Jennie
Irene's disembodied head appears in the doorway of the observation room. She's the reason I have this job. We grew up homeschooled in the same community, but when she became a teenager she went to a local school and then went on to attend regular college. We still stayed close and even managed to keep in contact when she moved to Chicago a couple of years ago, despite my not being on social media.
When things got a little crazy with my family after I returned from Alaska, Irene suggested I come out for a visit. Since I'd already braved a plane before, I decided I could do it again. Also, my parents were back to smothering me, especially since I came home brokenhearted. My mother never outright said I told you so, but it was implied. Often.
I went for a weeklong visit, fell in love with the aquarium, and a couple of months later returned, this time with a job and an apartment.
"Hey. I figured I'd find you in here." Irene lets the door close behind her.
"It's peaceful." I turn off the tablet clutched in my hands, almost glad for the break from yet another distressing article I've stumbled upon.
"Researching again?"
"Something like that. Am I needed up front?" Occasionally I'll have to work at the information desk. I don't mind talking to people one-on-one, especially when they're asking about the animals.
She leans against the door. "I'd stay put for right now."
"She's back again, isn't she?" I fold my hands in my lap to keep from wringing them.
"Yeah. She's back again."
It's been over a week. Nine days, actually. Nine long days since Lali—otherwise known as Lisa Manoban, captain for Chicago's NHL hockey team and apparently quite the notorious playgirl, according to the many, many accounts on the World Wide Web—dropped back into my life.
Since then she's stopped by the aquarium every single day. She's also called and texted daily and has taken to sending me rather extravagant gifts. Well, extravagant by my standards, but I've also discovered that her salary is a staggering eleven and a half million dollars a year, so the hundreds she's likely spending on ostentatious flower arrangements and gift baskets is similar to tossing a handful of dollar bills into the air and watching them fall like snow into a pit of lava—or the mouth of a shark.
"She seems really . . . apologetic," Irene offers.
I give her a hard look. "Not you too."
She crosses over to sit beside me on the bench. The seals swim by, unaffected by my anxiety or my slightly morose mood. "I understand that this is difficult, especially because she lied to you, but maybe she had a reason?"
"I can only imagine what that reason is."
"Wouldn't it be better to hear it from her instead of going on speculation?"
"I don't need to talk to her, because it's not speculation, it's sarcasm—which I know is the lowest form of wit, but I looked her up, Irene. The picture the media paints isn't very pretty." I open the article again and pass her the tablet.
Irene points to the date. "This article is old."
"There are more recent ones."
She arches a brow. "How recent?"
I focus on the happy seals. "From a couple of years ago. It doesn't matter. she lied."
"Probably because she was worried you'd react like this," Irene says softly. "I understand you're upset, but don't you think she deserves—"
"Do not say it, Irene."
She sighs and puts her arm around my shoulder. "All of these rumors you're so focused on are old news. I know you're scared, but you can't avoid her forever, and you know it. And you'll never know if she's really just a lying asshole with a pretty face and rock-star moves in bed if you don't at least sit down and hear what she has to say."
"I never thought I was going to see her again," I whisper, fighting tears. "And I just started seeing someone."
Irene makes a face. "You mean Mino? That guy in your building?"
"He's nice." And he is nice. He works in IT; he's quiet, likes Italian food, has a cat named Sam—and he's kind. He also knows about my circumstances and hasn't bailed, which is saying something, since I'm kind of a huge mess. The last time we went out he kissed me good night. Like him, it was nice. No fireworks or shooting stars, but it wasn't unpleasant either.
"So is the weather today—it doesn't mean he's right for you."
"And just because Lali keeps showing up here doesn't mean she's right for me either."
"Or maybe it's a sign. I mean, think about it. I get a job out here, and all of a sudden they need someone who specializes in dolphin reproduction behaviors? How many people are qualified for that specific job?"
"Anyone who specializes in aquatic mammals has the right background."
"But they hired you—after a phone interview, which never happens, by the way." She gives me an I told you so kind of look.
"They'd already met me in person, because I'd been here before."
"Okay, I can give you that one. But what about the fact that her teammate's wife funds the initiative you've been hired for, and then they throw a birthday party and she ends up here. It feels a lot like fate intervening to me, and I usually don't even believe in things like fate. You have to give her a chance, Jennie."
"I'll think about it."
The following day Lali shows up while I'm covering the information desk. It's a Tuesday, which is one of the slower days of the week. Not that it's ever slow per se, but there are fewer staff on days like this one. And it means I can't run away and hide in one of the anterooms of the exhibits.
She's dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. Her hair is styled instead of covered with a ball cap. She looks just as gorgeous as she did a year ago, if not even more so. Today her arms are loaded with white flowers. Truce. Surrender. Peace.
I plaster my hands to the countertop so I don't give in to the urge to touch my hair. My heart stutters in my chest and then kicks into a full gallop as she approaches the desk.
"Hi." Her voice is soft and warm, like marshmallows melting in hot chocolate.
"Hello." Mine is hard and sharp like knives.
"I brought these for you. I don't know if you've gotten all the other things I've left for you or not—"
"I got them all." Each one has been like twisting a knife in a wound, because they've all been attached to memories from Alaska—which is clearly the point.
She sets the bouquet of flowers on the desk; the fragrant scent of the blossoms surrounds me. I want to reach out and stroke the pretty petals, but instead I keep my hands on the counter. "Jennie, please, can we talk? I know I lied to you, and you have every right to be angry with me about that—but if you just give me a chance to explain, then maybe you'll understand that it wasn't my intention to ever hurt you."
"I can't right now."
"I understand that, but can we set something up?" Her hand covers mine before I can pull it away and hide it under the counter. "Just—please, Jennie, all I want to do is talk."
My heart aches, and my skin burns where she touches it. "Fine. We can talk."
She clasps my hand between hers, lids fluttering shut as she lifts it to her lips, brushing them over my knuckle. I can't breathe through the sudden emotional deluge. I pull my hand free from her grasp and take a step back, even though my head feels light.
"Tonight? Are you free? I can come to you if that works best."
"No!" I lace my fingers together to keep from fidgeting. "I mean—tonight won't work, and I would prefer if we did this in a public place."
"Uh, that might not be the best idea. Chicago is a hockey city—I get recognized a lot here, so it would be ideal if I either came to you or you come to me."
"Oh." I hadn't considered that. "It would be better if I came to you, then."
"Would tomorrow night work? Or—Thursday's your day off, right? That might be better for you."
"How do you know Thursday's my day off?"
"Uhhhh . . ." Lali taps on the counter nervously. "I might've asked about your schedule in exchange for tickets to the first game of the season. I can get you tickets too, if you want—for whatever game you want, really."
"I'll have to get back to you about Thursday." I also need to speak to Irene about taking bribes.
"You'll call me—or text?"
"Yes."
"Promise?"
I remain stone faced apart from my arched brow.
"Okay. I'll wait to hear from you."
On Thursday morning I'm standing on the curb waiting for a car to pick me up. Apparently Lali has sent a taxi for me—or something. I assume she didn't come to pick me up herself so as not to make me uncomfortable. I have a car, but I'm not sure driving is a good idea, considering how anxious I am.
I looked up her address on my computer. It's in a very nice neighborhood, from what I can tell. A black SUV with dark tinted windows pulls up to the curb. I step back, assuming someone is going to get out. I don't want to get hit with the door.
A man dressed in a black suit, wearing sunglasses, rounds the hood of the SUV. "Miss Kim?"
I look around, expecting someone with the same last name as me to breeze by, but there's no one there.
"Miss Jennie Kim?" The man looks at something in his hand.
"Yes?"
"I'm here to take you to Ms. Manoban's."
I glance at the nondescript black SUV and then back at the man in the suit. "Can you give me a minute, please?"
"Certainly, Miss Kim."
He folds his hands in front of him and stands beside the SUV while I pull up Lali's contact and hit the Call button.
It doesn't even finish ringing once. "Please tell me you haven't changed your mind."
"Welllll, that depends," I say slowly.
"On what?" Her panic is frustratingly endearing.
"There's a black SUV and a man in a suit claiming he's here to take me to you, but I've watched enough crime shows to know better than to trust a man in a suit driving an SUV with tinted windows."
"You can ask him to tell you his name—it's George Oriole."
"That sounds like a fake name."
"It's not. I promise."
"And I should have faith in your promises? How do I even know Lali isn't something you made up?" It's a legitimate question. She's been dishonest with me before. In fact, everything I know about her is based on a lie.
She sighs. "Lali isn't a made-up name for me either—it's what my dad used to call me, and my brother and sister still do most of the time. It's only my teammates and non–family members who know me as Lisa. Please ask him his name, Jennie, so I can see you."
"Fine. Give me a second." I relent, because as angry as I still am, I want some answers. "Excuse me, sir, can you please tell me your name? First and last," I call to the suit. He's eerily still.
"George Oriole, Miss Kim. I'm in Ms. Manoban's employ as a driver. Please allow me to take you to her."
"Thank you." I hold up a finger and give him my back. "He gave me the right name."
"So you're on your way?"
"What if he's not actually George Oriole? What if he hijacked the SUV on the way here and he's posing as him? What if George's body is in the trunk?" I realize I sound like a lunatic, but this is the kind of thing that happens in crime shows all the time. Also, last night I couldn't sleep, so I stayed up too late watching TV, and I woke up on the couch after midnight to that exact scenario playing on the screen.
To her credit, Lali doesn't even question my sanity—she simply tells me to take a picture of the driver and message it to her, so I do, and she confirms that it is, indeed, George.
"I'm getting in the SUV now."
"Okay, great. I would've come to get you myself, but I wasn't sure how you'd feel about that."
"This is better, thanks. I'll see you soon." I end the call, and George opens the back door, holding out a hand to help me in.
I feel very much like I've entered the twilight zone. Bottles of water, both still and sparkling, sit in an ice bucket in the center console. There's also a take-out cup containing a hot beverage. I pick it up and give it a sniff.
"Ms. Manoban requested a hot chocolate for you, Miss Kim—I hope it's to your liking."
"Thank you—I'm sure it's perfect." I settle in and watch the scenery change as we leave the Loop and head toward the outskirts of the city. The farther we get from my apartment building, the bigger and nicer the houses are. We pass grand-looking estates with manicured front lawns and gorgeous landscaping.
I shouldn't be at all surprised when the SUV pulls down the driveway of one of the really nice, really big houses. It's a two-story Craftsman with a huge wraparound porch. In some ways the rustic-ness reminds me of her cabin in Alaska, except tailored to the city.
I pop a breath mint and crunch down on it as George pulls up to the front steps and puts the car in park. My palms are sweaty and my mouth is dry as I gather my purse and run my hands over my thighs. I'm wearing jeans and a sweater. I went light on the makeup, only covering up the dark circles under my eyes and throwing on a coat of mascara—and, okay, maybe a bit of eyeliner and a hint of shadow too. I want to look decent but not like I tried too hard for her.
George opens the door and extends a hand, helping me out of the car. "I'll be here to take you home when you're ready, Miss Kim."
"Thank you, George."
"It's been my pleasure."
As I climb the front steps, the door opens. I almost expect to be greeted by a butler, but it's Lali standing there, waiting for me. She has one hand shoved in the pocket of her jeans; her black T-shirt stretches across her chest.
"Thank you for agreeing to come." She moves back, allowing me to step inside.
"You're welcome." I'm both relieved and disappointed when she doesn't try to hug me.
I take in the spacious entrance, cataloging the decor. Despite the house being huge, probably twice the size of the cabin in Alaska, it still manages to have a homey, cozy feel to it. The floors are rough-hewn hardwood; the color palette is warm and light and the decor a combination of rustic country and modern elements.
I leave my shoes at the front door, a habit I've never been able to shake, having grown up on a farm. I follow Lali down a wide hallway to a state-of-the-art kitchen. I wonder if she cooks at all or if she has someone who does that for her. All the articles I've read about her and the horrible pictures I've seen chronicling her womanizing ways come to mind, and I have to wonder how many women she's paraded through this house—how many parties has she thrown?
"You have a nice house," I croak, feeling awkward and vulnerable.
"Thanks. I just moved in at the end of last season, in June." She stops in the middle of the kitchen. "Can I offer you something to drink?"
"Water would be good, please." I loathe how relieved I am about the short span of time she's lived here, which significantly reduces the number of women who are also intimate with this space and her.
"I have grapefruit juice."
My heart skips a stupid beat and takes off at a sprint. "Just the water, but thank you."
She nods, chewing on the inside of her lip as she turns away, retrieves a glass, and fills it with water. "We can sit outside, if you want."
"Sure." I hate how uncomfortable things are between us. I don't know how to deal with any of this. She feels like a stranger despite the fact that we lived together in a tiny little bubble a year ago. A bubble that's left me with no end of repercussions.
Lali's sprawling backyard is heavily landscaped, with a covered sitting area, an outdoor cooking space, an in-ground pool, and beyond that, an outdoor hockey rink. The amount of money it would cost to have all of this, especially in a place like Chicago, is mind boggling.
I'm fortunate my apartment is subsidized by my job at the aquarium, otherwise I'd never be able to afford it.
I take one of the single chairs, and Lali sits on the love seat perpendicular to me. "How are you?" she asks.
"Very confused and anxious," I say honestly.
She nods. "I'm sorry I lied about who I was."
"So am I. It feels like everything between us balanced on that lie, Lali—or should I just call you Lisa?"
"I like it that you call me Lali."
"I'm sure that was purposeful, giving me a name that would be impossible to search." Before I found out who and what she is, I'd idealized her in my head, but now . . . I don't know.
"Not the way you think." She exhales a long, slow breath, her expression pained. "I had a reason for keeping the truth from you, Jennie, and I never meant for it to hurt you."
"Because you never planned to see me again after Alaska," I shoot back.
"That's not true."
I arch a brow. "We lived on different ends of the country—it wasn't like a long-distance relationship was an option after six weeks together. It was a summer fling." I say the words because it's what I've told myself in my head this past year. But my heart says something different, and hope beats like a hummingbird's wings against the fragile cage inside.
"Maybe it started out that way, but it was a lot more than that. At least for me, anyway." Lali keeps running her hands over her thighs. She props her elbows on her knees and leans forward. "I know we weren't together long. And maybe we never talked about it being anything beyond a fling, but I wanted it to be more. And then Joy went into labor, and I had to—"
"How is Joy? And the baby?" For the past year I've wondered if everything was okay—if they were okay or not.
"She's great, and so is Max."
"She had a boy."
"She did. He's growing like a weed. They're not planning on having any more children because it was such a high-risk pregnancy, but everyone is happy and healthy."
I nod. "That's good. I'm glad to hear it."
"I tried to call when I got to LA, Jennie, at least twenty times. Things were hectic and stressful, but I didn't want you to worry—and then I was worried because you weren't answering, and things were really touch and go with Joy and the baby. Nickhun was beside himself. Ryujin and I have never seen him like that before. I thought he was going to have a complete breakdown."
"I'm so sorry." And I am—for the pain she endured, for the fear she must have experienced, for the danger they might have been in.
"It was rough at the time, but everyone is doing well now. Would you like to see a picture of Max? He's a real bruiser." Lali slips her phone out of her pocket and waits for my nod before she pulls up her photo app. "Do you want to sit here? It'll be easier to see them." She pats the cushion beside her.
I stare at the empty space. She's bigger than me, taking up a lot of that love seat. She shifts to make more room for me, obviously sensing my hesitation.
"Or you can stay there. Whatever's more comfortable for you."
I relent again—partly because the way she's sitting will make it awkward if I don't move next to her. I shift to the spot beside her, and she moves the phone so it's between us. "This is Max in the hospital. Apparently babies are a lot bigger when the mom has gestational diabetes, which I didn't realize."
"Geez, how much did he weigh?" I cringe at the idea of pushing that head out of my vagina.
"Almost eleven pounds, I think?"
"Oh my goodness, that's huge! Some three-month-olds barely weigh that!"
"Yeah, Joy ended up having a C-section. He was breech, and there was something going on with the placenta. I don't know all the details, but it wasn't an easy pregnancy or birth for her—or anyone, really." She flips through pictures showing her nephew at various stages over the past year. There are pictures of Lali holding her as an infant, of Max in a tiny Chicago jersey, of her holding on to Lali's hands as she takes a wobbly step.
"It looks like you're a good aunt." My voice cracks, and I have to clear my throat as I fight to hold back tears.
"Being an aunt is easy. I get to spoil the shit out of him and then give him back to his mom when he gets cranky."
"Sounds about right." That's always the way with uncles, aunts, and grandparents.
"I don't get to see them as much as I'd like since they're so far away, but I try to make the most of my time when I'm with them. I'll get to spend time with them when I play in LA, which is good." Lali covers my hand with her. "I should have taken you with me—to LA. I should've booked two seats and brought you, but my brother was so panicked, and I didn't think it through."
"You couldn't bring me with you, though, because you'd lied about who you were." I slip my hand out from under her; she tightens her grip for a second before she lets me go.
Lali sets her phone on the table and scrubs a hand over her face, muttering a curse. "I wanted to tell you so many times, but I didn't want to ruin things between us. I figured if I told you the truth, you'd leave, so I kept putting it off—and the longer I did, the harder it got to tell you." Her gaze meets mine, imploring me to understand. "After I left you, I realized I had so many things I still needed to tell you, including my truth. I had this plan in my head that, once I got to LA, I'd tell you everything."
"Why lie at all? Why taint everything with untruths?"
"You didn't recognize me."
It's a simple explanation that tells me nothing and everything. When she doesn't continue, I push. "And? That's supposed to explain why you built what we had on a lie? You had weeks to tell me the truth, but instead you layered on more lies to support the one you started with."
"I omitted more than anything, but I regret not saying anything. I just wanted to be normal for a while. You don't understand what it's like—"
"You mean all the parties and the women?" My stomach rolls as the images I've seen online come back to haunt me. I can't get them out of my head. "I looked you up, Lali, as soon as I realized you'd lied. What I found is nothing like the person I was with in Alaska. I don't even know who you are."
"Yes, you do, Jennie. I'm the person you met on the plane who comforted you, the one you spent all those weeks with, the one who taught you how to drive and held you through a thunderstorm. That's the real me."
She moves to touch me again, so I shoot up off the love seat and step out of reach. "I don't know what to believe."
"I get that it looks bad—I really do, Jennie—but if you check all the dates you'll see it was years ago. I came from a small town and was drafted young. I made some choices that weren't the best, and I live in a city where hockey players are on par with celebrities—in an era where everything that should be private is public fodder. My mom and my sister wouldn't speak to me for almost a year because of all the shit out there, so I know what the consequences of my actions are."
I scoff at that last part. She has no idea what kind of repercussions I've faced as a result—or the strain it's put on my relationship with my parents. If I thought they were protective before I went to Alaska, they were a million times worse when I came back.
"There had to have been a time in your life where you rebelled. Haven't you ever gone through a wild phase, Jennie?"
"Yes. You were my wild phase, and clearly that was a terrible mistake," I snap.
Lali pushes out of her chair and tries to corral me, but I slip between the chairs, out of reach once again.
"You said you planned to tell me the truth once you got to LA and we got in touch, but how was that ever going to work? I'd see all the same things, and I would've been on the other side of the country. How would you explain it then? How would you have been able to make me see whatever truth you want to feed me?" I move toward the house. "I tried to find you—I called every single alpaca farm in New York looking for you, but no one knew who you were, which makes sense, since I was asking for someone they'd never heard of."
Lali's expression is pained. "My mom sold the farm right after Max was born—to an investor. She wanted to be in LA with my sister and brother."
I shake my head, not wanting to hear how we missed each other by weeks. "I tried to find you, but how hard did you try to find me, Lali? Really and truly?" I remember how devastated I was when I couldn't find her and how, recently, I began to wonder if it hadn't been a karmic blessing. "I need to go."
Lali's shoulders cave. "Please, Jennie."
"I can't be here right now. This is too much." I move toward the sliding door, needing to get away from her and all the memories and the conflict I'm feeling over her and everything I know now.
"Can't you give me a chance to prove you already know the real me?"
I can't look at her and see that her expression matches the sadness in her voice. I want to give her that chance, but I don't want to set myself up for more disappointment. "And put my heart on the line for you again? How will I trust you?"
She steps in front of the door before I can reach it. I stumble back, and she grips my biceps to keep me from falling—or maybe to keep me from running away. I long for the feel of her arms around me again. I want to sink into her warmth and the comfort I remember so vividly still.
"I was falling for you. I was halfway in l—"
"Don't!" I all but shout. "Don't play with my emotions. It's unfair."
"That's not what I'm doing. I'm trying to be honest."
"You had plenty of chances to be honest. Just let me go, Lisa." I say her name like a curse.
"I already let you go once, Jennie, and it gutted me—I don't know if I can do it again."
"Well, you can't hold me captive, can you?"
"No. I can't." She releases me, and I spin around, yank the door open, and pad across the hardwood to the front entrance. Stupid, rogue tears start to fall as I shove my feet into my flats. I don't know how to reconcile the version of her I thought I knew with the one who lives in an almost mansion and has a reputation for being a colossal playgirl.
I struggle to open the door, unable to figure out how the locks work with how blurry my vision is. I realize I'm on the verge of a full-blown panic attack—all of this is too much to handle. I struggle to breathe, to think. My vision swims with dots, and suddenly I find myself pulled into her solid embrace.
Her lips find my temple. "Breathe, Jennie—just breathe."
I cling to her shirt, trying to force myself to let go when all I want to do is hold on tighter. She rubs soothing circles on my back, murmuring for me to breathe over and over, telling me she's sorry, that she never wanted to hurt me.
I count all the things I can feel, see, hear, taste, and smell. Eventually I calm down enough that I'm able to pry my fingers from her shirt. I press my palms against her chest, her heart beating hard under them.
She brushes away my tears. "I'm so sorry, Jennie. This wasn't what I wanted. I thought your silence was your way of telling me my feelings were one-sided."
"I have to go." It's nothing but a broken whisper.
She cups my face in her palms. "Please look at me."
I slowly lift my eyes, taking in her devastatingly beautiful face.
"I messed this up once, Jennie, and I understand that I've blindsided you with all of this, but I promise I'm the person you met a year ago, and I'm going to do everything in my power to prove that to you." For a moment I think she's going to kiss me.
And she does—on the cheek.
My skin burns. My heart stutters.
I should tell her my own truth.
But for now we're tied: a lie for a lie.