Jennie

Standing before my parents' front door, Lisa and I were faced with a version of the same welcoming holiday wreath my mother had hung every year of my childhood—crisp greenery offset by a red, poufy felt bow. Like always, the cul-de-sac curved with neat lawns, and LED lights trimmed every roof, even weeks after Christmas. An ocean breeze cooled the back of my neck. Not much had changed in the years since I'd moved away, and yet, everything was different.

Despite the temperate day, my hands reddened from a January chill—and from gripping the two containers of food I'd brought so I wouldn't show up empty-handed.

I didn't even realize I was looking at the neighbor's house Lisa had helped build until she turned, too. "What'd we even talk about that day?" She asked, her eyes on the wall where we'd sat.

"I don't know. Little nothings." I glanced up at her. "But at the time it'd felt like the world."

She rubbed the back of my neck, moving my hair aside. I'd cut it to my shoulders the week before. Being thirty-one and on my own for over a decade should've been enough to face my dad feeling like an adult, but I wasn't sure it would be. I hoped looking the part would help him see I wasn't the same girl who'd bowed to her father's every demand.

"I'll go in first," Lisa said. "They're expecting me."

"You and a date," I reminded her.

"I only said I was bringing someone to give your mom a heads up for the meal."

I'd been mentally preparing for this for weeks. As it had many times over the drive from Big Bear, my stomach flipped at the thought of walking in uninvited. "Okay," I agreed.

Lisa raised her fist to knock, but I pulled her elbow back down. I glanced up at the second-floor landing where I'd sat through many sunsets, watching our neighborhood from the upstairs of the only home I'd known until eighteen. "What if they're disgusted with us?" I asked. "Embarrassed? Maybe we should've called first."

"It's not the kind of thing you say over the phone," she reminded me. "And if that happens, what changes, except that we're finally freed by the truth?"

"My dad's contempt is loud in his silence. It'll be deafening in person."

"Give him a chance." Lisa kissed the top of my head. "If he can't accept it, you don't lose anything."

"You do," I said.

"You're more important. If he can't accept that you and I are sincerely happy, then I gave him too much credit."

I turned my entire body to her, hugging the Tupperware so tightly to my stomach, the plastic edges pressed through my sweater. "And what about Nayeon?"

"At least we know what to expect from her." Lisa and I had been over this several times, but she patiently walked me through it again. "She'll make it about her, and there'll be a scene. But when she finds something else to be annoyed over, she'll move on."

I shifted between feet. If I was an expert in anything, it was the drama that turned Nayeon's world. The difference now, though? I wasn't an innocent kid enduring her sister's overdeveloped sense of teen angst. I'd crossed lines and made decisions knowing they'd hurt her.

But I was also older and more adept at taking shit. I was steeled by the knowledge that nothing Nayeon said or did could deny or undermine the love between Lisa and me. Compared to my dad, the approach of Tornado Nayeon actually felt manageable.

Lisa knocked firmly, then let herself in. "Hello?"

Once she'd disappeared into the house, I stepped through the open door. Even the warm embrace of home and the festive pine-needle air couldn't strip the tension from my body.

It didn't help that the first door off the entryway shut off my father's study. I could picture him at his desk, doing whatever it was he did in there. Where the study had once held an air of mystery and the forbidden, I no longer cared about it. He'd probably made calls to his mistress in there, corresponded with his friends at the Ritz as he'd arranged the wedding for one daughter and the downfall of his other. Maybe he'd even used his power and influence to get me into USC instead of letting me do it myself—I wouldn't put much past him.

I tiptoed past, trying to quiet my boot heels on the tile. Mom had ripped up the carpet on the stairs to the second floor. More wreaths and poinsettias decorated the house. In the TV room, a real tree stopped a foot beneath the ceiling—it was still full and deeply green, not to mention weighed down with a mixture of expensive glass ornaments and colorful sentimental ones.

The turkey-in-the-oven aroma and deep register of Lisa's voice called me to the kitchen like a siren song, but I stayed quiet and out of sight.

"It's been so long since you came by," my mom said. I had to lean forward to listen, her voice soft enough that I assumed she and Lisa were hugging. "I left all the decorations up for you. I wasn't sure if you'd spent the holidays with anyone."

"Thank you, Cathy."

"Although . . . well, I haven't mentioned anything to Charles or Nayeon because they'll call me silly. When you said you were bringing a date, I just couldn't imagine you'd introduce us to anyone. It's not the kind of person you are, mixing your two lives. Unless those lives are already . . . mixed."

"Cathy," she said.

"Am I right?" she asked. "If not, it's okay. I want you to be happy, Lisa. But I miss my baby and sometimes I lie awake at night wondering if you're the only person who could bring her home."

Chills rose over my skin despite the weight of my sweater. Although this hadn't been my home in a while, it felt nice to hear her say that. No matter what had passed between all of us, I could never erase the happy memories I'd made in this house.

"I know you and Nayeon divorced," Mom continued, "but you're family. We're your family. So tell me we haven't seen you in years because you've had a very good reason to stay away."

"It's a good reason, ma'am," Lisa said, and I heard both the pride and emotion in her voice. "The best. Almost as good as why I came back."

That was my cue to enter a kitchen I hadn't stepped foot in for years, but where I'd eaten more meals than anywhere, had learned to cook, and had spent countless hours on homework. Some days, between school, Dad's work, Mom's real estate appointments, and Nayeon's social life, the kitchen table was the only time all day I'd see my family in one place.

Still, my feet were leaden in my boots—and my mom was supposed to be the easiest part of the day. I peeked into the kitchen and caught sight of Lisa's back. Knowing she'd be by my side gave me the courage to do it. I walked in food first, holding out the containers of pie and tamales I'd brought like a shield.

Lisa turned at my footsteps, revealing Mom behind her. I realized in that moment that I'd expected to see the same woman who'd raised me—after all, she sounded the same and treated me the same over the phone. In a cardigan and cigarette pants, hair done in a long bob, her style hadn't changed, but it took my brain a moment to close the fourteen-year gap between us. She was thinner, the angles of her jaw and curve of her cheekbones more pronounced.

Her eyes, the same family of brown she'd passed on to Nayeon and me, filled with tears in an instant. "Jennie?" she nearly whispered.

My voice broke. "Mom."

She came and hugged me around the food clutched in my hands, not even seeming to notice it between us. It was hard not to fall headlong into her familiar scent, a mixture of lemon dish soap and Chanel No. 5.

Lisa carefully took the Tupperware from me, then found spots for it on the crowded countertops. The tension in her fingers and jawline mirrored the stiffness of my shoulders. This was as important to her as it was terrifying to me, which was the catalyst behind why I'd come.

But in the end, it wasn't the reason. This was: my mom rubbing my back as I fought the urge to cry, comforting me the way she had so many times growing up.

"Jennie, honey. There, there," Mom said. She'd always seemed to know when I was upset, even when I'd hidden it. "You're so grown up. Such a beautiful young woman."

With her soft words and tightening embrace, what became clear was the years I'd taken away from her by feuding with my dad and Nayeon. I'd known that already, and had harbored some guilt over it, but for the first time, I saw everything as Lisa always had. My parents and I had missed out on valuable time together over issues that were heavy because I'd given them more weight than they deserved. Unsure of how else to convey a sudden and overwhelming regret, I hugged her back and just said, "Mom."

She pulled back to take my face in her hands. Despite a sheen of tears, she smiled, the corners of her eyes creasing with new wrinkles. "You're my baby, you know that?"

I nodded, my chin wobbling. "Yes."

"Thank you for coming home."

"Thank Lisa," I said, already missing her presence. Where had she gone? With a slight turn of my head, all I could manage with my mom's hands holding my cheeks, I saw she hadn't gone anywhere but to a corner where the counters met. The same corner she'd stood the night she'd gotten out of jail, the one spot from where she could see everything in the kitchen, including the doorway to the foyer and to the backyard. She did the same at home, keeping her back to the wall. In public, too. She always walked closest to the curb, insisted on driving any time we were together, and sat at dining tables where she could see the entrance to the restaurant. I hadn't really noticed the habit back then, but it'd become obvious over years of living with her.

Mom kept an arm around me, following my gaze to Lisa. "Oh my," she said on a sigh. "I suspected over the years, and even hoped, but I didn't really consider the . . . logistics."

"You hoped?" I asked quietly.

She turned back to me. "That you and Lisa had found your way to each other? Yes. After her divorce, of course."

"But why?" I asked.

She shook her head, as if she wasn't quite sure herself. "I guess it was the only comfort I had. Lisa is such a strong, capable person. And loving, too. It gave me peace thinking she was with you."

It was a nice sentiment, but also a reminder of the fact that my connection with Lisa had always been impossible to ignore—and yet they had. Ignored it. All of them. I pulled back, wary of forgetting the past, even though I didn't necessarily want to put more distance between us. "Is it a problem that I'm here?"

"Of course not. I've got plenty of food—"

"I mean for Dad."

Lisa rounded the island, taking a beer from the fridge on her way.

"He'll have to accept it or stay in his study all night," she said.

The fear that Nayeon or my dad would walk in stopped me from reaching for Lisa's hand. She winked at me, acknowledging that the same was true for her. "What do you want?" she asked. "Wine? Beer? Water?"

"Water's good," I said.

"You should go to the study to say hello," Mom added. "Might be easier for him to swallow this on his territory."

It all had to be on his terms. It wasn't surprising but that didn't mean it wasn't also frustrating. "On second thought," I said to Lisa, swallowing as my nerves kicked in, "I'll take some wine."

Lisa nodded and left the room, presumably to raid my dad's bar.

Mom picked up an oven mitt. "Almost forgot about the candied yams," she said, opening the oven and waving heat away. "I recreated Christmas dinner in case Lisa hadn't gotten one." She looked over her shoulder at me and hesitated. "Has it always been her?"

"Always."

"And is it . . ." She straightened up, moving the baking dish to a trivet. "Is it good?"

I crossed my arms in front of me as the contents of my stomach tumbled. "If she weren't the best thing that ever happened to me," I said, "do you think I'd put all of us through this?"

"Surely not," she agreed, smiling again with tear-glossed eyes, despite my defensive tone.

I inhaled deeply. "About Nayeon—"

Mom waved a mitt at me. "Don't worry about her."

"But—"

"Pinot Noir and a peace offering," Lisa said, returning with wine and a tumbler of amber liquid. "He'll be in the mood for this midday."

I took both drinks. "Thanks."

"Want me to come with you?"

"It's okay." Walking into my dad's study after all this time with my sister's ex-wife—a person my dad had tried to keep me from—didn't seem like the right way to approach this.

"I said I'd be by your side with you the whole time," Lisa reminded me.

"Knowing you're here is enough. I should do this alone so he doesn't feel ambushed."

"When you get to the part about you and me, I'd like to be there."

A conversation with my dad wouldn't last long. On his best days, he wasn't one for idle chitchat. The thought of being alone with him beyond formalities was enough to make me shudder. "Give us a few minutes," I said to Lisa, "but no longer."

She squeezed my shoulder. "I'll be right outside the door."

If my mom had an opinion on how I should do this, she didn't volunteer it. She just watched as Lisa walked me out of the kitchen. Once in the foyer, there was nothing left to do but knock. Since my hands were full, Lisa tapped on the door.

"Grab a bottle of bourbon and come on in," came my dad's voice.

"He must've heard me earlier. He thinks you're me." Lisa jutted her chin at me, urging me in as she turned the knob. "You've already got the Maker's Mark. Go on."

With a steeling breath, I entered the lion's den armed only with liquid courage and the comforting knowledge that when it came to my relationship with my father, things couldn't get much worse.