JENNIE

I wake up sweating. Lisa's head is on my stomach, and her arms are in a bear hug around me. Surely her arms must be numb from my body weight. Her legs are intertwined with mine, and she's snoring lightly.

Taking a deep breath, I carefully lift my hand to brush her luscious hair from her forehead. I feel like I haven't touched her hair in so long, but in reality it's only been since Saturday. My mind replays the events in Seattle like a movie as I run my fingers through her soft mess of hair.

Her eyes flutter open, and I jerk my hand away quickly. "Sorry," I say, embarrassed to be caught in the act.

"No, it felt good," she says, her voice thick from sleep.

After gathering herself and breathing against my skin for a moment, she lifts herself up from me—too soon—and I wish I hadn't touched her hair so she would still be asleep, holding me.

"I have some work to do today, so I'll be going to town for a little while," she says and grabs a pair of black jeans from the closet. She grabs her boots and slips them on quickly. I get the feeling that she's rushing out of here.

"Okay . . ." What? I thought she'd be happy that we slept together, and that we held each other for the first time in a week. I thought something would have changed—not completely, but I thought maybe she could see that my resolve was wearing down, that I was a few steps closer to reconciling with her than I was yesterday.

"Yeah . . ." she says and twists her eyebrow ring between two fingers before pulling the white T-shirt over her head and grabbing a black one from the dresser. Sje doesn't say anything before she exits the room, leaving me confused once again. Of all the things I expected to happen, her running out like this wasn't one of them. What work could she possibly have to do right now? She reads manuscripts, the same as I do—only she has much more freedom to work from home, so why would she want to do it today? The memory of what Lisa was doing the last time she had to "work" makes my stomach turn.

I hear her talking to her mother briefly before the front door opens and closes. I plop back onto the pillows and kick my feet in a childish manner. But hearing the siren song of caffeine, I finally climb out of bed and pad out into the kitchen to make some coffee.

"Good morning, sweetie," Chit chirps as I pass where she sits at the counter.

"Good morning. Thank you for making coffee," I say and grab the freshly brewed pot.

"Lisa said she had some work to do," she says, though it really sounds like she's asking, not telling.

"Yeah . . . she said something about that," I reply, unsure what else to say.

But she seems to ignore that and says, "I'm glad she's okay after last night," her voice full of worry.

"Yeah, me, too." Then, without thinking, I add, "I shouldn't have made her sleep on the floor."

Her brows knit together in question. "She doesn't have the nightmares when she isn't on the floor?" she asks carefully.

"No, she doesn't have them if we . . ." I trail off, stirring the sugar into my coffee and trying to think of a way to talk myself out of this.

"If you're there," she finishes for me. "Yeah . . . if I'm there."

She gives me a hopeful look that—so I'm told—only a mother can give when talking about her children. "Do you want to know why she has them? I know she'll hate me for telling you, but I think you should know."

"Oh, please, Mrs. Chit." I swallow. I don't really want to hear her tell me that story. "She told me . . . about that night." I swallow when her eyes widen in surprise.

"She told you?" she gasps.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just say it that way. And the other night, I thought you knew . . ." I apologize and take another drink of coffee.

"No . . . no . . . Don't apologize. I just can't believe she told you. Obviously you knew about the nightmares, but this . . . this is astounding." She dabs her eyes with her fingers and smiles a smile straight from the heart.

"I hope it's okay. I'm so sorry for what happened." I don't want to intrude on their family secrets, but I also have never had to deal with anything like this before.

"It's more than okay, Jennie dear," she says and begins full-on sobbing. "I'm just so happy she has you . . . They were so bad—she would scream and scream. I tried to send her to therapy, but you know Lisa. She wouldn't speak to them. At all. As in not one word, she would just sit there and stare at the wall."

I set my mug down on the counter and wrap my arms around her.

"I don't know what it was that made you come back yesterday, but I'm glad that you did," she says into my shoulder.

"What?"

She pulls back and gives me a wry expression and dabs at her eyes. "Oh, honey, I'm old, but not that old. I knew something was going on between the two of you. I saw how surprised she was to see you when we arrived and I could tell something was off when she said you weren't going to make it to Thailand."

I had a feeling that she was onto us, but I didn't know how transparent we were to her. I take a big gulp of my now lukewarm coffee and consider this.

Chit tenderly grabs on to my other arm. "She was so excited . . . well, as excited as Lisa gets . . . to bring you to Thailand, and then a few days ago she said you were going out of town, but I knew better. What happened?" she asks.

I take another drink and make eye contact with her. "Well . . ." I don't know what to tell her, because Oh nothing, your daughter just took my virginity as a part of a bet doesn't exactly feel helpful right now.

"She. . . she lied to me" is all I say. I don't want her to be upset with Lisa, and I don't really want to get into all of it with her, but I don't want to completely lie either.

"A big lie?"

"A massive lie."

She looks at me then like I'm a landmine. "Is she sorry?"

Talking to Chit about this is strange. I don't even know her, and she's her mother, so she'll feel inclined to take her side no matter what. So I reply delicately, "Yeah . . . I think she is," and drain the rest of my coffee.

"Has she said that she is?" "Yeah . . . a few times." "Has she shown it?"

"Sort of." Has she? I know she broke down the other day, and she's been calmer than usual, but she hasn't actually said what I want to hear.

The older woman looks at me, and for a moment I really fear what her response is going to be. But then she surprises me by saying, "Well, as her mother, I have to put up with her antics. But you don't. If she wants you to forgive her, then she needs to work for it. She needs to show you that she'll never again do anything like whatever it is that she did—and I figure it must have been a pretty big lie if you moved out. Try to keep in mind that emotion is not a place she goes to often. She's a very angry girl. . . woman now."

I know the question sounds ridiculous—people lie all the time—but the words tumble out before my brain can process them: "Would you forgive someone for lying to you?"

"Well, it would depend on the lie, and how sorry they were. I will say that when you allow yourself to believe too many lies, it's hard to find your way back to the truth."

Is she saying I shouldn't forgive her?

She taps her fingers on the counter lightly. "However, I know my daughter, and I can see the change in her since the last time I saw her. She's changed the last few months, so much, Jennie. I can't even tell you how much. She laughs and smiles. She even engaged in conversation with me yesterday." Her smile is bright despite the serious subject. "I know that if she lost you she would go back to how she was before, but I don't want you to feel obligated to be with her because of that."

"I don't . . . feel obligated, I mean. I just don't know what to think." I wish I could explain the whole story to her so I could have her honest opinion. I wish my mother was as understanding as Chit seems to be.

"Well, that's the hard part, you have to be the one to decide. Just take your time and make her work it, things come easily to my daughter, they always have. Maybe that's part of her problem, she always gets what she wants."

I laugh because that statement couldn't be more true. "That she does."

I sigh and go to the pantry and grab a box of cereal. But Chit interrupts my plan by saying, "How about you and me get dressed and go get some breakfast and do some girl things? I could use a haircut, myself." She laughs and shakes her brown hair back and forth.

Her sense of humor is nice, just like Lisa's is, when she allows it to show. She's more raunchy, yes, but I see where she gets her humor.

"Great. Let me just take a shower first," I say and put back the box. "Shower? Its snowing outside, and we'll be getting our hair washed anyway! I was going to just wear this." She gestures to her black tracksuit. "Throw on some jeans or something, and let's go!"

This is so different than if I was going anywhere with my mother. I would have to have ironed clothes, my hair curled, and makeup on—even if we were just going to the grocery store.

I smile and say, "Okay."

In the bedroom, I grab a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt from the closet, then pull my hair into a bun. Slipping on my Toms, I head to the bathroom and quickly brush my teeth and splash cold water on my face. When I join Chit in the living room, she's ready and waiting by the door.

"I should leave Lisa a note or text her," I say.

But she smiles and pulls me toward the door. "That lad will be fine."

AFTER SPENDING THE REST of the morning and the majority of the afternoon with Chit, I feel much more relaxed. She is kind, funny, and great to talk to. She keeps the conversation light and has me laughing almost the entire time. We both get our hair done, and Chit adds bangs, daring me to do the same, but I refuse with a smile. I do, however, let her talk me into buying a black dress for Christmas. I have no idea what I'm doing for Christmas, though. I don't want to intrude on Lisa and her mother, and I haven't bought any presents or anything. I think I may take Jisoo up on the invitation to her house. It seems a little too much to spend Christmas with Lisa when we're not together. We're in this alien in-between stage: we aren't together, but I'd been feeling like we were getting closer to each other until she left this morning.

By the time we return to the apartment, Lisa's car is in the lot, and I start to feel nervous. When we get up to the apartment, we find her sitting on the couch with papers spread out across her lap and the coffee table. She has a pen between her teeth and looks deep into whatever it is that she's doing. Working, I suspect, but I have only actually seen her work a few times in the months I've known her.

"Hello, daughter!" Chit says in a cheery voice. "Hey," Lisa responds flatly.

"Did you miss us?" she teases, and she rolls her eyes before gathering up the loose pages and shoving them into a binder.

"I'll be in the bedroom," she huffs and stands from the couch. I shrug at Chit, then follow Lisa into our bedroom.

"Where'd you guys go?" she asks and sets down her binder on the dresser. A page falls out, and she quickly shoves it back inside, closing the tab with a snap.

I sit on the bed with my legs crossed. "To breakfast, then we got haircuts and did some shopping."

"Oh."

"Where did you go?" I ask her. She looks down at the floor before answering.

"To work."

"Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I'm not buying that," I say with a tone that tells me Chit must have worn off on me.

Her green eyes blaze at me. "Well, I don't really care if you're not buying that," she says in a mocking tone and sits down on the opposite side of the bed.

"What's your problem?" I snap.

"Nothing. I don't have a problem." Her walls are up; I can feel them guarding her.

"Obviously you do. Why did you leave this morning?" She runs a hand through her hair. "I already told you."

"Lying to me isn't going to help anything, that's what got you . . . us into this mess in the first place," I remind her.

"Fine! You want to know where I was? I was at my dad's!" she shouts and stands up.

"Your dad's? Why?"

"Talking to Jisoo." She sits down on the chair.

I roll my eyes. "I believed the work story more than this." "I was. Go on and call her, if you don't believe me." "Okay, and what were you talking with Jisoo about?" "You, of course."

"What about me?" I raise my hands in front of me.

"Just everything. I know you don't want to be here." She looks over at me.

"If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be."

"You have nowhere else to go, I know you wouldn't be here if you did." "What makes you so sure? We slept in the bed together last night." "Yeah, and you know why—if I hadn't had a nightmare, you wouldn't have agreed to it. That's the only reason you did, and the only reason you're talking to me now. Because you feel sorry for me." Her hands are shaking, and her eyes are piercing. I can see the shame behind the green.

"It doesn't matter why it happened." I shake my head at her. I don't know why she always jumps to these conclusions. Why is it so hard for her to accept that she is loved?

"You feel sorry for poor Lisa who has nightmares and can't sleep in a fucking bed alone!" Her voice is too loud, and we have company.

"Stop yelling! Your mom is in the other room!" I yell back.

"Is that what you two did all day . . . talk about me? I don't need your fucking pity, Jen."

"Oh my God! You are so frustrating! We did not talk about you, not in that way. And for the record, I do not feel sorry for you, I wanted you in that bed with me regardless of your dreams." I cross my arms.

"Sure," she barks.

"This isn't about how I feel; it's about how you feel about yourself. You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself, if anything," I say equally harshly.

"I don't."

"Seems like it. You just started a fight with me for no reason. We should be moving forward not backward."

"Moving forward?" Her eyes meet mine. "Yeah . . . I mean may-maybe," I stutter. "Maybe?" She smiles.

And she's so happy all of a sudden—she's grinning like a small child on Christmas. She was just fighting with me, her cheeks flushed in anger. And strangely, I feel most of my anger evaporating as well. The control that she holds over my emotions terrifies me. "You are insane, literally," I tell her.

She gives me a killer smirk. "Your hair looks nice." "You need to be medicated," I tease, and she laughs. "I wouldn't argue there," she responds.

And I can't help but laugh with her . . . Maybe I'm just as crazy as she is.