JENNIE

"Mother, who is paying for the funeral?" I ask.

I don't want to come off as insensitive or rude, but I have no living grandparents, and both of my parents were born as lone children. I know my mother can't afford a funeral, especially for my father, and I worry that she has taken this on just to prove a point to her friends at church.

I don't want to wear this black dress that Mother bought me, I don't want to wear these black, high-heeled shoes that she surely can't afford, and most of all I don't want to see my father buried.

My mother hesitates; the tube of lipstick in her hand floats just above her lips as she makes eye contact with me in the mirror. "I don't know."

I turn to her in disbelief—I mean, if I could muster enough energy for the feeling to actually be called disbelief. Maybe it's more like numb curiosity. "You don't know?" I watch her. Her eyes are swollen, the evidence that she has been taking his death harder than she will ever admit.

"We don't need to be discussing financials, Ruby Jane," she scolds, ending the conversation by walking off into the living room.

I nod in agreement, not wanting to start a fight with her. Not today.

Today will be hard enough. I feel selfish and a little twisted that I can't bring myself to understand what he was thinking when he pushed that last needle into his vein. I know he was an addict, and he was only doing what he'd spent years doing, but I still can't wrap my mind around what it would take to do that, knowing how deadly it is.

In the last three days since seeing Lisa, I have began to get my sanity back. Not completely, and part of me is terrified that I'll never be the same again.

She's been staying at the Porters' house for the last three nights. This was a massive surprise to me, and to Mr. and Mrs. Porter, I'm sure; they surely haven't spent much time around anyone who doesn't have a membership to the country club in town. I would have loved to have seen the expression on Mrs. Porter's face when Kai brought Lisa home to stay with them. I can't imagine Lisa and Kai getting along well, or at all, so I know how hurt Lisa must have been by my rejection if she was willing to take Kai up on his hospitality.

The heavy weight of my grief is still there, still hiding behind the barrier of nothingness. I can feel it pushing at the wall, trying desperately to ruin me and push me over the edge. I was terrified that after Lisa's breakdown, the pain would win, but I am thankful that it's been the opposite.

It's an odd thing, knowing that she's so close to this house but she hasn't tried to come by. I need the space, and Lisa usually isn't good at giving me space. Then again, I never wanted it before. Not like this. A knock on the front door has me adjusting my black tights faster, and I glance in the mirror one last time.

I lean in closer, examining my eyes. Something about them is different that I can't quite describe . . . they look harder? Sadder? I'm not sure, but they match the pathetic excuse for a smile I try to give. If I weren't half-mad, I would be more concerned about the difference in my appearance.

"Jennie Ruby Jane!" my mother calls in annoyance just as I reach the hallway.

Given the sound of her voice, I expect to see Lisa. She's given me the space I've asked for, but I suspected that she would come by today, the day of my father's funeral. But when I turn the corner, my body freezes; I'm surprised, pleasantly so, to see in the front doorway none other than Rosé.

When her eyes meet mine, she looks unsure of herself, but when I feel my lips turning into a grin, her face splits into a bright smile—the one I love, the one where her tongue appears between her teeth and her eyes shine.

I invite her in. "What are you doing here?" I ask right as my arms wrap around her neck. She hugs me, too tight, and I cough dramatically before she lets up.

She grins. "Sorry, it's been a while." She laughs, and my mood is instantly brightened by the sound. I haven't been thinking of her—I feel almost guilty that her face hasn't entered my mind once in the last few weeks—

but I'm glad she's here. Her presence is a reminder that the world hasn't stopped since my incredible loss.

My loss . . . I don't want to admit even to myself which loss has been harder for me to cope with.

"It has," I say. Then the reason for the distance between Rosé and me pops into my mind, interrupting our greeting, and I cautiously look past her out the front door. The last thing I need is a brawl on my mother's perfectly groomed lawn.

"Lisa is here. Well, not here in this house, but she's a few doors down."

"I know." Rosé doesn't look the least bit intimidated despite their history.

"You do?"

My mother gives me a quizzical look, then disappears into the kitchen to leave Rosé and me alone. My mind begins to catch up with the realization that Rosé is here. I haven't called her—how could she have known about my father? I suppose it's remotelly possible it could have been on the news and online, but even so, would Rosé have noticed that?

"She called me." At Rosé's words my head snaps up so I can look into her eyes. "Lisa. She's the one who told me to come here and see you. You disconnected your phone, so I had to take her word for it."

I'm not sure what to say to that, so I just look at Rosé silently, trying to figure out the secret math involved here.

"That's okay, right?" She reached out an arm, but stops short of actually touching me. "You don't mind me coming here, do you? I can go, if it's too much for you. She just said you needed a friend, and I knew it had to be bad if she was calling me, out of all people." Rosé ends with a little laugh, but I know she's being serious.

Why would Lisa call her instead of Jisoo? Actually, Jisoo is on her way here anyway, so why would Lisa request Rosé to come to me?

I can't help but feel that this is some sort of setup, as if Lisa is testing me in some way. I hate the idea of that, that she would do that type of thing right now, but she's done worse. I can't allow myself to forget that

she's done worse things, and there is always some sort of motive behind her actions. She always has an angle, a hidden equation to how she approaches me. I'm more hurt than anything by her proposal of marriage. She'd denied me the chance of marriage since the beginning of our relationship, only to bring it up twice—two times when she wanted something. Once when she was too drunk to know what she was saying, and once in an attempt to make me stay. If I had woken up next to her the next morning, she would have taken it back just like before. Like she always does. She's been nothing but broken promises since I've met her, and the only thing worse than being with someone who doesn't believe in marriage is being with someone who would marry me only to win a momentary victory, not because she truly wants to be my husband.

I need to remember that, or I will keep having these ridiculous thoughts. These thoughts that sneak in throughout my days of Lisa in a tuxedo. The image causes me to laugh, and tuxedo Lisa quickly shifts into jeans and boots, even on her wedding day, but I think I would be okay with that.

Would have been. I have got to stop these fantasies; they're not helping my sanity. Another one creeps in, though. This time Lisa is laughing, holding a glass of wine . . . and I notice a silver wedding band on her ring finger. She's laughing loudly, her head tilted back in that charming way.

I push it back.

Her smile creeps through, a vision of her spilling wine on her white Tshirt. She would probably insist on wearing white, instead of the usual black, just to humor herself and horrify my mother. She would gently push my hands away as I patted the stain with a napkin. She would say something like "Should have known better than to wear white anyway."

And she would laugh and bring my fingers to her lips, kissing each fingertip softly. Her eyes would linger on my wedding ring, and a proud smile would take over her face.

"Are you all right?" Rosé's voice breaks through my pitiful thoughts.

"Yeah." I shake my head to rid the perfect image of Lisa smiling at me as I approach Rosé. "I'm sorry, I'm a little out of it lately."

"That's okay. I would be worried if you weren't." She wraps a comforting arm around my shoulders.

When I think about it, I shouldn't be surprised that Rosé came all the way here to support me. The more I think of it, the more I remember. She was always there, even when I didn't need her to be. She was in the background, always in Lisa's shadow.