JENNIE
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"Hey, babe!" JK strolls with a client toward the free weights.
My eyebrows peak in a subtle acknowledgment as I take a swig of water. There are a few perks to dating a guy who manages a gym, like free membership. This means I have access to the locker rooms—specifically the showers.
Not everyone can have someone give them a rock each day with something they love about you written on it. And not every girl gets to have a bounce house for her birthday party either, but that's stuff for a therapist to deal with when I can afford one.
JK doesn't let me spend the night after we have sex. If I ask to shower, he'll get suspicious. If I flat-out tell him I'm homeless at the moment, he'll dump me. JK constantly brags about my creativity, hard work ethic, strength, and independence. I like who he thinks I am, and I realize that's messed up since it's a little misleading at the moment. His vision of me is a goal, and I could use a goal to work toward. Photographer. Travel blogger. Homeowner. A moderately put-together human being.
My dream of finding an unconditionally loving man to marry seems to wane a little more each day. I want everything my mother never had—love, emotional security, and a partner in life.
After working out for an hour to justify my shower, I head toward the women's locker room with a good ninety minutes to spare before I need to be at the Manobans' house. That extra half-hour Lisa requested might be a blessing.
"You'll have to run home to shower, babe," JK says from behind me.
I turn and release my hair from its ponytail. "Why?"
He leans down and kisses me while sliding his hand over my ass, giving it a firm squeeze. "Because they just put a new layer of sealant on the grout, and it can't get wet for twenty-four hours."
"Well, that's inconvenient. I have to get to work, and going home is a little out of my way."
"You clean houses, Jen. I'm not sure why you need to shower until you're done with work anyway."
I hold out my hand. "Give me the key to your place and let me go shower there." He lives two blocks from the gym.
JK smirks, scratching his jaw. He's a massive man, a total gym rat with a closely shaven head and a few tattoos on his biceps and chest. He's sexy and protective. Some days he's even a little generous, so I can overlook the parts of him that aren't the Lisa Manoban Gold Standard.
JK clucks his tongue several times while shaking his head. "I have a rule: no one in my shower unless I'm in it too."
I guess this isn't a generous day. That stinks … and so do I.
"Fine. Let's go to your place and shower together." I cross my arms over my chest and push up my cleavage.
He takes instant notice. "I'm working, babe."
"You're the boss. You can run a quick errand."
"Can't," he says while his gaze remains glued to my chest.
"Sure? Because I'm feeling very generous." My tongue makes a slow swipe along my bottom lip.
"How generous?"
I remind myself that he is my boyfriend, and I do love our sex life, so offering sex in exchange for a shower is not the worst sacrifice. I'm just pissed off that he won't hand over his key and let me grab a quick shower at his place without getting something in return.
Glancing at my watch, I frown. "Anything you want. Yes or no, JK?"
"Meet you in five."
Men. So predictable.
I beat him to his place, but by the time I step off the elevator, he's pushing through the stairway door after sprinting up the three flights.
"That's just lazy, babe." He rolls his eyes before unlocking his door.
I return the eye roll, stepping into his meticulously clean apartment. The funny thing about me? I clean homes, but the rest of my life is chaos. Even when I had a place to live, it was a disaster. How can one be good at cleaning houses yet live amongst such clutter? It requires a unique talent.
"I don't have much—" Time … I think as his mouth crashes into mine before he gets the door closed behind us. We turn into a tornado of limbs and discarded clothes as we stumble our way to the bathroom.
"JK …" I reach toward the shower, trying to turn it on. I do, in fact, have a limited amount of time. And despite his belief that my job is dirty and, therefore I can arrive at my clients' homes sweaty and smelly, that's not my level of professionalism.
He pulls away from me and smirks. "You said anything I want."
"As long as it's quick. I have to work."
His head bobs side to side. "It can be quick, but I'm not sure you'll want it to be quick."
Things don't go as I imagine, but he does cup my face and says, "I love you," for the first time. A curious moment to profess his love to me.
I bite my tongue because the ego's favorite meal is dignity. After JK gets his anything promise fulfilled, my ego sinks its teeth into a big piece of my dignity. Strong people don't always make the right decisions; they excel at moving on from the bad ones. I know I should be honest with him, but I can't. Not yet.
It's not that I don't want him feeling sorry for me. That's not why I don't tell him about my homeless status. It's because I know he won't feel sorry for me. He'll feel sorry for himself. JK's much too cool to have a homeless girlfriend.
I should leave him, and I should salvage what's left of my dignity. But … I need a shower. And I need that gym membership because this won't be the last shower I need while I sort through my financial situation. So as much as I want to tell JK that I'm living out of my car …
Because I lost my trailer.
Because I have a shit-ton of medical bills.
And because I have epilepsy.
I just don't.
I don't trust him to care that much.
I don't trust him to do the right thing.
I don't trust his kind of love.
After taking it up the backside (literally), I'm rewarded with a quick shower and no conditioner. JK waits at the door, sipping a sports drink—his proverbial cigarette. He wears smug better than most men. It's not his fault I'm a hot mess who did promise anything for a shower.
"Can I buy you dinner tomorrow night?"
I think that's the least he can do after I just bartered the integrity of my anal sphincter for a shower.
Forcing a smile, I draw in a confident breath. "Dinner sounds nice. Your place?"
Sex.
Shower.
Maybe I'll get to spend the night too … since he loves me now.
"I could do dinner tonight if you want." I head toward the stairs, knowing there's no way he'll take the elevator with me.
"I'm going out with some friends. Don't you have friends to hang out with?"
No. I don't have friends.
I left my friends behind when I cut ties with my mom and moved to Atlanta. And my friends from college have moved away to use their degrees. Mine resides somewhere in the back of my car, the most expensive piece of paper I have ever purchased. JK would know this if he spent time asking me about myself. I know everything about him. I could fill out his family tree and recite his resumé. If he ever introduces me to his friends, I'll know them by name on sight because I've asked JK so many questions over our three months together.
Three. Months.
Really … we should know each other.
"Of course, I have friends." I jog stiffly down the stairs. "I've told you all about them a million times."
"I know, babe. Just kidding."
Yeah, he loves me so much.
Before we part ways in the parking lot, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me while one of his hands slides to my ass and squeezes it. He smiles, releasing my lips, and I know what he's thinking.
It's not happening again. Ever.
"Message me the time and place for dinner tomorrow." I peel his hand from my ass and plaster on a fake smile.
"Sure thing, babe."
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I arrive at nine forty-five instead of nine-thirty.
"Late on your first day?" Lisa eyes me sternly as I step into the entry and remove my shoes.
"I'm really sorry. It won't happen again." I cringe. "The showers at my gym were not available for use this morning, so I had to shower at my boyfriend's apartment, which was a pain in the ass, and it put me a little behind." If she only knew just how much truth I'm giving her in that one sentence.
"I was kidding. It's fine. Maybe just call or send me a message if it happens again so we don't worry about you."
God … I hope it never happens again. And worry? It takes a minute to find the right words because she's caught me off guard. I've never had anyone worry about me.
"Absolutely." I swallow past the tiny lump in my throat. "And, again, I'm very sorry. So …" I blow out a long breath. "Do you have a preference as to where I start?"
"We'll be in the jungle, so start wherever. All the supplies are in the kitchen, including the hose and heads to the central vac."
"Cool. Thanks. I'll get to work then."
"Great, Jennie." She again accentuates my name.
I chuckle, fixing my ratty, damp ponytail. "You really can call me Jen."
"I could." Lisa has the most wickedly playful smile, but it's also kind. She has no idea how much I need some genuine kindness right now.
"How's Chaeng today?"
"Tired. She had her last chemo treatment yesterday. It was a rough night, but she's a little better this morning."
I'm so young, and my lack of response proves it. There is no easy way to talk about cancer with someone who is going through it themselves or living through the suffering of a loved one. All the idiomatic phrases that would fit something like a bad cold or the flu don't work with cancer.
Hope she gets better soon.
Have you given her chicken noodle soup?
She's got this!
This, too, shall pass.
It is what it is.
"I don't know what to say," I respond in a soft voice and shy shrug. That's my truth, and I hope it doesn't sound insensitive.
She shakes her head. "There's really nothing to say. It is what it is."
Okay, so she can say it without it sounding horrible, but I still won't utter those words around her or Chaeng.
"Anyway, I'll let you get to work. I'd hate for you to do a perfunctory job because I made you run later than you're already running." She grins, so I know she's kidding, sorta kidding.
Perfunctory. I grin. "Yes, ma'am, Ms. Manoban." Then I salute her and make my way to the kitchen.
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After I thoroughly clean all the bedrooms, bathrooms, and office, I finish in the kitchen.
"You are still here and looking cute as a button in your high-rise jeans and ruffled blouse. Too nice to be cleaning my house."
I glance over my shoulder, pausing my pink-gloved hands that have been scrubbing the sink.
Rosé climbs onto one of the stools at the kitchen island.
"Hi. Well, I wear leggings and tees to work out. If I don't wear these clothes to work, I'll spend every day in activewear, and that would be depressing."
My mom wore old, shitty, unmatched clothes. She preferred drugs to cute jumpsuits or matching socks for that matter. So many of my choices in life are a mix of conscious and subconscious fuck-you's to her.
"I feel ya," Chaeng says. "Sometimes I shower, do my makeup, and throw on something cute just to feel … alive. Feminine. Desirable. Lounge pants and oversized hoodies can get a little depressing."
I nod slowly. "Um … where's Lisa? Are you okay? Do you need anything?"
She tips her chin to the right. "That cabinet with the glass doors and the china?"
I point to it.
"Yes. The second drawer beneath it has placemats and cloth napkins. Under those is a box of Cap'n Crunch. Could you get it for me?"
After processing her request, I peel off my gloves and thoroughly wash my hands. Then I retrieve the hidden box of cereal and set it on the island in front of her.
"Thank you, Jen." She shakes a small amount onto the white and gray granite.
"Do you want a bowl? Milk? A spoon?"
"Nope. I'm good. Want some?" She slides five or six pieces of cereal across the counter.
"Uh … I'm …"
"Come on, don't make a dying woman sneak cereal alone." She flashes me an irresistible grin while tossing a few pieces into her mouth.
I mirror her expression and pop a few into mine. "Where is Lisa, and why are we sneaking cereal?"
"Lisa ran to the store and the pharmacy. Despite how she coddles me, insisting I take it easy all day, I'm functional. She has work tomorrow. My sister, Alice, takes me to my appointments and keeps an eye on me when Lisa's gone."
"What does Lisa do?" I shove my hands back into the pink latex gloves.
"She's a pilot. Most days, she can return home. So it's only a handful of times each month that she's gone overnight. Seniority has been a godsend."
A pilot. I can only picture her in sweats and a tee, not a captain's uniform.
"And you? What do you do?" I bite my lips together. "Sorry. Of course, you're …"
Sick?
Dying?
She pours more cereal onto the counter. "I was a flight attendant, and that's how I met Lisa. We had known each other for years before we ended up together. When we met … I was with someone else."
My eyebrows inch up my forehead. I think this might be a good story.
Popping more cereal into her mouth, she smirks. "It's not as forbidden as it sounds. Lisa is five years younger than me. I didn't give her a second look when we met because I was over the moon for my first love … Tara. My first soul mate."
She lets me blink slowly for several seconds before smirking. "Love is fluid for me. Ya know?"
I nod. Maybe I don't know it precisely as Chaeng knows it, but I understand love comes in many forms. Sadly, I've felt very little love in my life, not even a mother's love.
Chaeng's smile wanes. "Tara died of an aneurysm. Just … poof …" Her gaze stays affixed to the cereal. "We had breakfast together. Oatmeal. Berries. Coffee. I kissed her goodbye and headed to the airport. When I landed in Boston that afternoon, I got a call from her boss. An hour after returning from lunch, she …" Tears glisten in her eyes. "Well … it was fast." Chaeng clears her throat. "And that's how we all deserve to go. My biggest fear isn't dying; it's suffering. It's comforting to believe that Tara didn't suffer."
"I'm sorry," I whisper. I should be working, scrubbing, and thoroughly doing my job, but I can't move. Rosé mesmerizes me, and it's hard to explain. I feel like she thrives on optimism while still keeping reality in focus. But I'm not sure anyone dies quickly from cancer like an aneurysm bursting. And that makes me sad for her.
"Everyone said a year plus one day. That's how long I needed to grieve Tara before I'd be ready to move on—whatever that really meant. I took a week off work, and I did nothing but look through every photo we'd ever taken together. Some days I didn't get out of bed; I just stared at photos. An unbearable empty, hollow feeling in my chest. Then I slept so I could dream of us. She never dies in my dreams." When Chaeng glances up at me, I don't blink. I can't. "When my time off ended, I packed up all the pictures and put them in a box. All the recent photos on my computer went into a folder on my hard drive. I donated her things, put on my big girl pants, and went back to work. It was a step forward. Sure, I looked back. I still look back. But I took a step. I moved on. A year plus a day, my ass. I don't think love is expressed through wasted time. What a waste of time to sulk for that long. Sorry … I know I sound insensitive. Everyone's needs are different. But it pissed me off that everyone else thought they knew what was best for me. Ya know?"
I nod slowly. It's the only thing I seem to be able to do.
"When I die," she continues, "I want Lisa to give herself a week. Hell, I'd like her to walk away from my grave the day of the funeral and just get on with life, but that's probably too much to ask. A week is good. After that, I want her to walk out the front door in her uniform, get on a plane, and never look back."
"You don't think the chemo is working?"
"At this point, it's like trying to drive across the country on one tank of gas. I'll go a while, but I won't make it the whole way. Even Lisa knows it's when and not if."
"Are you scared?" I whisper.
"No." Her face relaxes, and it calms me—but only a bit.
I don't know why I'm afraid for her; I just am. It's probably because I've thought about my own mortality since the epilepsy diagnosis. Nobody knows how many tanks of gas they have to make it to wherever their final destination is in life.
"Tara is waiting for me. And as crazy as it sounds, my believing that is comforting to Lisa too."
"She's not jealous? It doesn't make her feel like Tara was the love of your life and she's second place?"
Closing the box of cereal, Rosé winks at me. "I know you're young, but I'm going to give you a spoiler alert to life. Soulmates are not S O L E mates. Without one, we are not alone. Many souls feed our own. Humans are interchangeable puzzle pieces; we fit into more than one space. I fit with Tara. And I fit with Lisa. I've never had children. Still, I imagine it's how a mother can love all her children equally, even if differently. I don't love Lisa more or less than I loved Tara. I love her differently."
"Well, she's lovable. She told me about the stones in that jar, and that's …" I shake my head.
Emotion fills her eyes. "I know."
"But you …" I grin, trying to keep her from crying. "You're artsy."
"What? No. I'm not." She laughs, wiping the corners of her eyes.
"Yes. You are." I turn and start scrubbing the sink again. "I'm not sure what I'm doing most days, but I know who I am. I am an artist—an artist who loves photography. That's my true passion, so I feel like I recognize fellow artists. Maybe you don't design clothes, sculpt, paint, or take photographs like me, but you see emotions. And emotions are invisible. Artists take the intangible things in life and give them form—give them life. You just made the idea of soulmates tangible for me with your words." I laugh a little. "It's a huge weight off my conscience to know that I'm not looking for the soulmate, just a soulmate."
Chaeng nods a few times. "But don't rush it," she says. "We tend to fall in love with love. Don't settle. Even when Lisa got up the courage to pursue me after Tara died, I made her work for it. Even after she had full custody of my heart, I made her continue to work for it."
After rinsing out the sink, I turn and peel off my gloves again. "The way she looks at you…" I shake my head "…well, I can't imagine how amazing that must feel."
A sad smile pulls at her dry lips. "Mmm … indescribable. That's just Lisa. She gives a hundred and ten percent to everything she does. Her job. Her friendships. Her marriage."
I twist my lips. "I'm glad I can give her more time to be with you."
"Well …" She rolls her eyes. "A dirty house isn't keeping her from me. You're feeding her need for control and order, so in a way, she's using you as an extension of herself. Lisa can't save me, so she will make sure she can do everything else. A clean house will not grant me one more day than what I'm probably predestined to live."
"Can I ask …" I pause a second.
"Ask me anything."
Trapping my lower lip between my teeth, I nod slowly. "How much time do you have?"
She shrugs. "You can ask, but I can't answer that."
"They didn't give you any idea?"
"No. They did. I should have been dead six months ago."
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