JENNIE
Hey, the text from Lisa reads.
The butterflies that appear in my stomach are ridiculous.
How's your party? I send, and shove another handful of popcorn into my mouth. I've been staring at the screen of my e-reader for two hours straight, and I need a break.
Lame. Can I come over? she responds.
I nearly jump off the bed. I made the decision earlier after spending hours finding a decent gift for her that my "space" can wait until after her birthday. I don't care how needy or pathetic that is. If she chooses to spend time with me over her friends, I'll take it. She really is trying and I need to acknowledge that; granted, we need to discuss her not wanting a future with me and how that will affect my career.
But that can wait until tomorrow.
Yeah, how long until you'll be here? I write.
I dig through the dresser and grab a blue sleeveless shirt that Lisa once told me looks nice on me. I'll have to wear jeans; otherwise I'll look like an idiot sitting in this bedroom in a dress. I wonder what she'll be wearing. Will her hair be pushed back like it was yesterday? Was her party boring without me and she wanted to see me instead? She really is changing and I love her for it.
Why am I so giddy?
Thirty minutes.
I rush to the bathroom to brush the popcorn kernels from my teeth. I shouldn't be kissing her, should I? It is her birthday . . . one kiss won't be
so bad, and let's be honest: she deserves a kiss for all the effort she's put into this so far. One kiss won't hurt anything I'm trying to do.
I touch up my makeup and run the hairbrush through my hair before pulling it into a ponytail. I clearly have no sense of judgment where Lisa is involved, but I'll scold myself tomorrow. I know she doesn't do much for birthdays, but I want this one to be different—I want her to know that her birthday is important.
I grab the gift I bought and begin to wrap it quickly. The paper I bought is covered in music notes and would make a good book cover. I'm getting nervous and sidetracked even though I shouldn't be.
Okay, see you soon, I send, and head downstairs after scribbling her name on the small gift tag.
Karen is dancing to an old Luther Vandross song, and I can't help but laugh when she turns around with flushed cheeks. "Sorry, I didn't know you were there," she says, clearly embarrassed.
"I love this song. My father used to play it all the time," I tell her, and she smiles.
"He has good taste, then."
"He did." I smile at the somewhat decent memory of my father twirling me around the kitchen . . . before the sun fell and he gave my mother a black eye for the first time.
"So what are you up to tonight? Jisoo's at the library again," she tells me, though I already knew.
"I was actually going to see if you could help me make a cake or something for Lisa. It's her birthday and she's going to be here in about a half hour." I can't help but smile.
"She is? Well, of course, we can make a quick sheet cake . . . or actually, let's do a two-layer circle cake. What does she like better, chocolate or vanilla?"
"Chocolate cake and chocolate icing," I tell her. No matter how much I feel I don't know her sometimes, I know her better than I think I know myself.
"Okay, get the pans out for me?" she asks, and I jump to it.
Thirty minutes later I'm waiting for the cake to cool the rest of the way so that we can ice it before Lisa gets here. Karen has dug out some old candles; she could only find a one and a three, but I know she'll find humor in that.
I walk to the living room and look out the window to see if she's here yet, but the driveway is empty. She's probably just running a little late. It's only been forty-five minutes.
"Marco will be home in an hour or so, he had a dinner with some colleagues. Being a terrible person, I claimed to have a stomachache. I just hate those dinners." She laughs and I giggle as I attempt to smooth the chocolate icing along the edges of the cake.
"I don't blame you," I tell her and place the numbers on the top of the cake.
After arranging them to say thirty-one, I decide to have them say thirteen instead. Karen and I laugh at the corny candles and I struggle with the thick icing to write Lisa's name below the candles.
"It looks . . . nice," she lies.
I cringe at my terrible icing skills. "It's the thought that counts. Or at least it better be . . ."
"She'll love it," Karen assures me before heading upstairs so Lisa and I can have some privacy when she gets here.
It's now been an hour since she texted, and I'm sitting in the kitchen alone waiting for her to show. I want to call her, but if she isn't coming she should be the one to call me and tell me.
She'll come. It was her idea to come, anyway. She will come.