JENNIE
Five Months Ago . . .
I give the dial a spin, watching one through ten whiz by in a blur of colors.
"Eight," Lisa calls out when the plastic clicker thingy stops the disc from twirling. She's lounging on her side, head propped up in one palm, a cocktail dangling in the fingers of her other hand. She's been acting strange all week—distracted if I had to put a word to it. She says it's work, but I'm not so sure. I'd hoped a fun, relaxing game of Life would lighten her up. We used to play it all the time as kids. I'd whip her butt, although I think she really let me win most of the time. But I don't think it's working. It's our second round and she seems tenser than ever.
I dutifully move my yellow, six-passenger car eight blocks, counting them off out loud as I go. I moan about all the Life tiles I'm leaving behind on the way, seeing if I can get a rise out of her. Again, I fall flat. She's stoic, staring at the board, clearly lost in thought. My eight takes me past the "Get Married" space, but I have to stop to take a spouse. When I pluck a pink figure and put her shotgun, she doesn't even bat an eye.
Lisa drops her glass to the floor and takes her turn. I got to take the college trek while Lisa shot out of the gate with her career and is half a board ahead of me, her red car weighted down with a wife and three kids already. She covers the yellow space with her hunk of plastic, not even bothering to read it. I pop up and move it over, announcing, "Another boy." I wedge a blue figure into the one remaining empty slot. "I didn't realize we were having so many kids? We'd better get started."
At that, her eyes dart up to mine, gripping them with such intensity it steals a breath, maybe two. This is the first time she's been engaged in anything outside her own head in the last hour. She pushes to sit, scooting her glass over so the contents don't spill. "We haven't talked about that yet, you know."
Gulp.
"What? Kids?"
Her head moves in an up-and-down motion. Slow and steady. I pluck at my baggy Old Navy tee suddenly feeling warm even though it's thirty degrees outside. "I mean, I know you want kids. I know I want kids. And I was on the money when I told you One Nut wouldn't give them to you."
I watch her face, watching for a smirk, thinking that's a horrible thing for her to say. Bruce Chutney has been married for five years now to Carrie Ann Miller, a sweet girl three years my junior. He comes from a big family. So does Carrie Ann. Farmers tend to breed big broods to help with the chores and leave their legacies to, but five years later they're in that big empty farmhouse on the south side of town all alone.
Then the corner of her mouth fires up, making her eyes dance. "You're terrible," I tell her, pushing her shoulder so hard she falls over. On her way down, she manages to grab ahold of me, taking me down with her. She pinches my sides, tickling me until I'm squealing like a stuck pig, begging her to stop. I feel wetness soaking into my yoga pants and realize we spilled her vodka gimlet in our tussle. By the time she lets up, I'm gasping for air. Mostly because 185 pounds is lying on top of my back, squishing my lungs.
"I heard they're pregnant," is thrown straight into my ear. My heart stops. Just stops right there in my chest cavity. I feel it beat its last beat. I'm sure of it. "Ran into Bruce at the bank the other day and he told me the good news."
Oh fuck. It starts again. Thumps so hard against my bones it hurts, taking a few pulses to get back into a normal rhythm. I let my forehead sink into the rug beneath me, chastising myself that I thought she was talking about Hanbin and Irene. And that the news absolutely gutted me.
Why? Why after seven months of marriage can I not just let this go? Why do I have to care what they do, where they go, if they procreate or not? Why—fucking why—am I still hanging on to the notion of him by the hair of my chinny chin chin when I know beyond a shadow of a doubt I'm in love with the man currently crushing me?
My body flips and now Lisa straddles me, gazing down with concern. "Did I hurt you?" she asks so sweetly it kills me.
My forehead scrunches up. "No. Why?" Oh, I'm rubbing my chest. Right in the center. Trying to ease the dull ache that settled there. I tell my brain to tell my hand to stop moving in little circles over my heart. My fingers slow, then finally stop.
"Did you hear what I said?"
"Uhhhh…yeah. That's great for them," I bumble.
"I thought so. He looked happy."
Is that what's the matter with Lisa? Does she want kids and is afraid I won't? Is she afraid this is all some surreal alternate reality we've temporarily found ourselves in? Are we?
The smile on her face is almost sad. She bends over, putting all her weight on her forearms. Her fingers tunnel in my hair, anchoring us as one. We're chest to chest. she touches her forehead to mine. she does that a lot. Like she can transfer the love she has into me through that one simple connection. Through osmosis. And the funny thing is…it feels like she does. I always feel calmer when she's touching me in some way. She's that gravitational pull that keeps me grounded in all things real and true.
I stroke her flank up and down in slow, calming motions. "What's wrong, baby?" I coax softly. I've asked the same question half a dozen times this week. I'm met with the same curt answer: "Work."
She breathes deep, her heavy exhale swirling across my face. It smells of cinnamon and vodka and a touch of fear. Her body shakes a little and the confident person I'm always used to seems to have disappeared. Her voice is so low I strain to hear her. "Are you happy, Jennie?"
Somehow her question doesn't take me by surprise. It's only a matter of time before we're going to need to have a frank and very hurtful discussion. Maybe that's one of the reasons Hanbin's ghost hangs over us. Because we both refuse to acknowledge it's there. Maybe if we unite, we can eradicate his hold over us for good.
"Very," I assure her simply, truthfully. Despite that lingering melancholy over Hanbin, I've settled into this life with Lisa and am happier than ever. I'm starting to feel like an actual newlywed. Maybe seven months too late, but beggars can't be choosers.
"Because if you're not happy, if you've changed your mind and this isn't what you want—"
"Stop," I angrily cut her off. "This is exactly where I want to be. Right here with you."
"I sometimes feel like this isn't real, Swan."
"Lisa," I mutter on a light cloud of regret. The tone of her voice is like a gunshot through the center of my heart. Wrapping my arms around her, I tug until he comes flush with me. She's heavy. It's hard to breathe. I don't care. And I don't even pretend I don't know what she's talking about. I'm tired of pretending. I infuse my voice with strength and confidence, meaning what I say. "We're real, Lisa. We're real. More real than anything in my life." Truth.
"Sometimes, when I go to bed at night with you curled into me, I'm convinced I'll wake up and you'll have been this horribly fantastic dream. It eats at me all the time. I worry I'll open my eyes and you'll be gone."
Tears spring up. They quickly roll into my hair, except the one on my right side. That drop of salty moisture works its way around the plastered-together flesh of our cheeks. I have done this to her. To us. How do I fix this? What do I do?
"I won't be gone. Ever," I manage to say through the constriction in my chest, now for an entirely different reason. I squeeze her harder. Try to make her believe me. "I promise. I love you so much, Lisa." I know I can't live without you. "I know this is where I'm meant to be." I hope she understands what I'm not saying.
She breathes evenly at my ear, speaking quietly. "I want kids. I wanted to wait and just enjoy being wifes for a while but I've waited a lifetime for you, Jen. I have this burning inside me to see your belly grow big with our baby, knowing together we created a life that's part you, part me, forever us."
After we married, it took me weeks to just take a full breath without panic. It was a lot like the stages of grief, letting Hanbin go and accepting my life with Lisa. Denial, anger, nearly debilitating sorrow. Then I'd repeat them all in no particular order. Gradually, though, I've moved to acceptance. More than acceptance, in truth. I've come to realize in the arms of this selfless, amazing woman is where I should have been all along. Of that, I'm convinced.
I know I've made a lot of progress since that day I walked down the aisle. I'm not perfect. Not sure I ever will be as my reaction tonight will attest. I didn't realize how far I'd come until this very second, though…until faced with the decision to bind us together forever with our combined DNA in a tiny human life we'll both be responsible for loving and raising. I can say nothing else but, "Okay."
Lisa breaks my hold, drawing back to look inside me where she'll find certainty. Solemnness has been replaced with pure, unadulterated, flabbergasted joy. "Okay?"
I nod. More water falls, even though a smile breaks out on my face. She scoops the ones on the left side away with her thumb before doing the right. "Why are you crying, Swan?"
"They're happy tears," I whisper. And they are. Mostly. The ones not filled with remorse for planting and nurturing that kernel of doubt about us anyway.
"You really want to start trying?"
"I do." I really do.
"God, I love you, Jennie Manoban."
Smiling through watery eyes, I take her face in my hands and assure her in the strongest, most genuine voice I can muster, "I love you, Lisa Manoban. Believe that, please."
Desire instantly smokes up her liquid amber pools, but flames behind the smolder make them glow brightly. It's mesmerizing and dizzying to know she wants me so much. Always.
Untangling one hand, she skates it slowly down my body, on the outside of my now aching breast. She teases around my nipple but it's just a tease because she keeps moving down my torso. She then slips it between us. Under the elastic of my pants. Between the silk of my panties and my naked flesh. Over my mound, through the wetness of my pussy.
"My God." My back arches off the floor when she pushes a lithe finger inside.
"I want to start right now."
I start to laugh but huff out a harsh gasp of air instead when she drags that wet finger to my puckered hole, circling it. "Lisa," I beg, not sure what I'm even begging for but I don't stop begging anyway. "I'm…I'm on the pill."
"Then we practice," she offers on a husk. Watching me with raw hunger, she tugs my loungewear down my long legs. The clingy material catches on my feet. I start to laugh when she yanks and the fabric stretches with her long arms.
"Impatient?"
"Enthusiastic," she replies with that sexy smirk once she's finally rid me of them. Efficiently, she has my tee over my head and my bra unclasped. The last garment to join the pile is my nonfrilly underwear.
She sits back on her haunches, eyes raking leisurely over my nude form. I twist under her scrutiny, aching, feeling needy everywhere her gaze kisses along my flesh. Unable to take any more, I hold out my hand, palm up. "Come here."
Her eyes come back to mine. They shine bright with happiness. That smirk morphs into a delicious smile. It takes over her whole being. Then it takes over mine.
In a flash, her clothes are gone, thrown haphazardly everywhere. Covering me with her rock-hard body, she kisses me until every nerve flares to life and every bone feels weak and sloshy. She pushes inside me with focused purpose until I cry out her name over and again. She makes love to me for hours on end, making my body sing, my soul soar, and my heart meld into one with her.
"I think we have this baby-making thing down pat," I tell her wearily in the dead of night as she holds me tight. Instead of going upstairs to bed, in Lisa style, she insisted we make a fort and sleep here on the floor together. It was almost as if she needed that connection from our past, so I couldn't argue. I needed it, too.
"Mmm, I think we'd better keep at it so we don't lose focus." Warmth flashes through me where her lips find my temple.
"I'm game." I snuggle closer, feeling sated and fuzzy everywhere. "I'll be here when you wake up," I promise softly, placing a gentle kiss on the pec underneath my cheek.
Her grip on me tightens. "I believe you."
"Good night, Lisa."
"Night, Swan."
Instead of playing the game of Life—which we never finished by the way—shit's turning real and I am deliriously happy about it. My heart is bursting out of its seams. We're going to make a baby. A. Baby. And I'm not panicky or feeling sick in the pit of my stomach or wishing I was having this conversation with someone else.
That's when I know: instead of looking over my shoulder, watching my footsteps fade, wishing I could fossilize the memories that came with each impression, I'm truly putting one foot in front of the other, making new ones—impressions and memories that will pave my new life.
And I'm excited about it.