JENNIE
My chest aches as I watch Christian wrap his arms around Kimberly and lift her off the floor in a loving embrace. I'm so happy for her, I really am. It's just that it's hard to sit and watch someone get something that you wanted, no matter how happy you are for them. I would never want to take even an ounce of her happiness away, but it's hard to watch as he kisses both her cheeks and slides a gorgeous diamond ring onto her finger.
I stand up from my seat, hoping that no one will notice my absence. I make it to the living room before the tears fall in earnest. I knew this would happen, I knew I would break. If she wasn't here, I could handle it, but it's too surreal, too painful, to have her here.
She came here to taunt me, she had to have. Why else come, but not speak to me at all? It doesn't make sense: she's avoided me for the past ten days, then she shows up here, where she knew I would be. I shouldn't have come. I should have at least driven myself so I could leave right now. Rosé won't be here until . . .
Rosé.
Rosé is coming to pick me up at eight. Looking at a sleek grandfather clock, I see it's seven thirty already. Lisa will kill her, literally, if she sees her here.
Or maybe she won't, maybe she doesn't care at all.
I find the restroom and close the door behind me. It takes me a moment to realize the light switch is a touch-screen panel on the wall. This house is too damn high tech for me.
I was absolutely humiliated when I dropped the wineglass. Lisa seems so indifferent, like she could care less about me being here or how awkward for me her presence really is. Has it even been hard for her? Did she spend days crying and lying in bed the way I did? I have no way to know, and she isn't giving off the heartbroken impression.
Breathe, Jennie. You have to breathe. Ignore the knife lodged in your chest.
I wipe my eyes and look at my reflection. My makeup hasn't smudged, thank goodness, and my hair is still perfectly curled. My cheeks are slightly flushed, but in a way it makes me look better, more lively.
When I open the door, Taehyung is leaning against the wall with concern clear in his features. "Are you okay? You ran out of there pretty fast." He takes a step toward me.
"Yeah . . . I just needed some air," I lie. A stupid lie, at that; it doesn't even make sense to rush to the bathroom for air.
Lucky for me, Taehyung is a gentleman and would never call me out on my lie the way Lisa would. "Okay, they're serving dessert now, if you're still hungry," he says and escorts me back down the hallway.
"Not really, but I'll have some," I respond. I practice regulating my breathing, and find that it helps settle me some. I'm thinking about what to do about the impending Rosé-Lisa meet-up when I hear Smith's small voice coming from a room we pass by.
"How do you know?" he asks in his little, clinical manner. "Because I know everything," Lisa replies.
Lisa? Hanging out with Smith?
I stop and wave Taehyung on. "Taehyung, why don't you go on. I . . . um . . . I'm going to talk to Smith."
He looks at me questioningly. "Are you sure . . . I can wait," he offers. "No, I'm fine." I politely dismiss him. He gives a little nod and wanders off. Leaving me free to impolitely eavesdrop.
Smith says something I don't get, and Lisa replies, "I do, though, I know everything." Her voice is as calm as ever.
I lean against the wall next to the door as Smith asks, "Will she die?" "No, man. What is with you always thinking everyone's going to die?" "I don't know," the little boy tells her.
"Well, it's not true, not everyone dies." "Who dies?"
"Not everyone."
"But who, Lisa?" Smith presses.
"People, bad people, I guess. And old people. And sick people—oh, and sad people sometimes."
"Like your pretty girl?" My heart races.
"No! She won't. She's not sad," Lisa says, and I put my hand over my mouth.
"Yeah, huh."
"No, she's not. She's happy, and she won't die. Neither will Kimberly." "How do you know?"
"I already told you how I know, it's because I know everything." Her tone has changed since the mention of my name.
I hear a dismissive little laugh from Smith. "No, you don't." "Are you okay now? Or are you going to cry more?" Lisa asks. "Don't tease."
"Sorry, are you done crying, though?" "Yeah."
"Good."
"Good."
"Don't mock me. It's rude," Lisa says. "You're rude."
"So are you—are you sure you're only five?" Lisa asks.
Which is exactly what I've always wanted to ask the kid. Smith is so mature for his age, but I guess he has to be, considering what he's been through.
"Pretty sure. Do you want to play?" Smith asks her. "No, I don't."
"Why?"
"Why do you ask so many questions? You remind—"
"Jennie?" Kimberly's voice startles me and I nearly scream. She puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Sorry! Have you seen Smith? He took off, and Lisa, of all people, went after him." She looks confused yet touched by that.
"Um, no." I hurry down the hallway to avoid the humiliation of being caught by Lisa. I know she heard Kimberly call my name.
When I get back to the dining room, I approach the small group that Christian is speaking with and tell him how much I appreciate him inviting me, and I congratulate him on his engagement. Kimberly appears moments later, and I hug her goodbye before doing the same with Karen and Marco.
I check my phone: ten minutes till eight. Lisa is occupied with Smith and obviously has no intention of speaking to me, and that's fine. That's what I need, I don't need her to apologize and tell me that she's been miserable without me. I don't need her to hold me and tell me we'll find a way to work this out, to fix everything she has broken. I don't need that. She won't do it anyway, so it's pointless to need it.
It hurts less when I don't need it.
By the time I reach the end of the driveway, I'm freezing. I should've worn a jacket—it's the end of January and it's just begun to snow. I don't know what I was thinking. I hope Rosé gets here soon.
The icy wind is unforgiving as it whips my hair around and makes me shiver. I wrap my arms around me in an attempt to keep warm.
"Jen?" I look up, and for a moment I think I'm imagining the girl in all black walking toward me in the snow.
"What are you doing?" Lisa asks me, drawing even closer. "I'm leaving."
"Oh . . ." She rubs her hand over the back of her neck like she always does. I stay quiet. "How are you?" she asks and I'm baffled.
"How am I?" I turn to look at her.
I try to keep my cool as she stares at me with a completely neutral expression. "Yeah . . . I mean, are you . . . you know, okay?"
Should I tell her the truth or lie . . . ? "How are you?" I ask, my teeth chattering.
"I asked first," she responds.
This is not how I had envisioned our first encounter. I'm not entirely sure what I thought would happen, but this isn't it. I thought she would be cursing me out and we would be in a screaming match. Standing in a snow-dusted driveway, asking each other how we're doing, is the last thing I imagined. The lanterns hanging in the trees lining the driveway make Lisa appear to be glowing, like an angel. Obviously an illusion.
"I'm fine," I lie.
She looks me up and down slowly, making my stomach leap and my heart pound. "I see that." Her voice carries over the wind.
"And now, how are you?"
I want her to say she's doing terribly. But she doesn't. "Same. Fine."
Quickly I ask, "Why haven't you called me?" Maybe this will evoke some emotion from her.
"I . . ." She looks at me and then down at her hands before running them through her snow-covered hair. "I . . . was busy." Her answer is the wrecking ball that takes down the rest of my wall.
Anger overpowers the bone-crushing hurt that is threatening to take over at any moment. "You were 'busy'?"
"Yeah . . . I was busy." "Wow."
"Wow what?" she asks.
"You were busy? Do you know what I've been going through the last eleven days? It's been hell, and I felt pain that I didn't know I could endure, and at times I didn't think I could. I kept waiting . . . waiting like a fucking idiot!" I scream.
"You don't know what I've been doing either! You always think you know everything—but you don't know shit!" she yells back, and I walk to the very end of the driveway.
She's going to lose it when she sees who's picking me up. Where the hell is Rosé, anyway? It's five minutes after eight.
"Tell me, then! Tell me what was more important than fighting for me, Lisa." I wipe the tears from under my eyes and beg myself to stop crying.
I'm so sick of crying all the time.