JENNIE

The walk back to my car after yoga feels much longer than usual. The heaviness of Lisa's expulsion and the move to Seattle were lifted from me during meditation, but now, outside the walls of the classroom, the weight is back and multiplied by ten.

As soon as I begin to pull out of the parking spot, my phone vibrates on the passenger seat. Lisa.

"Hello?" I stop and shift the gear into park.

But it's a woman's voice that barks through the speaker, and my heart stops. "Is this Jennie?"

"Yes?"

"Good, I've got your father and . . ."

" . . . girlfriend . . ." I hear Lisa groan in the background.

"Yeah, your girlfriend," she says snidely. "I'm gonna need you to pick these two up before someone calls the cops."

"Calls the cops? Where are they?" I shift back into drive.

"Dizzy's on Lamar Avenue; you know the place?"

"No, but I'll Google it."

"Huh. Of course you will."

Ignoring her attitude, I hang up the phone and hastily get directions to the bar. Why the hell are Lisa and my father at a bar at three in the afternoon? Why the hell are Lisa and my father even together?

This makes no sense to me—and what about the cops? What did they do? I should have asked the woman on the phone. I can only hope they didn't get into a fight with each other. That's the last thing any of us needs.

My imagination has run wild by the time I make it to the bar, and has concluded that Lisa's either murdered my father or vice versa. There are no cop cars outside the small bar, which is a good sign, I suppose. I park directly in front of the building and hurry inside, wishing I had worn a sweatshirt instead of a T-shirt.

"There she is!" my father calls out jubilantly.

I can tell he's loaded as he stumbles over to me.

"You should have seen it, Jendeukie!" He claps his hands. "Lisa just whooped some serious ass!"

"Where is she—" I start, but right then a bathroom door opens and Lisa walks out, wiping her bloody hands on a red-stained paper towel.

"What happened?" I yell to her from the opposite side of the room.

"Nothing . . . calm down."

I gape as I walk over to her. "Are you drunk?" I ask, then twist slightly to look at her eyes: bloodshot.

She looks off to the side. "Maybe."

"This is unbelievable." I cross my arms as she tries to take my hand.

"Hey, you should be thanking me for having your dad's back. He'd be on the floor right now if it wasn't for me." She points to a man sitting on the floor holding a bag of ice against his cheek.

"I won't be thanking you for anything—you're drunk in the middle of the afternoon! And with my father, of all people. What the hell is wrong with you?" I storm away from her, back toward the bar, where my father is now sitting.

"Don't be mad at her, Jendeukie; she loves you." My father is defending her.

What the hell is going on here?

As Lisa walks over, I ball my fists at my sides and shout, "So what, you two get drunk together and now you're best friends? Neither of you should even be drinking!"

"Baby," Lisa says into my ear and attempts to wrap her arm around me.

"Hey," the woman behind the bar says, knocking on the counter to get my attention. "You gotta get them out of here."

I nod at her and glare at the drunken idiots who are my lot. My father's cheek is pink, giving the impression he was hit, and Lisa's hands are already swelling.

"You can come to our house for tonight so you can sober up, but this isn't acceptable behavior." I want to scold them both, like the children they are. "For either of you."

I exit the smelly little space and am at the car before they make it to the door. Lisa scowls at my father as the older man tries to rest an arm on her shoulder. I get into my car, disgusted.

Lisa's intoxication puts me on edge. I know how she is when she's drunk, and I'm not sure I've ever seen her this drunk before, not even that night she destroyed all the china. I miss the days when Lisa didn't drink anything but water at parties. We have a list of problems right now, and her drinking only adds fuel to the flames.

APPARENTLY, MY FATHER has graduated from being an angry drunk to one who tells endless jokes, most of which are tasteless and obnoxious. The whole ride home he laughs too hard at his own words, with Lisa joining him every now and then. This isn't how I envisioned this day at all. I don't know what it was that made Lisa warm up to my father, but now that they're both drunk in the middle of the day, I don't like their "friendship" at all.

When we get home, I leave my father in the kitchen eating more of Lisa's Frosted Flakes and head for the bedroom—where most of our arguments seem to begin and end.

"Jennie," Lisa begins as soon as I close the door.

"Don't," I say coldly.

"Don't be mad at me—we were just having a drink." Her tone is playful, but I'm not in the mood for it.

"'Just having a drink'? With my father—an alcoholic who I'm trying to build a relationship with, who I wanted to maybe think about getting sober. That's who you were 'just drinking' with?"

"Baby . . ."

I shake my head. "Don't you 'baby' me. I'm not okay with this."

"Nothing happened." She wraps her fingers around my arm to pull me to her, but when I pull away it causes her to stumble to the bed.

"Lisa, you got in a fight again!"

"Not a big one. Who cares?"

"I do. I care."

She looks up at me from her place on the edge of our bed, her green eyes laced with red, and says, "Then why are you leaving me? If you care so much?"

My heart sinks a little farther into my chest.

"I'm not leaving you; I'm asking you to come with me." I sigh.

"But I don't want to," she whines.

"I know, but this is the one thing I have left—apart from you, of course."

"I'll marry you." She reaches for my hand, but I step back.

My breath hitches. I'm sure I couldn't have heard that correctly. "What?" I raise my hands, blocking her from coming closer.

"I said I'll marry you if you choose me." She stands up, stepping toward me.

The words, even though they're meaningless because of the amount of alcohol coursing through her, still excite me. "You're drunk," I say.

She's only offering marriage because she's drunk, which is worse than not offering at all.

"So? I still mean it."

"No, you don't." I shake my head and dodge her touch again.

"Yes, I do—not now, of course, but in like . . . six years or so?" She scratches her thumb across her forehead, thinking.

I roll my eyes. Despite my fluttering heart, this last bit of hedging, offering to marry me in a vague "six years or so," shows that reality is creeping back into her thoughts, even as she drunkenly tries to convince me otherwise. "We'll see how you feel about this tomorrow," I say, knowing she surely won't remember it tomorrow.

"Will you be wearing those pants?" Her lips form a wicked smile.

"No; don't even start talking about these damn pants."

"You're the one who wore them. You know how I feel about them." She looks down at her lap, then points at it and looks up waggling her eyebrows.

Playful, teasing, drunk Lisa is sort of adorable . . . but not adorable enough to make me lose my ground.

"Come here," she begs, mock-frowning.

"No. I'm still upset with you."

"Come on, Jendeukie, don't be mad." She laughs and rubs her eyes with the back of her hands.

"If either of you calls me that one more time, I swear—"

"Jendeukie, what's wrong, Jendeukie? You don't like the name Jendeukie, Jendeukie?"

Lisa grins wide, and I feel my resolve fading the longer I stare at her.

"Are you going to let me take those pants off of you?"

"No. I've a lot to do today, and none of those things involve you taking my clothes off. I would ask you to come along, but you decided to get wasted with my father, so I have to go alone."

"You're going somewhere?" Her voice is smooth yet raspy, thick from the liquor.

"Yes."

"You're not wearing that, though, right?"

"Yes, I am. I can wear whatever the hell I want to wear." I grab a sweatshirt and head for the door. "I'll be back later; don't do anything stupid, because I won't bail you or my father out of jail."

"Sassy. I like it, but I can think of something else to do with that smart mouth of yours." When I ignore her crude remark, she coos, "Stay with me."

I quickly leave the room and the apartment before she can persuade me to stay. I hear her call "Jendeuki" as I reach the door and have to cover my mouth to hide the giggle that escapes. This is my problem: when it comes to Lisa, my brain doesn't see the difference between right and wrong.