JENNIE
..
..
Marriage hasn't changed Lisa at all, not that I expected it to change her. I'm sure the only way she can make this right in her head, so quickly after Chaeng's death, is to think of it as nothing more than a donation to a charity.
I'm the charity.
"Hey," she says, arriving home after being gone for four nights.
I glance up from the sofa with my computer on the arm of it and Harry Pawter on my lap. "Hey." It's hard to control my grin.
"Have you had dinner?"
"Yep. Pizza. There are leftovers in the fridge."
"Sounds perfect." She thumbs through the stack of mail on the credenza. "Look at this." She rips open an envelope and pulls out a card, holding it up for me to see.
I squint. "What am I looking at?"
"Your health insurance card. Let's get you scheduled with your doctor. Get your medication straight. And get you on the road to a normal life again."
"Driving. Get me driving again. My first hour's pay each day goes straight to paying for an Uber driver."
"Six months is six months … well, five now. A doctor can't speed that up, but keeping you on track will hopefully prevent it from happening again. Wouldn't you like that?" She winks at me with a smirk on her face before she turns and saunters toward the bedroom to change her clothes.
A few minutes later, Lisa retrieves the leftover pizza and a beer and comes back into the living room. "Happy birthday." She hands me a present wrapped in Black paper and a pink ribbon.
I try to bite my lip to keep from grinning like a fool. Too late. "How did you know it's my birthday?"
"Birth certificate at the courthouse." She sits on the opposite end of the sofa. Just her nearness makes my day exponentially better. Just thinking that makes my guilt exponentially worse.
Carefully unwrapping the gift, I peel open the lid.
"For all your traveling," she says, a prideful smile stealing her lips.
It's a carry-on bag with lots of compartments for more camera parts than I own—yet. "It's perfect. I love it. But you shouldn't have. You've already done way too much." Before I realize what I'm doing, my body stretches across the sofa, giving her a hug while she holds out her plate of pizza in one hand and her beer in her other hand.
"Oof … you're welcome."
Settling back into my spot, I wake up my computer and angle the screen. "I used to show these to Chaeng, and she'd roll her eyes and tell me to delete them."
Lisa sits up straighter, easing her head forward a fraction while squinting at the collage of photos, a half dozen candid shots of Chaeng.
Her in the recliner, gazing out the window with a dreamy expression on her face.
One of her in the garden, perched on her garden cart, sniffing a handful of basil while the tails of her head scarf blow in the wind.
A crooked-angled one of her hands braiding my hair—she called me obsessed when I lifted my camera over my head to shoot it.
"That one." Lisa points to the one of her … and Chaeng. "Can you make it bigger?"
I forgot it was in this collage until after I angled my screen to show her. With a quick double click, it enlarges to take up the whole screen. In the photo, Lisa's carrying her to the bedroom, the lights are dim, so it's almost a silhouette. I snapped it two days before Lisa called hospice.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "In hindsight, it feels like I shouldn't have taken it. Like the moment was private and not mine to record."
Lisa's head inches side to side. "It's … fine."
"The way you loved her … well, it made me believe in love."
She leans back into the sofa, and I close my computer.
For the next several minutes Lisa finishes her pizza, then she stands. "How do you feel about ice cream?"
"Uh …" I laugh. "I think it sounds cold."
"But necessary? After all, it's your birthday." She eyes me like I didn't just shove painful memories into her face.
My laugh breaks free into a nervous chuckle. "Sure …"
"Then let's go." She returns her dishes to the kitchen.
Ice cream?
I don't say another word. Lisa's sudden change in subject and desire to celebrate my birthday has piqued my curiosity.
Fifteen minutes later, we climb out of her car and approach the ice cream shop. It opened a few weeks before Chaeng died.
"I was going to bring her here, but …"
I nod. There's no need to elaborate.
She orders chocolate mint, and I get salted caramel. With our waffle cones in hand, we stroll down the sidewalk lined with stores, most of them closed for the night.
"Cute handbag," I say to a lady as she passes us with her tiny dog.
Her face lights up and her steps falter a bit. It's a black purse. Nothing fancy. Nothing special. "Thank you," she says.
"It wasn't cute," Lisa murmurs after the lady passes us.
"Doesn't matter." I shrug. "It's all about the bounce."
"The bounce?"
"Chaeng always complimented my clothes, my hair, handbags, even my smile. And I don't think all of it was worthy of recognition. But after she'd compliment me in some way, I'd have an extra bounce in my step. It's so easy to give someone a little bounce. So why the heck don't we do it more often? It took two seconds and virtually no energy to compliment that lady's handbag, but she'll have that extra bounce in her step for … well, potentially the rest of the night."
Lisa licks her ice cream, and we continue our walk. I wonder how she feels about me talking about Chaeng or showing her photos? Am I overstepping a boundary? Am I making it harder for her to move on?
"Cool shoes," Lisa says to a guy passing us.
I rub my lips together to restrain my grin.
The guy with scuffed, ordinary shoes glances down at said shoes before giving Lisa a half grin. "Thanks."
When the guy is out of earshot, I nudge Lisa's arm. "You're a natural."
She grins, keeping her gaze in front of us.
"Were you really having a hankering for ice cream? Feeling like my birthday couldn't end with pizza and a great gift? Or is this spur of the moment outing for a different reason? If you're having second thoughts about … what you did for me …" I can't say marriage. It's still too weird.
Lalisa Manoban is my wife. Nope. It will never feel real, probably because feelings aren't supposed to be part of the deal.
She finds a bench by the bus stop and takes a seat just as we say goodbye to the last rays of daylight. I sit on the other side, facing the opposite direction.
"A few days before she died, Rosé asked me for a favor," she says, keeping her gaze on the street while I focus on keeping up with my melting ice cream.
"What's that?"
"You're not going to like it, even though you should like it. But you're stubborn, so you'll fight it."
My head snaps to the side, eyes squinted. "I'm not stubborn."
A chuckle vibrates from her chest as she licks her ice cream. "You can't even say it without using a stubborn tone."
I clear my throat and frown, oblivious to whatever tone she thinks I used. "What am I not going to like?"
"Help. You don't like help, and that was Rosé's request."
"Was it her idea for you to marry me?" My tone is one of shock and dismay … in case she doesn't catch it.
"No. Well, not directly. She asked me to use some of her life insurance to pay off your bills."
"Bills? What bills?"
Her tongue swipes along her upper lip as she glances in my direction. "All of them."
"All of them?" Parroting her is my weak attempt at making sense of this, buying time for my brain to process what she really means.
"Student loans. Medical bills. I don't know if you have credit card bills, but—"
"I don't," I mumble. "You're not using her life insurance money to pay my bills."
"She adored you. And there really isn't a dollar amount I can put on how much you enhanced her quality of life over the summer. So let me do this because it's what she wanted … because it's what I want to do."
This is ridiculous. I didn't do anything that special. Chaeng did more for me than I ever did for her. I should be paying Lisa back for hiring me.
"I really think letting me live with you and … the other part you've done … is enough."
Again, she chuckles. "Other part? You mean the marriage?"
Holding my ice cream cone at my mouth, I return a tiny nod.
She sighs. "She really wanted this for you," she murmurs.
"Lisa, it's … it's close to a hundred thousand dollars. That's too much."
"It's not."
"Well, it is to me!" The regret is instant. Why did I snap at her? For being too generous?
Her brows inche up her forehead as she eyes me.
I deflate, averting my gaze to the glitching neon Closed sign in the yarn store window. "For years … I watched my mom give away pieces of herself for rent, for food, drugs, and alcohol. She wasn't a street-corner prostitute, but there was a bartering system. Some men stuck around for days … maybe weeks. Most stayed less than twenty-four hours, but she always got something in return. Even the men who left bruises on her body, gave her something. One guy busted open her lip, then he handed me a hundred-dollar bill before leaving the apartment. He said, 'Go buy your mom some ice for her face and grab yourself dinner while you're at it, sweetheart.'"
Lisa remains silent, allowing my focus to remain split between the past and that glitchy sign. "If I dig deep, beyond all the hideous things she's said and done, I suppose I have to give her credit for teaching me a few survival tricks."
"Like letting people help you when they offer?"
My head eases side to side. She has no idea that I've had very few people offer they kind of help. Well, nobody has ever offered they kind of help. "Like offering my ex-boyfriend anything in exchange for a shower at his apartment."
"Anything?" Lisa murmurs before clearing her throat.
Answering with a slow nod, I exhale a long breath. "Mind games. I convinced myself it was a small price to pay for something I needed. He was my boyfriend. I'm not a prude. So I took it up the backside, showered, and managed to get to work only fifteen minutes late." Risking a quick glance at her, I shrug.
Lisa's eyes narrow. "How did you take it up the backside?"
Pressing my lips together, my eyes widen. "Uh … slowly."
It takes a few seconds before realization hits her. "Oh … Jesus … you mean you literally took it up …"
My gaze falls to my lap. "Even then, I never thought I was like my mom. Nope. I first found a good boyfriend. Then I convinced myself that he would love me like no man had ever loved my mom. But…" I grunt a painful laugh "…the problem was I hadn't seen true love. Do you know how hard it is to find something you've never seen?"
"You've never felt love? Ever?"
Twisting my lips, my head inches side to side. "No. Well … that's not true. Not anymore. I've experienced kindness. And I've witnessed love." Again, my attention returns to her face. "You and Chaeng. Actually, before I met the two of you, I thought I knew what love was. Nope. Not even close."
"She loved you," she whispers.
Tears burn my eyes, so I blink several times and avert my gaze. "I know," I manage to say past the lump in my throat. "I loved her too."
"Then let me give you this."
"Give me what?"
"Financial freedom. She loved you. You loved her. I want to do this for her and for you. It's a no-brainer."
"It's too much. You need to save the money for retirement. Or buy something you've always wanted. Or—"
"Or do this for you. Technically, what's mine is yours. And what's yours is mine. I don't want to be in debt. So let's get the hell out of debt."
The confusion on my face only makes her grin swell. She shrugs one shoulder. "Georgia is a fifty-fifty state. You could divorce me and take half of my worth."
"L-Lisa … I would … never, like ever do that." The way I never ever considered a prenup before we got married. Was I naive? Was she? Was she completely irresponsible? What would her family think of her recklessness?
"I know," she says so matter-of-factly it makes my head spin.
Taking my crumpled cone sleeve to the trash by the yarn store door, I gnaw on the corner of my bottom lip and pivot just as she reaches around me to toss her napkin into the trash.
"I'll only agree to it if you acknowledge my need to repay you."
"Jenn—"
"No." I shake my head. "It's nonnegotiable. I'm already the biggest charity case that ever lived. I can't take a nearly six-figure handout with nothing more than a thank-you and a smile in return."
"Fine. Repay me." Her hands slide into her front pockets as she rocks back and forth on her feet.
Not expecting her quick, agreeable response, I struggle to find my next words. Finally, they come to me. "I could move out," I whisper. "With the insurance and no debt, I could afford a place of my own."
For a flash, not even a full second, something crosses her face—a shadow of doubt, maybe discomfort. She recovers from it in the next breath. "I suppose that's true."
"Or I could pack a bag and travel. Maybe see if I can make some money off my photography. Maybe start a travel blog. Build a bigger social media following."
"Or that." She shrugs before brushing past me, heading in the direction of her car.
"Maybe I'll wait until the first of the year and see how much money I can save, then I'll decide on travel plans. If …"
"If what?" Lisa's long strides make it hard to keep up with her.
"If it's alright that I stay."
"Why wouldn't it be alright?" She unlocks her car.
"Because I make okay money cleaning houses, and if I don't have debt, it's unnecessary for me to stay with you."
"Unless you're wanting to save money to travel."
I nod slowly, slipping into the passenger's seat. "I guess."
"Then stay."
Stay.
Stay and grow more attached to her.
Stay and risk falling for my wife.
Stay and realize it might already be happening.
Stay and get my heart broken.
Before she backs out of the parking space, I feel her gaze on me. "Who do you have?"
Picking at my fingernails, I shrug a shoulder. "What do you mean?" I know what she means. Answering her question will require me to voice my reality.
"If not me, then who? Family? Do you have any family to turn to? Someone willing to give you a bed or even just a sofa and a blanket?" She backs out of the parking space, and we head toward home.
"Nope." I let that one syllable echo between us for several seconds, but Lisa doesn't budge. "I don't have family. No siblings. My dad has never been in the picture. Never met him. My mom had some drinking issues, then some drug issues, then some mean men issues. That's why I left. She didn't want my help, and I didn't want anything to do with that life anymore. She said I could accept her for who she was or get the fuck out. Her words."
I don't turn toward her, but I still catch her slight flinch. Even after all these years, it's hard to breathe when I think about my mother, the woman who is supposed to love me the most … just letting me go. And it's a little embarrassing too. I clear my throat. "So the second I got my high school diploma, I left Athens with my mom's car because … fuck her. She owed me. Then I took out a gazillion loans to go to school. Had a half dozen different roommates. And slept out of my car as needed."
"So you're experienced at sleeping out of your car?" She gives me a quick sidelong glance.
"Sort of. Back then, it was for a few weeks in between apartments or roommates. Not months."
"I'm sorry to hear you had it so rough."
I shake my head. "I didn't. I had friends in school. I kept my chin up. My mom was so many awful things, but she never abused me—physically—and neither did her shitty boyfriends who felt it was okay to knock her around. I got a college degree, even if it's the most useless degree in the world. I followed my passion. I've always been a dreamer. Passion over practicality."
"And now you're cleaning houses."
Her bluntness pulls a tiny laugh from my chest. "Yes. Yes, I am. I don't know." I shrug. "I saw it going differently, but I'm too young to give up. I'm going to continue to look for my place in this world."
Lisa shakes her head. "You're like a battery-operated toy that gets tipped on its side, but it's still moving, even if it's not going anywhere. Rosé was like that." When she glances at me, her grin falters. "Sorry. I'm sure you're tired of me comparing you to her, but it's in the best way possible."
"No. It … it's not that I mind being compared to her. It's quite the compliment. It's just weird now."
"Because we're married?"
I nod, pressing my lips together as we pull into the garage. "I mean, it's not like we're married in the traditional sense. I'm not sleeping with her wife." Jesus … why does the filter between my brain and my mouth have such large holes?
Lisa clears her throat, and I swear her cheeks turn a little red. "Well … technically I'm your wife now. So you're not sleeping with your wife. And just to get past this really uncomfortable unspoken … thing between us, it's important to remember that she died. We lived. Tara died, and Rosé lived. She moved on with her life. I'm moving on with my life too. I'm just doing it differently. Instead of finding love again, I'm doing a favor for a friend."
We climb out of the car.
With a nervous laugh, I feel my own cheeks fill with heat as I step inside the house. "And what a favor it is," I say through that nervous laugh. "I'm uh … going to bed now. Thank you for the camera bag and the ice cream. It's been a great birthday." I risk a final glance at Lisa.
She smiles, just staring at me for a few more seconds before returning an easy nod. "Night, Jennie."
..
I take the job with the wedding photographer, a second camera for a few local weddings and engagement photos. It's a part-time, temporary job, a fill-in position while his full-time assistant recovers from surgery.
Over the next few weeks, I experience an unusual kind of grief. Maybe it's that I just had a birthday, and twenty-four is a more hormonal age, but I doubt it. As crazy as it sounds, I'm a little lost. After feeling like a slave to my epilepsy diagnosis, my medical bills, and my student loan debt—oh, and getting married—I don't know how to handle this newfound freedom. My doctor adjusted my seizure medication. I'm physically feeling better. Exercising every day. I've been saving lots of money. And I'm getting paid to take photos without having to quit my cleaning jobs. So why am I scared out of my mind?
"I let you skip out on Thanksgiving, but you're not sitting home alone on Christmas," Lisa announces as she wraps presents on the living room floor. It's the week before Christmas.
I dust the end table and the lamp. "Skip out on Thanksgiving? You were working that day."
"But my family wanted you to have dinner with them."
Her family is great. They've not once questioned her charitableness toward me. I think they know it's what Chaeng would have wanted. Of course, they don't know the full extent of her charity. They only know she's been letting me stay here. "I'm not ready to attend holidays with them when you're not going to be there. I'd end up having one too many eggnogs and let it slip that we're married. Are you good with that?" I peer at her from behind the table lamp.
"Good point."
I smirk, feeling victorious with my reasoning.
"But I am going to be there on Christmas."
"Yes, but it's a gift giving holiday. That's just weird. Christmas feels like a more personal holiday. And this will be your first Christmas without Chaeng. That feels a little …" My nose wrinkles. "Sacred? And … what are you doing?" I cringe as she wraps the gifts, if you can call what she's doing wrapping.
"What do you mean?"
"Have you ever wrapped a present before?" I toss the dusting rag over my shoulder and kneel on the floor next to her. "You need to cut off some of this excess paper so it rests flat against the side of the box. You're wrapping a cube, and it looks like a clump of wadded paper. And don't even get me started on your ribbon-tying skills. I thought you had perfectionistic tendencies." I chuckle.
Lisa holds her hands up. "By all means, Miss Art Degree Queen, feel free to wrap while I—"
"Finish dusting."
She belts out a hearty laugh as she stands. "No. While I read a book. Watch TV. Twiddle my thumbs. Play my guitar. The possibilities are endless."
Play her guitar. She's been doing it a lot at night. She likes to watch me edit photos, but I love listening to her play her guitar in her bedroom. Sometimes she hums and sings too. Those are my favorite nights. When I move out, I'll miss her fingers strumming those strings, my favorite lullaby.
"Endless possibilities … I like the sound of that, Lalisa. I think you are going to be okay in this life."
"This life?" She laughs from the kitchen.
I hear the crinkle of tinfoil. She's getting into the Christmas cookies I made.
"Yes. This life. I can't speak for any other life. You might be a hot mess in another life."
She pokes her head around the corner. Sure enough, she's eating one of the tree cookies I spent the afternoon decorating. "Can I be a hot mess?"
"You can be a mess and …" I bite my lips and angle my head away from her to hide my blush as I curl the ribbon with the edge of the scissor's blade.
"But not a hot mess?"
I shake my head in tiny increments at least a half dozen times. "I didn't say that. I mean … yes. Some guys can be a hot mess."
"But not me?"
I shrug and sweat. God … she makes me sweat way too much.
"I get it. You think of me like a big sister. You can't think your big sis is hot."
Big sister? No. I don't think of her as a big sister. That would be so inappropriate.
We're married.
I think about her all the time.
I mean … ALL the time.
"No. I can't think of my big sis as hot. Maybe Chan can be hot."
But you're not my big sister. You're my wife, a gp ones. And quite the snack.
Lisa stops midbite, slowly chewing what's already in her mouth. "You like Chan?"
I start working on (correcting) another present. "Sure. He's nice. He's funny. He's in his twenties. He's single. What's not to like?"
"He's my brother," Lisa murmurs, licking the crumbs from her lips.
Grinning, I eye her over my shoulder. "I know. I didn't say I'm going to hook up with him or anything like that. I'm just making an observation since you asked."
"I asked because you brought up his name."
Lisa is a little … I don't know what. Agitated? I'm not sure why she would be agitated. Chan isn't ugly. He's not Lisa caliber (in my opinion), but he's worth a second look.
The pain or whatever she's harboring inside, that I've triggered, elicits a unique sadness in my chest. Legally, I'm her wife, but I'm not her source of happiness despite feeling invested in her happiness. Maybe not the source, but the angel watching over her, ensuring she's okay. That much I did promise Chaeng.
"In other news…" I refocus on my wrapping "…my temporary job is coming to an end. His assistant will return from medical leave in two weeks. And I've found another job I'm considering. A photographer slash travel blogger. I follow her on social media, and she's looking for another photographer to travel with her next year. So many other people commented on her post. But …" I grin. "She messaged me, and she loves the photos on my page. I'm going to meet her the day after Christmas in New York. That's where she lives, but she's rarely home. Lisa, I think she's really interested in picking me!"
"So … you'd travel with her and take photos?" Lisa asks.
"Yes."
Her lips twist to the side. "And she's going to pay you?"
"Yes. Well, I don't have all the specifics yet, but I'll make a percent of what she makes on her social media pages."
Lisa nods a few times. "An influencer?"
"Yes, but I don't think that's the bulk of her income, not yet anyway. She has her own photography business too, and she'll pay me a percent of those jobs if I'm with her to help shoot them."
"Huh. Interesting. So you'll get to travel."
I grin. "Yes. I think I'll be traveling most of next year. It would be an incredible opportunity to build my portfolio and my social media following."
"Sounds…" she studies me while pressing her lips together for a few beats "…perfect. You deserve all the best life has to offer. Rosé thought so, and I do too." She lifts a single shoulder. "It's why I married you."
My gaze drops to focus on rewrapping her gifts. I know that's why she married me, even if my heart thrives on foolish dreams. It might be too early to tell her that Chaeng wanted me to love her. And I think she wanted Lisa to love me too. Can I fall in love with my wife and chase my dreams? Or are they mutually exclusive? "It would be … a great opportunity. But I don't have the job yet. Still, I'm really optimistic. And I'd be out of your hair. That's good. Right?"
"When is your first trip?" She slides her hands into her pockets.
"Again, I don't have the job yet. But she's going to Hawaii in January." I can't hide my grin.
A sincere smile touches her lips the way it touches every inch of my skin. "I take it you've never been."
"Hawaii?" I laugh. "No. I've never been. You?" Before she can answer, I roll my eyes. "Duh. Of course you've been. There are probably very few places you haven't been."
She nods.
A slow smile slides up my face, and it feels so good. I don't need her approval to travel and experience my next chapter in life, but I want it. I want her to be happy for me. I want to know that she's going to be okay. "I'll spend Christmas with you."
She grunts, but it doesn't stop her face from relaxing into something resembling satisfaction.
"Besides…" I hold up a perfectly wrapped present "…I need to be there to take credit for these masterpieces."
"You think they're going to be more impressed with the wrapping than the gifts inside?"
"Yes. I overheard you last month talking to your mom. You guys exchanged gift lists. You might not know the exact item you're getting, but you know it's something on the list you shared. So the surprise will be lukewarm at best. But the wrapping…" I waggle my eyebrows "…is perfection."
"Oh, Jen …" She smirks before turning and disappearing down the hallway. "I'm not that predictable."
Jen …
She's never called me Jen. Everyone calls me Jen, except her. Until now. How did she make something ordinary and common feel extraordinary? How do three letters and a sound so similar to a tiny hum make that beating thing behind my chest skip and flutter?
Butterflies …
I could … just maybe … be on the verge of a new adventure starting in Hawaii—taking a risk and diving into the life I've always dreamed of having. But … I also want this job because I need to run from these feelings. These feelings that I have for my wife.
..
..
..