had been the right one. By the fiftieth, the hole in her heart was on its way to healing. She still missed him, but now, Peter Kavinsky was sealed away in her heart for ever.
With a little shake of her head, Lara Jean kept walking. It was okay to reminisce, she thought. Feelings were what made us human. And feelings, she reasoned, was one of things she liked most about herself. The fact that she didn’t shy away from them, and as a result, knew herself better than most people should at the tender age of twenty. This line of thought carried her through the neatly kept streets over to Jefferson Market Garden, where she smiled when she saw the person waiting for her.
‘Lindsey!’ she cried, running forward to her usual bench, and the old woman waiting stood up, her smile as warm as summer rain.
‘Lara Jean. How are you, sweetie?’
‘Good.’ she said non-committally as they sat down and Lara Jean could turn to face her friend fully.
Lara Jean being, well, Lara Jean, had scoured the internet looking for retirement homes and bingo halls and volunteer opportunities almost as soon as she’d gotten her NYU acceptance letter, and Lindsey was one of the first people she’d met at her job working with Lower Manhattan’s elderly care community. Lara Jean suspected she might secretly be a witch, fond as she was of the colour black and the crystals that graced the rings on eight out of ten fingers at any given time. But she was also wise, and shrewd, and, just like Lara Jean, shared a fondness for sampling the finest baked goods New York City had to offer.
Lindsey unwrapped a brown paper bag just as Lara Jean rummaged in her backpack for an identical one. They inspected each others’ purchases. Lindsey had gone for some kind of stuffed croissant today, while Lara Jean had -yet again- gone with a cupcake. Lara Jean set about the business of carefully dividing each into two.
‘See anything beautiful today?’ Lindsey asked around a mouthful of cupcake.
‘I did.’ Lara Jean sighed. ‘I saw this little family of squirrels and the mom -at least, i assume it was the mom- had a tiny little peanut in her hands and she passed it off to the tiny baby squirrel so it could eat it. It was adorable.’
Lindsey gave Lara Jean a long, bemused look before smiling fondly. ‘Only you would say something like that, dear.’
‘I like finding beauty in weird stuff. It’s like Hugh Grant says. ‘Love actually is all around.’’
‘I wish I could be as romantic as you, Lara Jean.’ Lindsey sighed. ‘It’s a lovely gift. Unique, too. Don’t ever lose it.’
‘I don’t know, Lindsey.’ Lara Jean shifted uncomfortably. ‘Lately I’ve been feeling not all that unique at all. Kind of…invisible. Like nothing I do matters. Or… I don’t matter.’
Lindsey turned, slowly and deliberately, to face her. She said nothing, which Lara Jean took as an invitation to carry on. ‘I mean, I’m a college student in one of the biggest cities in the world. I’m just another kid who’s gonna become just another elementary school teacher and batches and batches of kids are gonna come and go, year after year after year. And I guess, living in a place like New York City… I could walk through the same place every day and never see the same people twice. It’s all so…big.’
Lara Jean could feel her throat constricting, the place behind her eyes starting to pound as she struggled to carry on.
‘Bigger than I’m used to. And sometimes I think: what differentiates me from being just another person? Just another meaningless face in a meaningless crowd?’
As Lara Jean spoke, Lindsey’s face morphed from confused to concerned to full of compassion.
‘Oh, Lara Jean.’ She said, taking her hand between both of her own. ‘Sweetheart, I know how you feel. I do.’
Lara Jean’s tears threatened to fall. She hadn’t meant to cry.
‘But listen. Sometimes we all feel like that. It’s normal. What’s the population of people on the planet on the interwebs these days? Eight billion?’ Lindsey chuckled.
‘Hell, I think anyone would feel small! And when I feel like that, I know that itch will only go away if I do something to make a difference. To touch people’s lives, help them, make them happy, as much as I can.’
Lindsey fixed Lara Jean with a tender look. ‘Like you did to me. If you hadn’t gotten that letter, if you hadn’t applied to all those volunteer posts, we never would have met. And I never would have got to spend all this time with you! I never would have got to call you my friend. I never,’ Lindsey said, squeezing Lara Jean’s hand, ‘would have got to try all these sweets with you.’
At that, Lara Jean huffed out a tearful laugh, but Lindsey looked solemn.
‘It might feel small to you now, but things like that add up over time. So if you want some practical advice-‘
‘Like you ever give anything else,’ Lara Jean said through a watery chuckle.
‘Well, I’m not one for excessive coddling and you know that. But some practical advice is to be the good you want for yourself. And it’ll all come back to you and when you’re in you’re college dorm after everyone’s gone to bed or done hooking up or whatever it is you kids do these days… it’ll light you up from the inside and keep you warm.’
Lara Jean considered Lindsey for a moment, head tilted like a curious deer. ‘I mean… I don’t know if it’ll make me feel better, but I guess it’s worth a shot?’
Lindsey laughed. ‘If i’ve learned anything in my seventy years, it’s this: Nothing is a quick fix, and never be too sceptical of anything. You never know what might work out.’
‘Huh.’ Lara Jean said.
Lindsey looked very pleased with herself as she turned to face forwards again, and for a while two two of them sat quietly, content to watch the sun set over the trees, the lamps to flicker on and the sounds of the city to draw to a lull.
The sky was beginning to darken when Lara Jean quietly stood up and stretched, shouldering her backpack and drawing Lindsey in for a hug.
‘Thanks, Lindsey. For the advice, and the croissant.’
‘You’re welcome, dear. I hope it helps.’
Lara Jean waved over her shoulder as she left the garden.
‘Oh, and Lara Jean?’
‘Yes?’ she said, turning.
‘It’s pronounced ‘kwa-son.’’