Ellen Kim

Twenty-Four years Ago—age seven

"One hundred thousand? Are you insane? My client is not coming off that property a hundred thousand dollars. It's prime real estate."

"Oh, come on, Ellen. We both know the market is shit."

"Prime real estate in New York City."

"You're good. I give you that, but I'm better. Call me when you're ready to deal."

I clench my fist and grimace. Eric Swenson is the real estate mogul straight from hell. I bet he's the devil's son. I start to punch in Richard's number to tell him we might have to take a second mortgage if my luck keeps going this beautifully when I realize Jennie and that new little kid next door are slippery and missing. They were just here. I twist around in the living room, making sure the kids are not behind me, but oh, no. No, they are not.

"Jennie! Lisa!" I call out and hurry toward the many rooms in the lower level of the apartment, repeating their names over and over. The problem with a monstrous home in a highly sought after zip code, I think as my heels click and clatter on the ridiculously expensive natural stone floor, aside from having to pay for it is finding what you have lost is impossible. But this was all Richard. We have to live the lifestyle to sell it, and become the real estate agents of the rich and famous. I roll my eyes as I start up the stairs. "Jennie! Lisa!"

By the time I'm at the top of the stairs, what felt like kids being kids is starting to feel ominous and freak me out. "Where are those kids?" I murmur, cutting right toward Jennie's bedroom and calling for them again. "Jennie!" Lisa!" Scanning the kitchen to no avail. "Kids! Where are you?"

I pass the kid's library we had installed six months ago to create a love for books and learning in Jennie, and double-step toward her bedroom. Once I'm inside the doorway, I halt, scanning the room, and the flutter in my chest is nothing in comparison to the sickening sensation in my belly. With a trembling hand, I reach for my phone, about to call Lisa's parents, praying they just slipped next door to her house, when I hear giggles from the inside of the closet.

It's hard to explain to someone who isn't a parent what it feels like to be angry and relieved in the same moment. I suspect it's a bit like surviving a tidal wave. The water drags you under, suffocates you, and then you fight to survive, kicking and pumping your arms until the sweet thrill of air permeates your lungs. Shortly after, you swim as hard as you can to ensure your safety. The anger that follows a parent's panic is much like that swim toward the shore. It feels necessary to ensure the survival of yourself and your child.

My feet pound a path to the closet and I whip open the door. The two kiddos sit there, eyeing me only to have my scowl transform their laughter into terror. It's pretty easy to scare kids, and most of the time, us parents don't want to do any such thing except when they scare us and we see their lives and our own flash before our eyes.

"Out," I command, offering them the space it requires for them to pop to their feet and exit the closet.

Jennie chews her bottom lip, an un-ladylike habit I've tried to wean her off of, but it's almost as ingrained in her as her love of bargain box mac n cheese. I waggle my finger between them. "Why didn't you answer me? I was worried. I thought someone grabbed you. You scared me to death. What were both of you thinking?"

"We were copying you and Mr. Kim," Lisa blurts.

My brows shoot up. "What does that mean?"

"Jennie said I'm supposed to stick my tongue down her throat. That is what you do, but her gum got in my mouth and it was gross."

Jennie elbows her. "My gum is not gross, Lisa."

"It's gross. Jeez, Jennie. How do you not know that's gross?"

Oh my God, is all I can think. They're seven and already sticking their tongues in each other's mouths. I point at Lisa. "Go home."

She tucks her chin, eyes on Jennie, and then darts from the room.

My hands plant on my hips. "What was that?"

"Lisa and I are going to grow up and be like you and Daddy. We're getting married."

Jennie

Nine years later—age sixteen

"I'm not going to prom." I sip my chocolate shake. We're at Shake Shack, which used to be our favorite place to spend Friday nights, back before she was always on a date, and I was always studying.

"Why not?" Lisa asks.

"I don't like the pressure."

She laughs. "Pressure. What pressure? It's a stupid school dance."

"Who's with who and all that stuff."

"You're with me. Problem solved. No pressure at all."

My heart does this fluttery little thing. "You're going with Stephanie."

"No," she says. "We should go together."

"I'm not keeping you from being with the prom queen."

"I need to be prom king like a need a hole in the head. I thought Jeffery asked you to go? He's captain of the football team."

I fiddle with my straw. "He keeps pressuring me."

Her brow arches. "Like he wants between your legs?"

"Jeez. You're such a guy. Yes. He wants to have sex. Doesn't every guy?"

"Yes," she says. "I'm taking you to prom."

"You have a date."

"With you."

"We don't date. We agreed. That would ruin our friendship and be weird since we live next to each other."

She draws a d breath and lets it out. "Whose idea was that?"

It was mine, and she knows it. We both know it. It had come about one night a year before, when we'd almost kissed. I'd been certain we'd date, breakup, and hate each other, and I'd told her so. She'd agreed. Maybe a little too easily. I've lived to regret turning down that kiss she's never offered again.

"I just don't want us to ever hate each other."

"Do you really think that's possible?"

"There's more of a chance if we cross that line. Take Stephanie to the prom."

"And you'll do what?"

"I'll go with my football player boyfriend."

"And you'll say no to fucking him."

I blanch at the use of the F-word. "Probably, but I can't stay a virgin forever."

Her expression tightens. "I can't have this conversation with you. Let's go." She stands up and starts walking toward the door.

I don't get up and she leaves without me.

I don't see Lisa again until prom but I dress in a sexy black dress, with a deep cut back, with him on my mind. Jeffery, the boyfriend and football player, is all about the dress and me. I should be pleased. He's good-looking and enviable as a date, but I walk into prom looking for Lisa. Me and her and our dates come face-to-face. She's in a tuxedo looking hotter than she's ever looked and her eyes burn into mine, anger in their depths I don't understand.

"Jennie," she greets, her arm around Stephanie, who is blonde and all cleavage even at our young age. Lisa's sleeping with her, of course.

"Hi, Lisa," I say and turn to Jeffery and away from her. "I'd love some punch."

That's how the rest of the night goes. Each encounter with Lisa is hot and cold, until I'm outside making out with Jeffery just to survive the idea that Lisa is making out with Stephanie. I don't sleep with Jeffery, though. I just don't. I'm sure Lisa does plenty with Stephanie.

The next morning, I roll out of bed tired and hurt over the girl next door who is my best friend, just my best friend, but I feel so many things for her, I barely understand. It's so confusing. I pad my way into the kitchen and do what I've done since I was a little girl. I start baking my way into happiness. I make chocolate chip pancakes. I've just finished the first batch when I find the note from my parents: We went to a business breakfast in the city. Can't wait to hear about last night. —Mom

There's a knock on the door and I don't even bother to look in the mirror. It's probably a package. I open the door to find Lisa standing there, her hair rumpled, her T-shirt snug over her really nice chest.

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought we'd exchange prom notes."

"No, I didn't sleep with him. Now go home."

"Good. And no." She sniffs the air. "I smell food. I'm hungry."

Her "good" has pleased me for no real reason so I admit, "I made chocolate chip pancakes. I have extra." I open the door and let her inside.

two years later—age eighteen

"What's wrong, honey?"

I draw in a breath and shake myself back to the present. I'm at the kitchen counter, staring at the stack of pancakes with chocolate chips in them in front of me. Lisa loves chocolate chip pancakes. I make them every Saturday and she comes over no matter who her new girlfriend is at the time. But her newest—Cara, who isn't that new anymore, doesn't love it or me. Which is silly. Lisa and I are just friends.

"Jennie."

I blink my mother into view. "Nothing."

Her expression softens. "You're upset that she isn't here. She leaves for Yale today. You know her parents want every moment with her."

Because her father hates her, I think, but probably wants to lecture her about living up to the Manoban name. Her mother is another story. I'm not sure how someone so nice is with someone as cruel as Lisa's father. "You'll be right there with her at Yale in six months, honey. Her birthday just fell at the right time to put her ahead of you."

"I know," I say, but in my mind, six months feels like forever and truly, she'll probably forget me by then.

"Why don't you take her the pancakes?" she suggests.

"I thought you didn't like Lisa?"

"She's a player and at such a young age. It's hard to see you so hung up on her when I know she'll hurt you."

"She's not going to hurt me. We're friends."

"Who you're going to marry?"

I roll my eyes. "I was seven when I said that. Can you please let it go?"

The doorbell rings, and my heart goes nuts, fluttering as wildly as branches in a storm. My mother pats the counter. "It's her. Go, say goodbye." She pauses. "For now. You'll see her in six months."

Or not, I think. Out of sight, out of mind.

The doorbell rings again.

"Go," my mother urges.

She's being ridiculously supportive after how negative she's been about Lisa. I nod and slide off the stool, heading for the front door. I peer out of the window and sure enough, Lisa's on my doorstep. Butterflies swim wildly in my belly, and I open the door. She stands there, ridiculously good-looking, with her tousled dark brown hair, her perfect body and beautiful face, and grins at me. Her grin is perfect too. I've heard the good-looking high school boys never become the hot guys of adulthood. I find that hard to believe with Lisa.

"You're leaving?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says. "My parents want to leave now to have time to check things out. They have a chopper waiting."

Of course. Because we might be next door neighbors, but a few years back, her family hit the money train. Not that we're hurting. This is a high-end area, and my parents do well. Just not money train well. Sometimes I'm not even sure we belong here.

"It feels weird leaving," she says.

"Yeah," I say, afraid if I expand beyond confirmation I'll cry.

She holds out her arms. "Come here."

I sway in her direction, and she's already in front of me, enclosing me in her strong arms and molding me close, the delicious scent I can only call "The Lisa." It's earthy and rich and wonderful, and then to my utter shock, her hand cups my face. "I have to do this," she says, and her mouth closes down on mine, a long lick of her tongue curling my toes. Oh my God. I've waited for this for so long. I sink into the kiss and hold onto her, drowning in a lifetime of wanting her, and finally having her.

I'm still swimming in the moment when her lips part from mine. "That's what we are supposed to do to girls, right?" she teases, referencing our closet kiss when we were seven.

I laugh. "At least I didn't have gum in my mouth."

"No, you taste like chocolate pancakes."

I laugh again, feeling every bit a schoolgirl with a hot crush realized. "What happened to Cara?"

"We're never going to work long distance."

"How'd she take the break-up?"

"Oh, I didn't break up with her. That'll just happen."

Reality hits me hard and fast, and I shove away from her. "You kissed me and you're still with her?"

"Oh, come on Jennie. You and I are not like me and her."

"Oh my God. How did I not know what an ass you are?"

"Are you serious? I'm your best friend, Jennie."

"No, you're not. You would not have kissed me while committed to someone else if that were the case. Go to college, Lisa. I hope you grow up there, I really do." With that, I turn for the door.

She catches my arm. "Don't do this. I don't want us to be like this."

"It's too late. Now I know the real you." I jerk my arm from hers and shove the cracked door open, slamming it behind me. That's all it takes for me to burst into tears, hit the wall with my back, and slide downward until I'm on the floor.

Almost immediately, my mother is in front of me, squatting at eye level. "What just happened?"

"You were right about her," I sob. "She's not who I thought she was." I fling my arms around her.

She hugs me and whispers, "She's young honey. You're both young."

But she's wrong. I would never do what she just did to someone and we're the same age.

I can't believe I've secretly believed I'd one day marry her all my life.