LISA

..

..

I need a few minutes.

As much as I want to stay in bed with Jennie all day, especially after going so long without seeing her, I need a few minutes to sort through my thoughts.

Easing out of bed, I snatch my clothes from the floor, grab a shower, and brew a pot of coffee. It's been a year, and I thought the memories of Rosé sitting at the kitchen table, gazing out at her garden with such pride, would have faded a little. They haven't.

The memories haven't faded. My love for her has not faded.

But I've miraculously managed to develop strong feelings for Jennie. And these feelings for her don't feel wrong, but they feel like bad timing. We are in very different places in our lives, and while it sounds like the most cliché reason for a relationship not working, it's nonetheless a valid reason.

I'm settled into my life, into my job. Jennie's just started a grand exploration, a search for her dreams, a passionate journey that should absolutely be the number one priority in her life.

I don't want to be a distraction. I don't want to be the reason she settles for anything less than her dreams.

The door to the bathroom closes, bringing me out of my deep thoughts, and a few minutes later, Jennie peeks her head around the corner. I inspect her robe and wonder if she's wearing anything underneath it. Yeah, that's where my brain goes. If I could act like an animal reacting only on instinct, I'd lay her on this kitchen table and have my way with her before so much as a good morning.

I suppress the animal inside of me and opt for control.

"Morning," she says, giving me a shy grin that turns her cheeks pink as she pours a cup of coffee.

"Morning. How'd you sleep?" I sit up straight and nod to the chair. Rosé's chair.

Jennie stares at it for a few seconds. She's thinking the same thing. It's not just me. She has her own set of issues with Chaeng's things. Before I can say anything to ease her mind, she takes a seat, and it gives me a sense of relief that she's okay with it. "I slept well." She grins, digging her teeth into her lower lip. "You?"

I smirk, bringing my mug to my lips. "No complaints." After a sip, I set the mug on the table. "We have some catching up to do."

She nods, blowing at the steam from the coffee. "What have you been up to?"

I chuckle. "Working. You?"

My eyes narrow as I study the half-empty coffee mug in front of me. "I'm good. Work is good. My family is good."

"Are you happy?" she repeats.

With a slight grunt and a smile to cover up any pain that prompted the grunt, I lift a shoulder. "Honestly?"

She nods.

"I'm hesitant to say."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to hurt your feelings nor do I want to put pressure on you."

Taking in a shaky breath, Jennie puts on a brave face. "Okay … this is going to come out all jumbled, and I hope you don't take it the wrong way, but … I don't expect to magically make you happy like Chaeng didn't die. I think she wanted you to be you after she died. But she kind of made you who you were, her existence in your life. You were Lisa: pilot, friend, sister, daughter … and wife. And out of all those things, wife meant the most to you. How do you redefine yourself when what felt like the most important part of you no longer exists?"

After a few long moments, I whisper, "Maybe." It's like she reached into my fucking soul, grabbed every single emotion, and narrated them to me. I grab her hand and pull her toward me.

She surrenders, sitting on my lap so we're both looking out the window. I rest my chin on her shoulder and slide one hand to the inside of her robe where I discover she is, in fact, naked underneath it.

"Before you arrived home yesterday…" I release a long sigh "…I was struggling. I felt like the asshole who left you in Malaysia without anything concrete as to where we stood because I didn't know. I didn't expect those emotions to creep up on me and obliterate my sense of balance. Every day I've felt like something was missing. And the obvious answer seemed to be her. Maybe you're a little right. Maybe I miss the part of me she took with her. I've tried to figure it out. I just know that there have been days that I'm good, but not great. Content, but not necessarily happy. I'm grateful, but still a little resentful. Life is a new culinary concoction that I keep tasting, but it's always missing something. And no matter what I add, it's still not quite it."

"Lisa …"

"No." I hug her tighter with my lips at her ear because I need her to really hear my words, feel my words. "When I saw you yesterday after so long—too long—I realized it wasn't Rosé. She's not missing in my life. She's simply gone. You've been the one missing in my life. So if I tell you that, right now, I am deliriously happy, you'll feel responsible for my happiness. If I tell you I'm not happy, you'll feel responsible or even worse, hurt, by my lack of happiness after everything that's happened between us. So I can't win. It's an impossible question to answer."

"If you can't win, then just tell me the truth."

"I'm happy," I say without hesitation.

She releases a tiny sigh of relief.

"You're you," I continue. "I don't compare you to her. Not anymore. So don't ever think that. Don't ever think that you're living in her shadow or that you're not living up to who you think she was or my expectations. Just know that when I'm with you, happiness comes a lot easier. I'm just trying to figure out how to feel this way when you're not here because my therapist says I need to be my own source of happiness in order to share it with anyone else."

"Your therapist?" Jennie turns ninety degrees to look at my face.

I smirk. "Don't say it. I've heard enough I-told-you-so's from my family."

Her head eases side to side. "I never told you to see a therapist, so I can't say that. But I'm glad you're doing it."

I nod slowly. "Losing my wedding band was a wake-up call. I felt pretty messed up after I returned home from Malaysia."

"And now?"

"I'm better. Most days, I'm better."

"Does your therapist know you're screwing the maid?"

I laugh, tugging on the sash to her robe. "He knows about Malaysia."

"And?" She prompts me, greedy for more information.

"And he agrees that you're young and you need to live a little. And I need to work through my shit."

"Does he know we're married?" She narrows her eyes at me, but I'm too busy focusing on her naked body that I've just exposed.

"No," I reply.

"Does your family know about Malaysia?" She covers herself, tightening her sash and eliciting a frown from me.

I shoot her an are-you-kidding look. "They know you had a seizure and I went to Malaysia. But no, they don't know more than that. I'm not sure what I'd tell them. Chan called me last week. He wants to fix me up with a friend of his. I said no, of course."

"Why did you say no?"

Did I hear her right?

"Why would you ask me that?"

She offers me a fake smile. "I think you should live your life. Enjoy your life. You've … needs. I'm the woman who's rarely here. You've given me more, so much more than I could ever repay. You owe me nothing, least of all any sort of loyalty."

"That's a terrible answer," I blurt before she finishes her last word. Does she really feel like a conquest of mine? Like just any other woman? Does she really think what happened in Malaysia meant nothing? I'm … speechless. No, I'm gagged like a prisoner because I want to say all the words I'm thinking, but I refuse to be some needy fuck who holds her back in life.

Jennie shrugs before taking her mug to the sink. "It's the best I have to give you. I'm sure Chan has someone who is local, established in a career, and probably not epileptic. Bonus points for good health. Double bonus points if she's never lived out of her car."

"Just … stop. I'm not ready to date."

Jennie laughs, turning toward me and resting her backside against the counter, hands on the edge. "I was there last night … in bed, in case you've already forgotten. I'd say you're plenty ready to date."

For the record, I hate this conversation.

"That's different."

"Why?" Her head cocks to the side. "Because you didn't buy me dinner first?"

"Because it's you." I scratch my chin.

"Me? What does that matter?"

"You're my wife." The words are out. There's no reeling them back in. My biggest issue, one that I have not discussed with my therapist, is just how conflicted I am over having a wife. Do I love Jennie like a wife? No. I mean … I don't know. Do I love her at all? Jesus … I hope so. But the connection between my heart and my head feels damaged. The signals are not clear. They haven't been clear since Rosé was diagnosed with cancer. And when she died, I wasn't sure I'd ever feel again.

"No." Jennie's head whips back and forth. "I'm the woman you gave an insurance card to because you were ridiculously generous. You can't use the wife excuse when it's convenient. You've told me too many times that we don't have that kind of marriage."

"You know what I mean. You're different. The exception."

"Why?"

I shrug and gaze at the floor, eyes narrowed a smidge. "Because I can be with you without pretending that I'm perfectly okay. Because you and Rosé had something special. And it might not make sense to anyone else, but it makes sense to me, and I think it makes sense to you."

"Define sense? Because I'm trying to make sense of everything, and I'm struggling. I'm trying to figure out how to reconcile thinking about you all the time yet crawling into bed with some guy because that's what you want me to do. Right? I'm trying to figure out what it means to have sex with my wife, but not think of us as really married."

I bite my tongue until I'm certain it's bleeding. What do I expect from her? How do I make a case for my true feelings and not hold her back? It's impossible.

"I think you need a better therapist," she mutters before sauntering to the bathroom to shower.

..

..

..