Heart Beat Here

Chapter 7

TWENTY-TWO


It's been six years of this. This weird second chance. If that's what it is.

At times, it feels like a second life completely, rather than a redo.

There's overlap. Sure. Huge overlap. Her dad. Couldn't change anything there. Her mom pulling away. Same. But then, her mom isn't exactly like last time. The first time. Whatever. There's Lisa. So, more overlap. But then, there's young Lisa. High school Lisa. That's not overlap. It hurts her head to think about it.

Is this a second chance at life or just a second life? Is this reliving what's already been fated, with a few minor blips, or is this a new fate taking shape?

At twenty-two (at this twenty-two), she can only hope for a new fate to take shape. (Is "new fate" really even fate at all? Again, it hurts her head to think about it.)

She's twenty-two and Lisa's hand tightens on her hip and her warm breath tickles the back of Clark's neck and it feels a little like old fate and a little like something new.

"You 'wake?" she mumbles.

"Sorry," Jennie whispers back.

Lisa's hand clenches at her thigh and Jennie moves to roll over, to brush the hair from Lisa's face and coax her eyes open. It's not their first time with this late-night routine. Lisa's hands usually find Jennie in the middle of the night to wake her out of a bad dream, to soothe her and calm her and hold her tight, to remind her that it's just a bad dream, even if what Jennie's dreaming about is actually just real life, just the past, just him.

"What's wrong?" her slight accent is a little more noticeable when she's barely on this side of sleep. Her eye lashes flutter for a moment, but then  she catches Jennie's eyes and holds.

"Just thinking too hard. Go back to sleep, babe." Jennie leans forward and presses her lips to a warm forehead, resting there.

"Tell me." Lisa's breath puffs hot and sticky into Jennie's neck. She can tell that Lisa's eyes have fluttered closed again, even if she can't see them.

"It's hard to explain," she starts, then stops. She thinks she's off the hook until a few moments later, when she feels Lisa's fingers pinch at her hip. "Do you think about fate ever? Do you believe in it?"

"Thinking too hard," Lisa sighs. Jennie laughs. Full-bodied and a little out of control. It fits, what with all that's going through her mind.

"Sorry. I told you to go back to sleep."

Lisa's breath feels soft and even against her.

Again, she thinks she's off the hook.

A few moments later, her sleepy, slightly accented voice again: "I love you. Does that help?"

Lisa pulls back, eyes blinking awake, finding Jennie's.

She wonders how much Lisa knows. Does she know what Jennie's thinking? Does she know that Jennie knows they won't last? If a twenty-four year-old Jennie can wake up in sixteen year-old Jennie's body, then maybe Lisa can read minds. Maybe Lisa knows their fate. Maybe Lisa's trying to change their fate, too. Starting with these reminders. These I-love-yous.

"Help with what, babe?"

Her eyes start to blink slowly closed again "With your fate?" she mumbles. Somehow Jennie feels more safe with Lisa on the edge of sleep once more.

"Oh, Lisa. I'm not sure that it does. I love you, too. Go back to sleep. I'll make you breakfast in the morning before you catch the train."




She thinks maybe this is just a second chance, and not a second life completely in situations like this. Not long ago, she was twenty-two for the first time and they were still wrapped up in one another in Jennie's bed just off campus. They were still keeping clothes in each other's drawers and sneaking notes into each other's notebooks. Jennie was still watching Lisa leave to catch the Metro for her 9 AM and Jennie was still cramming books into her bag and running out the door minutes before class started.

"I love my American breakfast." There's a sausage falling off her fork and the yolk of her eggs spreads across the plate. There may even be a bit of egg yolk at the corner of her mouth.

Just months ago, Lisa was wide-eyed and open-mouthed when Jennie cooked her this "American breakfast" for the first time the morning after an especially wild Friday happy hour. Except then, it was just "breakfast." Just a whispered promise after a late summer night. ("Stay. I'll cook you breakfast.") She ragged on Jennie for it, at first. This huge plate with eggs and sausage and hash browns and toast and ketchup. ("Ketchup? No. For what? On eggs?!") But then she mixed the yolk with the toast and a dab of ketchup and she didn't look back up from her plate. Jennie watched her the entire time, chin resting in her palm, leaned again the table, taking a sip of black coffee every now and then, wearing Lisa's wrinkled Oxford she'd found smushed into the floor.

Now, it's part of the routine. Two or three times a week Lisa spends the night. Two or three times a week Lisa gets an "American breakfast."

"Gotta keep you well fed with all of those classes and studying you've got today. Plus, I know that you're not going to pack anything for lunch."

Jennie's routine is mostly the same, too. Chin in palm, still waking up, sips of black coffee every now and then, usually Lisa's old Oxford, with the hole near the sleeve. It's sort of not even really Lisa's any more.

She looks up, a mound of hashbrowns piled on her fork. "There was an apple in my bag yesterday," she says, proud.

"I wonder who put it there?" Jennie replies with a wink.

"Oh." Her smile is full-blown and it gives Jennie pause. "Thanks."

"How is studying going?"

Lisa takes a few moments to shovel more food. "It's fine," she says, mouth still full.

"Lis." The coffee cup hits the table a little harder than intended and Lisa stops chewing.

"I don't...it's just..."

"What?"

"I don't want to start something," she mumbles, pushing food around with her fork.

"I'm not," Clark replies, a little too quickly, a little too loudly. "I just want to know."

"You're not going to ask me if I'm happy? If I'm sure about all this?" Lisa looks up at her, meeting her eyes for a moment, then back down again.

"No. Promise." Still, a little too much.

"Studying is ok. It's a lot on top of everything else, but I took a practice test yesterday and raised my score by 5 points from last time."

"Is that a lot?"

"It's a good start. Columbia's in the 170-175ish range, Georgetown's in the 165-170 range. I've got a little bit more to go still."

"There are a lot of good law schools out there if you don't make it into that range, babe."

"Yeah." Lisa's standing. The plate's under the faucet. Jennie's still at the table, leaning back, contemplating the last few sips of now lukewarm coffee.

And that's it. She's heard the end of this conversation quite a few times. At this twenty-two and back at that twenty-two.




Sometimes, on those couple nights a week when she's spending the night in Lisa's little single room on campus, Lisa steps out into the hallway and Jennie can only hear the soft melody of whispered Ukrainian. Sometimes Lisa returns minutes later, jaw set and eyes distant. Those times, Jennie leaves her alone, waiting for Lisa to talk to her first. Sometimes Lisa returns more than an hour later, jaw trembling and eyes red. Those times, Jennie pulls her into a hug and whispers affirmation over and over again. They never talk about it. She can never figure out the right time, the right words to say, especially when just a few words about the LSAT or law school or her parents will set Lisa off anyway.

They never talk about it about it until they talk about it. Lisa's jaw is tight, clenched, her eyes alight on Jennie when she quietly closes the door to the hallway. Jennie's tucked into the corner on the bed, hand idling over her traveling sketchbook. Usually, Jennie gives her a quick look, just to figure out which Lisa she's getting - the jaw set and eyes distant or jaw trembling and eyes reddened. Usually, Lisa doesn't look at her at all.

"I know you want what's best for me," she whispers through clenched teeth. Jennie can just barely hear it. "I know you want me to be happy."

She sits on the edge of the bed. She looks tired, Jennie thinks. Different. Those wide, bright eyes, the full-blown grins from this summer at the Capitol - they're not completely gone, but they've all but faded from her memory.

Jennie sets her book to the side and sits up behind Lisa, her chin on Lisa's shoulder, hand tangling into her fingers.

"I do, babe," she whispers into Lisa's neck, resting her forehead against that tight jaw, feeling it loosen and her body lean back into Jennie's.

"I need you to try to understand." Her head turns into Jennie's and she can feel Lisa's breath against her. "For me, Jennie, this is not about my happiness."

That line is so familiar. It feels like fate and she feels like fighting it.

She sits back against the wall, sighs loudly. "Your life is not about your happiness?" Her voice is probably a little too loud, but she can't help it. "Your future isn't about your happiness? This is what's so fucking crazy to me, Lisa."

She sees Lisa lean forward, hands pushing up into messy curls. They're always unkempt after a phone call in the hallway. She imagines that Lisa sits there and pulls at strands of her hair, twirling and pulling and twirling until they're all out of order.

"My life and my future do not just belong to me." It's parroted. This is a line Lisa's heard and delivered herself time and time again.

"They do." There's some desperation in her voice, but it's tinged with resignation. "Lisa, they do."

She stares up at the ceiling and wonders if she can live like this all over again, wonders if they had these moments of unhappiness back in their first twenty-two. That feels like so long ago. It was.
"My life, my future, they belong to my family."

"No." She sits up and pushes her body into Lisa from behind, wraps her up tight in her arms.

"Yes," Lisa says quietly, still leaning forward, hands still pushing against her forehead and into her hair. Jennie is just holding on. "This is the way it is. I can't explain any better and I guess I can't expect you to understand, but I need you to accept it."

She figures that neither one of them get much sleep that night. Her place between the wall and Lisa is stifling and she wakes up a few times gasping for air. When she does, Lisa's concerned eyes are on her immediately, like she's been awake the entire time.



Accepting it is a bit easier when Jennie sees the relief and joy on Lisa's face when she gets an early afternoon email from Columbia's Law School. It makes her forget about Lisa's late nights poring over test prep books. It makes her forget about Lisa's late nights on the phone in the hallway, the tears and the angry whispers. It makes her forget about the couple of times when Lisa shut down weeks before the official test, when she wouldn't return Jennie's phone calls or texts. It makes her forget, but not for long. This isn't the first time this has happened, after all.



Sometimes, she's convinced that this actually is a second chance at life completely. During her first twenty-two, she'd never spent more than a few minutes with Lisa's family. In this life, in this twenty-two, they spend an entire day together. She figures that's got to be a pivotal moment.
It's graduation and it's another one of those moments that gives her relief, that makes her forget about one Lisa in favor of another.

Lisa's all nerves and energy, standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar from one of her summer internship outfits. Jennie tried to take her shopping, but Lisa always begged off. She didn't push too hard, this outfit is her favorite, anyway. She turns Lisa toward her and gives her the once over, smoothing her gray pencil skirt, tugging on her thin black belt, pushing the sleek button-down more fully into its tuck. Lisa's got another one of those full-blown grins when Jennie reaches her collar.

"What?" She knows the answer to that, but it feels so good to hear Lisa say it.

"I'm happy."

"Yeah?" Jennie leans in and kisses a cheek that won't seem to relax from its smile.

"Absolutely. Graduation. Summer with you. A few hours in the Senator's office each week. My life can't get any better right now."

"Really?"

"Yes, Jennie. I love you so much. Thank you."


A few hours later, after Lisa's last "American breakfast" as a college senior, some of that relief dissipates into anxiety. Jennie can't tell if it's that nervous-excited anxiety or that nervous-terrified anxiety. It's nervous-terrified anxiety for her.

In this life, she's only met him once, and never her. In that life, she met him briefly here and there, never her. And him, only for a few minutes at a time. That's all she could stand of him. She couldn't do more time, not with the way Lisa would feel after talking to him, being around him.

But she wants to tempt fate this time. She wants to challenge it and break it down and tear out a new life. For herself. For Lisa. For them.

And this, this meeting the family, getting to know the family, this has got to be a way to tempt fate, she thinks.

Jennie's most nervous about the fact that she's only going to get a quick introduction before she has to spend two hours with them by herself.

They meet at the Quad, not far from the arena. Lisa's hand is sweating in her palm, not least because it's nearing 80 degrees out. They're already waiting as they approach.

He's wearing those faded, slightly wrinkled khakis that Jennie figures must be the same as when she first saw him at the mock trial tournament in New York. He's on the phone. A flip phone. Jennie didn't even realize people still had flip phones. He's talking in an angry whisper that she figured must be reserved for Lisa alone. It's got to be Alec. She's been hearing his name a lot more in those hallway conversations lately. Or maybe she's just been hearing his name a lot more because it's just about the only thing she can discern from their conversations.
She's a more frail, shorter Lisa. In twenty-five years. And with an old lady's sense of style. Jennie's immediately convinced that she's all of Lisa's hard edges. Until she sees her eyes. She's had the rare occasion to be on the other end of Lisa's glare. And that's what she sees from Lisa's mother now, still a hard edge. But she also knows that Lisa's glare is just a few shades off from Lisa's glow. And she's seen Lisa's eyes go from one to the other in an instant because of her. She sees Lisa's eyes in her and it gives her hope.

"Mama, Tato, this is Jennie. Jennie, this is my mother and father."

Her father closes his phone and nods. Her mother extends her hand. She's wearing white gloves.

"Hi, nice to meet you," Jennie says to her, grasping her limp hand. Lisa's mother nods in response.

"Jennie." His accent is much thicker than anything she's ever heard out of Lisa, even at her drunkest or sleepiest. It seems most pronounced when fumbling over her name. "Is that a boy's name?"

"Tato," Lisa says quickly.

It's nothing she hasn't heard before, but it's been a while. Maybe since grade school.

"I suppose it could be," she replies with a nervous smile.

Lisa leans into him and whispers something she can't hear. Not that she would know what she's saying anyway.

While she's leaning close, Lisa's mother fusses over her cap and gown, the tassel flopping awkwardly into her face. Her father doesn't say anything, but when his eyes land on Lisa as she steps back, she stands up straighter, squares her jaw, looks to him. He nods his head minutely. Jennie's seen that move before. This family speaks in nods and angry whispers, she thinks. Lisa seems to relax, just barely, knowing that she has his approval, even if only for the moment.

And then Lisa's gone. Lost in some indistinct line of gowns and mortarboards and tassels and Jennie's alone with them. Lisa's father just starts walking and she and Lisa's mom shuffle behind trying to keep up.

Being in the arena isn't so bad. There's a lot to take in. It keeps her busy for the first fifteen minutes or so. Looking around, wondering who all of these people are, where they came from, who their kids are, whether they've met Lisa, wondering which Lisa they know.

Lisa's mom sits next to her, gloves off now and hands neatly folded in her lap.

"Mrs. Manoban, I love your purse," Jennie says, leaning into her. "The colors are beautiful."

She nods and gives Jennie a shy smile. Jennie catches her eyes for a moment before they look away. That glare is gone. Jaw relaxed. She's Lisa.

Lisa's father leans across her from the other side. "What did you say to her?"

There's a moment of sheer terror. She did something wrong and now his angry whisper is going to turn to her.

"Um. Just that I love the purse," she stammers. "The colors. They're very nice. Vibrant."

Lisa's father turns and whispers something to her mother.

"She says 'thank you.'"

She didn't realize.



She doesn't say another word to them until they meet back up with Lisa after the ceremony.

She's taken off the cheap gown, tossed it over her arm. She's got that full-blown grin and Jennie's so, so glad to see her again.

Lisa's father rifles through his pants pocket as she approaches.

Her calls something that sounds like her name. Jennie can't quite make it out, but he's not saying Lisa. Maybe a nickname. Maybe 'Lisa' is the nickname, she thinks.

"...come, come, come," he says loudly, as she gets closer and closer. He's pulled an old disposable camera from his pocket.

"Jennie. You will take a picture of us. Our graduate."

Lisa's got that full-blown grin and now he does, too. She's her mother's eyes and his smile.

It disappears when she holds the camera up. Suddenly they're all serious again. Her father on her left, face unreadable. Mother on her right, jaw squared, eyes glaring. Lisa in the middle, perfectly positioned to be a mix of them both.

"Take one more, Jennie. I want to make sure we get a good one."

After one more, she approaches. Lisa's talking to her father in English this time.

"Tato, Jennie is studying art. I'm sure the pictures she took are just fine."

She doesn't really have enough time to wonder why Lisa's telling him about her art before he's talking to her.

"You are an artist, Jennie?" His face is still completely unreadable.

"I try to be," she replies, demure enough to play it either way.

"It is not a lucrative career." He says. It doesn't really sound like an accusation, more just a statement of fact.

"Tato." Another quick scold from Lisa.

"No, not often."

"How will you be supporting yourself? Do you expect Lisa to care after you?" Now this sounds more like an accusation.

"No sir," she replies, before Lisa can scold.

"Tato."

"No sir, I'm hoping to sell my art, to get commissions."

"I see."


A few minutes later and they've said their goodbyes. They'll see each other that night. A graduation dinner is planned for a local Ukrainian restaurant. Some people Lisa's parents know through a friend of a friend. They leave to check into their hotel on the other side of town. Jennie and Lisa stroll back to Lisa's room on campus one last time.

The walk isn’t long. Fifteen minutes maybe. They’ve got to go back to Lisa’s to start packing up so that she can be out by tomorrow.

But Jennie’s mind won’t relent. She replays their introduction, the interaction inside the arena, taking the pictures. Something feels awful about it all.

"I think your father hates me,” she finally says, several minutes into the walk.

"No." It’s a familiar tone. Tired, annoyed, angry.

"Well he doesn't think highly of me."

"No. He just...he's not used to someone like you." She thinks that a part of this tone comes from loyalty, from protecting them.

"What does that mean?"

"Look at us, my family. That's all he knows is family. He's not used to someone like you."

"Someone who's not family?"

"Yes."

"Did Rosé ever meet them?" She tries a new angle. Just to see if it’s just her, or if it’s everyone they meet.

"No."

"Oh.”

They walk on in silence for a bit longer. Jennie thinking, probably too hard. She just wants to figure it out. The right angle.

"Is it a good thing or a bad thing that he's not used to someone like me?"

"I...I don't really know."

"What if it's a bad thing?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if he ends up not liking me?"

"Well I like you." It's not the answer she wants to hear. She wants to hear, 'I'm sure he'll like you, Jennie.'

And now she doesn’t care about the right angle. She can’t stand him and what he’s done to Lisa, what he’ll do to her, what he’ll do to them. "I can think of a few other things you like that he doesn't."

Lisa sighs, like she knows what’s coming, but she asks anyway, "Like what?"

"Like a career working for the Senator, something in politics."

"Jennie."

"You gave that idea up because you knew he wouldn't like it."

"I'm interning with him this summer." It’s true. Jennie had convinced her to get back in touch with the Senator’s office, to figure out if she could do a few hours here and there each week before she’d have to head up to New York.

"A couple hours a week. As a last hurrah, Lisa. You've already said that yourself. You never even gave it a second thought, probably never even asked them to reconsider it." That’s also true. She’d told her parents that she’d finish up the summer in her little dorm room, studying for her new classes, reading up on law books in the library. They don’t even know about this last work she’s doing for the Senator. 

She’s unhinged a little as she continues. She just can’t help it. If this is a chance to alter fate, she doesn’t see another way to do it except to fight and fight and fight. It’s fighting for her. "Is that what's going to happen to me, too? Find out he doesn't like me and I'm gone, just like that? And you won't even talk about it, won't even consider it."

She’s about to continue but Lisa interrupts.

"Hey!" The tired and annoyed drop out of Lisa’s voice and all that’s left is angry. It startles Jennie and she doesn’t finish her tirade.

She stomps ahead for a few minutes. Soon, they'll be back at Lisa's room. Soon, they’ll be packing up her stuff and acting like nothing happened.

She stops, sits down on a bench. It's hot, but she's angry and she can't think straight.

It was a mistake. Meeting her parents. She should have said she wasn't ready. How could she possibly think that she'd come to like him after spending the morning with him? And Lisa’s mom? Even if she liked Jennie, she probably wouldn't be able to say it.

Lisa just stands behind the bench in the shade.

"I don't think I can do dinner tonight, Lisa." She’s not angry any more, but she can’t pretend like she doesn’t know where all of this is going. She can’t play into fate, at least not today.

"Why?"

She starts to cry. Lisa sits on the bench next to her.

"It's just. I'm having a really hard time."

"What? With Tato and Mama?"

She nods.

"Jennie. I'm sorry. They just need some time."

"He looked so proud of you, Lis. And then, he turns to me, and I'm the camera girl. And then I'm the idiot girlfriend who majored in art. And then, I'm the girl who's going to fucking mooch off of your success."

Lisa doesn’t talk to her for several minutes. When she does, it’s the return of that tone. Tired, annoyed, angry.

"He doesn't think that."

"Then why did he ask me? He said, 'Do you expect Lisa to support you?'"

"He didn't say that."

"He did."

Lisa just shakes her head.

"I'm sorry that you're having a hard time with them."

"Me too."

"I wish I knew what to do."

"Me too."

"I love you, Jennie." Tired, annoyed, angry.

"I wonder if that's enough."

"I guess now I do, too."



It's the first night in weeks that they spend apart. Instead, she takes the train home. She watches an old movie with her mom, something from his collection. And for the first time, she thinks that maybe this is just fate come early. Instead of being on the verge of break-up at twenty-four, they're on the verge of break-up at twenty-two.

It serves as a great reminder, though. A reminder to change, to pursue, to be an agent. It serves as a reminder that she isn't idle in all of this. That night she emails a few art studio shares, bookmarks a few calls for portfolio submissions, and reconnects with her high school art teacher, Mr. Coolidge. She's supposed to spend the summer just doing work in Indra's studio, spending as much time as possible in her cozy off-campus apartment with Lisa, making Lisa more "American breakfasts." It's supposed to be a lazy summer before she decides whether to follow Lisa up to New York. She's not sure where any of that stands after all this.

Sleep is fitful, but she's grateful to wake to her mom brushing fingers against her scalp. She's fallen asleep in his chair, just like he used to do.

"Honey, your phone's been buzzing non-stop." She’s wearing that old robe and the morning sun brightly gleams off the polished wooden floors of the family room.

"It's probably Lisa," she sighs and closes her eyes again.

Her mom disappears and she starts to fall back asleep. There’s something about his chair.

A few moments later, she reappears with two cups of coffee in her hand.

"Everything ok between you two?" She asks as she perches on the arm of the chair.

"I don't know."

"What happened?" She runs her fingers through Jennie’s hair again, scratching lightly at her scalp. Her mom told her once that Jennie used to ask for her to do it as a kid. She’s liked it ever since.

"It's always happening. It's not just this one-time thing."

"Well what's always happening, then?"

"You don't want to hear it, mom. It's just stupid stuff."

"It's not stupid and I want to hear it. Tell me, Jennie."

"She's unhappy. And when I try to point that out, we just fight."
"Why is she unhappy?"

"Law school, stuff with her parents. It's complicated. I just want her to be happy."

"Maybe it's going to take her some time to figure all of that out. Your father," Jennie perks up. They don't talk about him. They watch his movies and sit in his chair and eat his favorite food, but they don't talk about him. Not at this twenty-two and not at that twenty-two, either. "Your father and I went through the same thing. Gosh, you're so much like him."

"What happened?"

"I had a tough time in my first year of residency. He thought it was because I didn't actually want to be a doctor, I thought it was because of my placement." She smiles and Jennie’s a little bit in awe. Her mom is talking about her dad. And she’s not crying. And she’s not locked in her room. She’s talking about her dad and she’s smiling.

"Which one was it?"

"Well, we were both a little bit right, I guess."

"You didn't want to be a doctor?"

"I hadn't really thought about it much before. I'd talked about it since I was a little kid, but once I got older, I never really stopped to question whether it was something I actually wanted to do. I just assumed it was what I wanted to do because it was always what I said I wanted to do."

"Do you like being a doctor now?"

"I do. It's a job, so there's times I hate it and times I love it."

"I don't think that's the same with Lisa. She doesn't want to be a lawyer. It's what her family wants her to do."

"Why do they want her to do that?"

She’s actually not quite sure she knows the answer to that question.

She forges ahead anyway. "Money. Prestige. Because it will bring the family pride, I guess. She doesn't really explain it all the way to me. She just tells me that I wouldn't understand. And that they've given up a lot for her to pursue this."

"Is that what Lisa wants for her family?"

"I don't know."

"Her life is different from ours, Jennie." She thinks back on to her mom's birthday this past winter, when Jennie dragged Lisa out to the suburbs for lunch with her mother. After lunch, she fell asleep in front of the television and found Lisa and her mom engaged in deep conversation when she woke up. Maybe her mom got something out of Lisa that she never could.

"Yeah."

"Happiness means different things to different people."

"Yeah."

"Hey, just keep an open mind." Her mom pushes the phone across the table, closer to her. "She loves you. Your happiness matters to her, too."

"Yeah."


She doesn't check her phone right away. Instead, she takes a shower, finds some shorts and a tee-shirt buried in her drawer, eats lunch, flips through her old sketchbook. It's not until her mom calls her downstairs and tells her to call Lisa now that she finally checks it.

Lisa's supposed to be packed up and moved out by the end of the day. She was supposed to help. Lisa's first voicemail reminds her about that.

"Uh hi, I'm about to leave here and wanted to make sure you're not coming over. It's ok, it's not that much stuff, so you don't have to. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't going to miss you if you decided to come over."

The second reveals that Lisa's probably feeling pretty guilty, since she's still not mad at Jennie.

"Hi Jennie. Just wanted to let you know that your neighbor let me into the building. A bunch of my stuff is outside your door. I tried knocking a few times, but I don't think you're in there. Just, uh, give me a call back when you get this. I have another run to do."

The third makes her feel guilty.

"Hi. All my stuff is in your hall now. Just let me know when you think you might be home. I'm gonna go hang out at the coffee shop."

She can’t talk to her. Not yet. She doesn’t want to apologize and she knows that Lisa won’t. So she texts to meet at the coffee shop.

When she gets there, it’s just a few ‘you oks’ and ‘where did you gos,’ before they walk silently back to Jennie’s place to haul Lisa’s stuff into her room and get her settled. It's not much, but it's two Metro trips worth of boxes and bags of clothes.

Lisa seems mostly done with her moving when Jennie leaves her to turn on the TV in the living room. She sees Lisa unfolding and folding clothes that she’s already placed in the couple of drawers she cleared out for her when she decides that she’s done helping.

She hears Lisa’s footsteps and sees her leaning in the doorway between her bedroom and the living room. She’s just looking for a few moments. Jennie pretends not to notice. She’s not sure whether Lisa’s looking at her or at the TV. Either way, she’s not ready to say something first.

"It doesn't matter if he likes you or not.” Her voice is a little shaky and it makes Jennie whip around to look at her. “You know that, right? I love you and that's all I need."

She studies her. This isn’t the Lisa from before. Not tired, not annoyed, not angry. Resigned, maybe. Seeking forgiveness, maybe. She’s not sure.

Still, she can’t push away those memories from the day before. She can’t push away those memories of their first life together.

"Are you sure?" She defaults back fighting fate. It’s the only way she knows.

"Will you stop second guessing me?" Lisa’s stoicism relents. Her voice wobbles and cracks and raises.

"I guess I just can't help it, Lis,” she says, as she rises from the couch, moving toward the doorway, toward Lisa. “This whole law school business, that I know you're hating, is just proof to me that you're willing to forsake your own happiness, your own life, for your family."

"My career and my love life are not the same. He doesn't have a say in you and me. In us."

Jennie slides her hands up to Lisa’s shoulders, then up to cup her cheeks. "Then why does he have a say in your career?"

"I'm doing this for him,” she says, voice still shaky, placing her hands over top of Jennie’s. “For them. Do you know what they've sacrificed? What they've given me? I have to. I have to. Please, Jennie. I don't want to fight. I love you and I want to be with you. Please."

She can’t stand it, so she lets up. She knows she could keep going, but she can’t stand seeing Lisa like this. It’s one thing to fight against her when Lisa’s showing those hard edges. Her mother’s hard edges. Jennie can fight and fight and fight and maybe make some headway against fate.

It’s another thing to push up against this Lisa. Anxious and teary and self-conscious. Begging and pleading for Jennie’s trust. Warring between her and them.

She knows she could say more, but she doesn’t. She’d rather make up anyway.



Jennie has always found it cheesy, but after talks like these, Lisa likes to call it 'making love.' She nuzzles into Jennie's neck and whispers in her ear. Her hands find their way beneath that tattered Oxford sleep shirt. Jennie can't resist. She doesn't want to resist. After talks like these, this is exactly what she needs. Lisa's got a certain way she likes to recover from these fights. Those intense, wide, green eyes refuse to leave Jennie's. Her hands are gentle, fingers pressing delicately inside. They start so gently that Jennie thinks she's halfway between a dream and waking. She reads Jennie completely. When she gasps for a breath, Lisa does, too. When she lifts her hips to meet Lisa's hand, Lisa pushes her hips closer, tighter. When Jennie closes her eyes and tips her head back, Lisa is there, too.

And then the next morning, after talks like these, Jennie likes to fuck it out. It's not cheesy at all, and, unlike Lisa, she's never actually used those words. She's always the first one awake mornings after fights, like Lisa's been emotionally and physically depleted. She doesn't let Lisa brush her teeth. Her naked body presses Lisa's into the mattress to wake her up. Lisa doesn't resist. She's never resisted Jennie. Jennie prefers to recover with bruising bites, rough hands, and the headboard knocking against the wall. There's no gentle start. She pushes into Lisa, still wet from the night before. She shakes and moans against Lisa's thigh. When Lisa gasps for a breath, Jennie pushes harder, grinds deeper, gasps for a breath, too. When Lisa flips them, sucks a bruise into Jennie's nipple, Jennie pushes back, grabs Lisa's hand, brings it to her center. When Jennie barrels over the edge, Lisa does, too.



They didn't do this in her first twenty-two. At least not that she remembers, and she think she'd remember this. She’d definitely remember.

There's more evidence that she's in the middle of a second life, that fate has taken major turns, but it's always tempered with a reminder that fate's close at hand.
The summer is a second life. Jennie spends long hours in Indra’s studio and comes home each night worn down, with paint splotches across her skin and hair. Lisa seems to actually look forward to law school in the fall. (She thinks it has something to do with the Senator, a Columbia Law School alum.)
But the late summer and early fall are a reminder that fate’s close at hand. They’re in New York, just like last time. Lisa’s headed to law school, just like last time. She’s questioning her decisions, their fate, just like last time.

Ever since graduation day, though, Jennie’s kept one thing on her mind: she isn’t idle in all of this. She needs to change, to pursue, to be an agent.

Which is how they find themselves in the middle of a fancy Manhattan restaurant the night after Lisa’s first day of law school orientation. She wants Lisa to continue this excitement about law school. She wants to give Lisa some positive associations.

"How can you afford this place?" Lisa looks at her from over top of the menu. She’s wearing the new suit that Jennie’s mom gave her as a graduation present.

She bites her lip between her teeth to keep from her own full-blown grin. "I did a little saving."

"From what? You didn't work this summer."

"What do you think I did at the studio?" They haven’t talked about it much, but Jennie thinks Lisa’s perception of her ‘work’ may have a lot to do with how much she loves it. She figures Lisa thinks that it’s not work if she loves it.

"Uh."

"All those paintings - what do you think happens to them?"

"Did you...and not tell me?" She puts the menu down and stares across the table at Jennie, eyes wide, mouth agape.

"Yep. To one of Indra's regulars. It wasn't much, but it's a start."

"It was enough to afford this." She looks around and Jennie’s eyes follow. The dark paneling of the walls, the candlelight, the menu prices that start at twenty dollars and only go way up.

"And then some, babe."

"Really?"

"I've reserved some studio space for the next few months. Not far from our place."

"Really?"

"Yes. Are you shocked?"

"No,” Lisa reaches across the table and grabs her hand. “I'm so happy for you."

She's right on the edge of saying it. Saying something like, "That's what I want to feel for you, too. I want to be happy because you're flourishing in your career, because you've found something to love." She wants to say it. This is the perfect time to prove that point. But then she remembers why she made reservations for this place, why she saved up that money, why she begged Lisa to go out on their first big city date.

"I'm happy for you, too, babe. Day 1 down. You're going to do great." She raises her glass of red wine. It takes a moment for Lisa to raise hers. She's still processing this new Jennie. And it is a new Jennie. She didn't do this in her first twenty-two.
"To us."

"To us."