JENNIE

I can't believe Lisa had the nerve to accuse me of trying to get myself pregnant, or even thinking that there's even a small chance that I would do something like that to her . . . or to myself. The whole thing's just absurd and stupid all around.

Everything was going so great—incredible, really—until she mentioned the condom. She should have just gotten out of the water and grabbed one; I know she has a pile of them in the top of her suitcase. I watched her shove them in there after I neatly packed our bags.

She's probably just frustrated over this whole Seattle mess, so she overreacted, and maybe I did, too. As a result of my annoyance with Lisa's rude comments and her ruining our . . . moment in the hot tub, I need a hot shower. Seconds later the water begins to work against my strained muscles, relaxing my nerves and clearing my head. We both overreacted, her more than me, and the argument was so unnecessary. I reach for the shampoo. And then realize I was so rattled while getting away from her that I forgot to grab my toiletry bag. Great.

"Lisa?" I call. I doubt she can hear me over the shower and hot tub, but I pull the floral shower curtain back and watch for her just in case. When she doesn't appear in the doorway after a few seconds, I grab my towel and wrap it around my body. Trailing water into the bedroom, I reach the suitcases lying on the bed, when I hear Lisa's voice.

I can't quite hear what she's saying, but I catch her tone of false niceness, which tells me she's trying to be polite and not show her frustration. Which tells me that this conversation is something she deems important enough to not act like herself.

I pad quietly across the wooden floor, and since she's on speaker, I hear someone say, "Because I'm a Realtor, and my job is to fill empty apartments."

Lisa sighs. "Well, do you have any more empty apartments to fill?" she asks.

Wait, Lisa's trying to get me an apartment? I'm as shocked as I am excited at the thought. She's finally coming around to the idea of Seattle, and she's actually trying to help me instead of push against me. For once.

The woman on the other end, who, I realize, has a very familiar voice, replies, "You gave me the impression that your friend Jennie was not someone I should be wasting my time giving an apartment to."

What? Wait . . . is that . . . ?

She wouldn't.

"Here's the thing . . . she isn't as bad as I made her out to be. She hasn't actually trashed any apartments or left without paying," she says, and my stomach turns.

She did.

I burst through the doors to the deck. "You sick, selfish bastard!" I scream, the first words that come to mind.

Lisa spins to me, face paling, mouth opening wide. Her phone tumbles to the floor, and she just stares at me like I'm some terrible creature who's come to destroy her.

"Hello?" Sandra's voice says through the speaker, and she reaches down to grab her phone to silence her.

Anger courses through me. "How could you? How could you do that?"

"I—" she begins.

"No! Don't even waste my time with an excuse! What the hell were you thinking?" I yell with one arm sweeping in her direction violently.

I storm back into the bedroom, and she follows me, pleading, "Jennie, listen to me."

I turn around, feeling wounded, and strong, and hurt, and enraged. "No! You listen to me, Lisa," I say through my teeth, trying to lower my voice. But I can't. "I'm so sick of this, I'm sick of you trying to sabotage everything in my life that doesn't revolve around you!" I scream, balling my fists tightly at my sides.

"That's not what I—"

"Shut up! Shut the hell up! You are the most selfish, arrogant—you're just . . . ugh!" I can't think straight; angry words fly from my mouth, my hands moving through the air in front of me.

"I don't know what I was thinking. I was trying to clear it up just now."

I shouldn't be so surprised, really. I should have known that Lisa was behind Sandra's sudden disappearance. She doesn't know when to stop meddling in my life, my career, and I'm sick of it.

"Exactly; this is exactly what I'm talking about. You're always doing something. You're always hiding something. You're always finding new ways to try to control every single thing I do, and I can't take it anymore! This is too much." I can't help but pace back and forth across the room, and Lisa watches me with cautious eyes. "I can handle you being a little overprotective, and I can handle you getting in a fight now and then. Hell, I can even handle you being a complete asshole half the time, because deep down I always knew you were doing what you thought was best for me. But not this. You're trying to ruin my future—and I won't fucking have it."

"I'm sorry," she says. And I know that she means it, but—

"You're always fucking sorry! It's always the same shit: you do something, hide something, say something, I cry, you say you're sorry, and bam! All is forgiven." I point a harsh finger at her. "But not this time."

I have the urge to slap Lisa right across her face, but I look around for something to take my anger out on instead. I grab a frilly pillow from the bed and throw it onto the floor. Then I throw a second one. It doesn't do much for the anger flaming inside me, but I'd feel even worse if I destroyed anything of Karen's.

This is so exhausting. I don't know how much more I can take before I break.

Fuck that, I won't break. I'm sick of breaking—that's all I ever do. I need to pick up my own pieces, put them back together neatly, and hide them away from Lisa to keep them from ending up in a pile at her feet again.

"I'm sick of the endless cycle. I've told you before, and you don't listen. You find new ways to continue the cycle, and I'm done, I'm so fucking done!"

I don't know if I've ever been this angry at her. Yes, she's done worse things, but I've always moved on from that. We were never in a place like this before, a place where I thought she was done hiding things from me, and I thought she understood that she can't mess with my career. This chance means everything to me. I've spent my life watching what happens to a woman who has nothing of her own. My mother never had anything that she herself earned, anything that was hers, and I need that. I need to do this. I need this chance to prove that even though I'm young, I can make a life for myself that my mother never could make for herself. I can't let anyone take this from me, the way my mother let it slip from her.

"Done . . . with me?" Her voice is shaky, and it cracks. "You said you're done . . ."

I don't know what I'm done with. It should be her, but I know myself better than to answer that right now. Normally I would be crying by this point and forgiving her with a kiss . . . but not tonight.

"I'm so fucking exhausted, and I can't stand it. I can't keep doing this like this! You were going to let me move to Seattle without anywhere to live just to try to force me not to go!"

Lisa stands before me in silence, and I take a deep breath, expecting my anger to diminish, but it doesn't. It grows and grows until I am literally seeing red. I grab the rest of the pillows, imagining that they're actually glass vases that shatter to the floor, leaving a mess for someone else to clean up. The problem is that I would be the one doing the cleaning—she wouldn't take the chance of cutting herself in order to spare me.

"Get out!" I scream at her.

"No, I'm sorry, okay, I—"

"Get the fuck out. Now," I spit, and she looks at me like she has no idea who I am.

Maybe she hasn't.

She hunches over and leaves the room—and I slam the door behind her before going back out to the balcony. I sit down on the wicker chair and stare out at the sea, trying to calm myself down.

No tears come, only memories. Memories and regrets.