Chapter 17
When my eyes open the next morning, it's early. Gray light seeps through the curtains, but the sun hasn't risen yet.
And the space beside me is empty. I'm alone.
For one horrible, irrational moment, I think it was all a dream. Lisa's coming here to Greenville, our reconciliation—just a vivid delusion brought on by too many Lifetime television miniseries and Julie Garwood romance novels.
Then I see the note on the end table.
Don't panic. Went downstairs to get coffee and breakfast. Be back ASAP. Stay in bed.
Relieved, I turn on my back and close my eyes. I know from experience that if I get up too quickly, the nausea will hit with a vengeance. I don't mind the morning sickness so much anymore. Sure, no one enjoys heaving their intestines out, but in a weird way it's reassuring. Like my body's way of telling me we're A-OK. All systems go.
Ten minutes later, I rise slowly and slip on my robe. Then I make my way downstairs, following the scent of fresh-brewing coffee.
Outside the rear kitchen entrance, I hear Lisa's voice. Instead of going in, I peek through the crack near the door hinge. Lisa's at the counter, whisking flour in a stainless steel mixing bowl. My mother sits stiffly at the table in the corner. Looking at bills, punishingly pushing the buttons on a large calculator. Her face is stern, angry—hell bent on ignoring the other person in the room.
I listen and watch, catching the end of Lisa's story. "And I said 'Two million? I can't bring my client that offer. Come back when you're serious.'"
She glances at my mother, but there's no reaction. She goes back to whisking and says, "It's like I was telling Jennie a few weeks ago—some guys need to learn when they're beaten."
My mother slaps a bill on the table and picks up the next one in the pile.
Lisa sighs. Then she puts the bowl on the counter and sits down across from my mother. She doesn't acknowledge her at all.
She thinks for a moment, rubbing her knuckles against her chin. Then she leans toward my mother and says, "I love your daughter. Like... I'd-take-a-bullet-for-her kind of love."
My mother snorts.
Lisa nods. "Yeah, I get it. That probably doesn't mean a whole hell of a lot to you. But... it's true. I can't promise that I won't screw up again. But if I do, it won't be as epic as my most recent clusterfuck. And I can promise I'll do everything I can after to make it up to Jennie... to make it right."
My mother continues to stare at the bill in her hand like it has the cure for cancer on it.
Lisa sits back, gazes toward the window, and smiles a little. "When I was a kid, I wanted to be my father. He wore these awesome suits and he went to work at the top of a huge building. And he always had everything together, like the whole world was at his fingertips. When I met Jennie... no... when I realized Jennie was it for me, all I wanted to be was the person who made her happy. Who surprised her, made her smile."
For the first time, my mother looks at Lisa. She returns her stare and tells her in a determined voice, "I still want to be that person. I still think I can be. And I hope, one day, you'll think that too."
After a moment, Lisa stands and goes back to making breakfast at the counter.
I wait, watching, as my mother continues to sit at the table, silent and unmoving. Isn't that what every parent wants to hear? That the singular goal of the person their child loves is to make them happy? I can't believe she's not moved by Lisa's words.
She says, "You're doing that wrong."
Lisa stops whisking and turns to my mother. "I am?"
She stands and takes the bowl from her hands. "Yes. If you stir too much, the pancakes will be heavy. Too thick. You need to mix it just enough to blend the ingredients." She gives Lisa a small smile. But it's enough. "I'll help you."
Slowly, Lisa smiles back. "That would be great. Thank you."
Yep—cue the warm and fuzzy. My heart melts just a little. Because every girl wants her mother to see the good in the person she loves.
I breeze into the kitchen. "Morning."
"Morning, honey. How are you feeling?" my mother asks.
"I'm good. Really good."
I walk up to Lisa, who kisses me softly and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "What are you doing up? Didn't you get my note?"
"I did. But I wanted to see what you were up to. How's it going?"
She winks. "We're getting there."
We stay in Greenville for another day before taking a late-night flight back to New York. First thing Saturday morning, we step over the threshold together into our apartment.
I glance around the living room as Lisa puts our bags in the corner. The apartment is freshly cleaned, sparkling, and smells of lemon-scented furniture polish. It looks exactly the same as when I walked out a week ago. Unchanged.
Practically reading my mind, Lisa offers, "I had the cleaning people come by."
I look down the hall toward the bathroom. "And the bonfire?"
We'd talked about Lisa's foray into pyromania. She said she'd burned a few pictures, but there are copies. Nothing was lost that can't be replaced.
Kind of poetic, don't you think?
Somberly, I tell her, "Lisa, we need to talk."
She regards me cautiously. "No conversation in the history of the world that started with that phrase has ever ended well. Why don't we sit down."
I sit on the couch. She takes the recliner and swivels to face me.
I get right to the point. "I want to move out."
She rolls my words around in her head as I brace myself for the argument that I know is coming.
But she just nods slightly. "You're right."
"I am?"
"Yeah, of course." She looks around the room. "I should have thought of this before. I mean, this is where your worst nightmare came true. Like the Amityville Horror house—who the hell would want to live there?"
She's taking this much better than I thought. Until she continues, "My sister has a great real estate agent. I'll call her right away. We can stay at the Waldorf if you want, until we find a new place. In this market, it shouldn't take long."
"No, Lisa—I said I want to move out. Alone. I want to get my own apartment."
Her brow furrows. "Why would you want to do that?"
You're probably wondering the same thing. I've been thinking about it, planning it out in my head, since I decided I wanted to keep the baby, with or without Lisa. Because there are different kinds of dependence. I've always wanted to be financially secure, and now I am. But I've never been emotionally independent. On my own. And at this point in my life, it's something I want.
If only to prove to myself that I'm capable of it.
"I've never lived by myself. Did you know that?"
Still bewildered, she says, "O-kay?"
"First year of undergrad, I lived in the dorms. Then Chu, Kai, and I and a bunch of other people got a place off campus. After that, it was always me and Kai or me, Chu, and Kai sharing a house or an apartment. And then, I moved in here with you."
Lisa leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "What's your point, Jennie?'
"My point is, I've never not had someone to come home to. I've never decorated or bought a piece of furniture without consulting someone. I'm twenty-seven years old, and I've practically never slept alone."
She opens her mouth to argue, but I go on, "And... I think you made a valid point about us rushing into things. We went from a weekend hook-up to living together overnight."
"And look how great that turned out! I know what I want, and I want you. There was no point in waiting, because—"
"But maybe there would've been a point in waiting, Lisa. Maybe we would've had a stronger foundation to our relationship if we had just... dated... for a while before moving in together. Maybe, if we had gone slower, none of this would've happened."
She's annoyed. And a little panicked. She's trying to hide it, but it's there.
"You said you forgave me."
"I have. But... I haven't forgotten."
She shakes her head. "That's just chick-speak for you're going to hang this shit over my head for the rest of our lives!"
She's got a point. I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a small part of me that wants to drive the point home—that she can't treat me any way she wants to. That there are consequences to her actions.
That if she ever screws up again, I can—and will—leave her.
But it's not just about that.
"You want to redecorate?" she asks. "Be my guest. You want to paint the walls pink and put fucking unicorn sheets on the bed? I won't say a word."
Now I'm shaking my head. "I need to know I can do this, Lisa. For me. And... when our son or daughter moves out on their own, I want to know what that feels like, so I can help them."
At this point, I expect Lisa to agree to pretty much anything I want her to.
Women know when they have the upper hand. You know what I mean. The days after your husband forgot your anniversary, or your boyfriend spent one too many hours at the bar with his boys watching the game. The days following an argument, when the win is in the female's column, are peaceful. Loving. Men go out of their way to be thoughtful and considerate. They put their shoes in the closet, take out the garbage without being asked, and remember to put the seat up before they pee.
So although I realize Lisa's not going to be happy with my reasoning, I imagine she'll still be understanding and helpful.
"Well, that's fucking stupid!"
Not exactly what I'd imagined.
I cross my arms over my chest. "Not to me, it's not."
She jumps to her feet. "Then you're insane!" She pushes a hand through her hair and regains her composure.
When she speaks, her words are calm, reasonable; the level-headed businesswoman making her pitch. "Okay... let's agree the last few days have been pretty emotional. And you're pregnant—you're not thinking clearly. When Rosé was pregnant she wanted to chop all her hair off, Miley Cyrus style. The hairdresser talked her out of it, and in the end she was glad. So... let's put a tack in this idea... and revisit it later."
I sigh. "This will be good for us. We'll still see each other every day, but a little time apart, some space..."
"You told your mother you didn't need space. That we needed to be frigging together to work through this."
"That was then," I say with a shrug. Then I go for the old reliable, "If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it's yours."
She pinches the bridge of her nose. "So... you're going to prove you're never going to leave me... by leaving me?"
"No. I'm going to prove I'll never leave you... by coming back to you."
Lisa pulls the front of her pants away from her waist and looks down. "Nope—still got a dick. Which explains a lot, because your reasoning would only make sense to someone."
I roll my eyes. And Lisa presses on, "You're fucking pregnant, Jennie! We're having a baby. Now is not the time to take a step back and figure out if you want to be in a relationship!"
I take her hand and sit her down next to me on the couch. "Do you remember everything you did, before I moved in here? The flowers, the balloons, the Sister B pep talk, the home office overhaul—they were beautiful gestures. Showing me how much you wanted me, and how willing you were to change your life for me."
I look down at our joined hands. "But they also made for an offer I couldn't refuse. No woman could. And I think part of you believes that you manipulated me into moving in with you. That if you hadn't pestered me and laid it on so thick, I never would have chosen you."
"You wouldn't have."
"See what I mean? And that's just not true. It may have taken time for me to trust you again, to believe that you were ready for a relationship, but I would have. I still would have been in love with you and wanted a life with you, because of who you are. Not because of the things you did for me. This will fix that, Lisa. So you'll never doubt why I'm with you."
She takes her hand back and rubs it over her face. "So... you want to pay for an apartment, pack up all your stuff, buy furniture, go to all the trouble of relocating... just to prove to me and to yourself that you can? Knowing that at some point, you're just going to move back in with me anyway?"
"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous."
"Yes! Thank you. Take out all the emo psychobabble bullshit and it is ridiculous!"
"No—it's not. Because, later, when we decide to live together again, we'll be on equal footing. It won't be you making room in your life for me—it'll be us making a decision together. For all the best reasons."
She looks away toward the door, thinking. Then she turns back to me. "No. I'm sorry, Jennie: I want to make you happy, I do. But I can't support something that's so pointless. I won't agree with it. I won't. Just—no."
She crosses her arms and pouts. Like a two-year-old refusing to move until she gets her way.
There was a time, not so long ago, that her refusal would have swayed me. That I would've let her opinion become my opinion. That I would've given in for the sake of our relationship and my sanity.
But not anymore.
I stand up. "I'm doing this, Lisa, with or without you. I really hope it can be with you."
Then I walk down the hall to the bedroom.
I stand in the middle of the room for a few minutes, remembering. Some of the most wonderful, and romantic, moments of my life have taken place in this room.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to miss it.
But I'm firm in my belief that my moving out will be good for us. That, at some point, it will make the difference between us crumbling under the weight of our own passion and stubbornness or becoming an even stronger pair than we were before.
I just wish Lisa would see it that way.
With a sigh, I move to the closet to get my luggage. I only took one small bag with me when I left a week ago, so there are a lot of clothes to be packed. I spot the large beige leather suitcase on the top shelf.
Walk-in closet shelves really weren't designed with the petite in mind. I stretch on my tippy-toes, trying to grasp the handle. I consider getting a chair from the other room, but I try jumping for it first.
As I bend my knees for my second attempt, I hear Lisa come up behind me. She reaches over my head, easily taking hold of the suitcase, and brings it down.
"You shouldn't stretch your arms over your head. It's not good for you... for the baby." She walks out of the closet and lays the suitcase on the bed.
"How do you know that?" I ask as I trail behind her.
She shrugs. "When Rosé was pregnant, I read a lot. I wanted to be prepared in case she went into labor at a family function, or if we got stuck in a cab together during rush-hour traffic."
She unzips the bag and adds, "I would've had to gouge my fucking eyeballs out afterward, of course, but it would've been worth it."
I smile.
She takes me by the shoulders and sits me down on the edge of the bed. "Just... put your feet up. Rest."
Then she turns toward the dresser and takes a stack of my T-shirts out of the drawer, placing them neatly in the suitcase. She doesn't look at me as she works.
"You're helping me pack?"
She nods stiffly. "Yep."
"But you still don't want me to move out?"
"Nope."
"And... you still think it's a stupid idea?"
"Yep. You don't have many stupid ideas—but even if you did, this would be the dumbest of them all."
She takes another pile from the drawer as I ask, "Then why are you helping me?"
She drops the pile in the bag and makes eye contact. And her face says everything that she's feeling—frustration, resignation... devotion.
"In the last two years, I've probably told you a dozen times that I would do anything for you." She shrugs. "It's time I put up or shut up."
And this... this is why I love her. I suspect it's why you love her too.
Because despite her faults and flaws, Lisa is bold enough to give me everything she's got. To put her heart on the chopping block and hand me the ax.
She'll do things she hates, just because I ask her to. She'll go against her instincts and better judgment, if it's what I need. She puts her well-being, her happiness, second to my own.
I stand up, wrap my arms around her neck, and press my lips to her. A moment later, my feet leave the floor and her hand buries in my hair. Her mouth captures my moan as she presses me closer.
I pull back and tell her, "You're amazing."
She gives me a soft smirk. "That is the general consensus."
I smile. "And I love you."
She sets my feet on the floor but keeps her arms around my waist. "Good. Then you're going to let me put three locks on the door of whatever apartment you decide to move into. And a chain. And a dead bolt."
I smile wider. "Okay."
Lisa slowly steps forward, backing me up toward the bed.
"And you're not going to bitch when I have a security system installed."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
We take another step together, almost like we're dancing.
"I'm thinking about buying you one of those 'I've fallen and I can't get up' necklaces too."
My eyes squint as I pretend to think about the idea. "We'll talk about it."
"And... you're going to let me walk you home from work every night."
"Yes."
The back of my legs make contact with the bed frame.
"I'm also going to come to every doctor's appointment with you."
"I didn't for a second imagine you wouldn't."
Lisa cups my face in her hands. "And one day, I'm going to ask you to marry me. And you're going to know it's not because you're pregnant, or because of some misguided attempt to keep you."
Tears spring into my eyes as we gaze at each other.
In a rough voice, she continues, "You're going to know I'm asking because nothing would make me prouder than to be able to say, 'This is my wife, Jennie.' And when I do ask, you're going to say yes."
When I nod, one tear trails down my cheek. Lisa wipes it away with her thumb as I promise, "It's a sure thing."
And then she's kissing me, with all the passion and desire she's held in check the last two days. Lisa cradles my head as we fall on the bed together. Then I arch up, and heat spreads across my stomach and down my thighs as I rub myself against where she's already hard and ready.
Resting her elbows on the bed above my shoulders, Lisa lifts her head and pants, "So... is this make-up sex... or break-up sex? Because I have really fantastic ideas for either one."
I open my legs wider, nestling Lisa between them. "It's definitely make-up sex, maybe a little bit of take-a-break sex. And a whole lot of last-day-in-the-apartment sex. That's a lot to cover—so it's going to take a really, really long time."
Lisa smiles. And it's her boyish, delighted smile—one of my favorites—that only comes out on very special occasions.
"I adore the way you think."
And we don't leave the bed for the rest of the day.
