Heart Beat Here

Chapter 9

New York must have been part of it. Part of the misery. Not much, but a small part. She likes the slower urban life - the faux-South - of DC. It doesn't hurt that her mom is a fifteen minute metro ride from her apartment. It also doesn’t hurt that she can live in something larger than a shoebox.

They're getting on now better than she ever expected. Dinner at her mom's once a week, monthly outings to the museums and plays and galleries around town. Even a few meet-ups with Chahee every so often, when she's not loaded down by whatever it is that keeps her busy at NASA. (Jennie swears she listens when Chahee talks, but she always ends up feeling more lost than before Chahee even started.)

Being without Lisa is tougher than she imagined in most ways, but there's some part of her that finally feels free. In the morning, she misses the steaming mug of coffee Lisa would deliver to her bedside. At that point, Lisa had usually been awake for at least two hours, sometimes going for an early morning run before she started her studies. At midday, she misses the idle texting, the "How's your day going?" and the funny stories about Lisa's Con Law professor. In the evening, she misses the warmth of Lisa's body, the way she'd grip onto Jennie in her sleep and sigh into her hair.

But there's a freedom without Lisa that she'd never considered. It's an opportunity to explore and be completely selfish. She doesn't worry about buying the right things at the grocery store or staying up until Lisa gets home from the library. She doesn't worry about making ends meet for two. She doesn't worry about pleasing Lisa or about pleasing Lisa’s demanding parents. (Though the more she thinks about it, the more she thinks that was never a part of the problem, anyway.)

She's got a few commissions now and a gallery showing in a few months. It's not exactly enough to sustain her through the year, but DC is a lot cheaper than New York and she's hoping that the gallery showing will help out with that. Worst case, Chahee's friend Bambam has a bartending gig she can slide into for a while.

She doesn't wait around for anyone else, and it's freeing. She takes herself out to dinner, to the movies. She drinks wine on her fire escape and looks out over the tops of the domed buildings of DC.

And holidays have actually turned out to be her favorite.

Her first DC holiday upon her return was Easter. It was a quiet affair, just Jennie and her mom and her memories from several Easters past, including the one at sixteen with her grandmother and her dad and egg dye all over her fingers. (There are actually two memories of that Easter at sixteen - the first sixteen and the second - but she tries not to think about that stuff so much anymore. Dramatic changes and all, it doesn't look like there's any going back.)




Her mom has been planning this Christmas get together for a while now. She's told Jennie that she wants to start a tradition with Chinese food and Scrabble and movies, just the way Alexander would have wanted it. Chahee comes over after her own family's affair, new boyfriend, Peniel, in tow. (When Chahee first told her about Peniel, a heaviness pulled her down for several days. It's not that she wasn't happy for Chahee, it's that she couldn't tear her mind away from Lisa.)

"Is it Scrabble time yet?" She's not sure why Chahee's so excited. She usually comes in last place. In a typical game, it'd be Jennie or her mom taking first and Chahee almost always in last. Only once did Chahee beat them all, on the word "yagi," which is some sort of space antennae or something. Jennie lost on the challenge and Chahee flipped the board in delight. They found the missing "Y" tile months later. Of course, when Lisa was there for Scrabble games, she always won.

"I'm ready for you and your 'yagi.' You're going down Kim." Chahee's found that same devilish grin from her last win.

"Your 'yagi'?" Peniel’s face screws up in confusion, like ‘yagi’ might be a dirty word.
Jennie knows he's not NASA, but she can't remember exactly how Chahee met him. It fell somewhere in that story about Peniel that she tuned out when she started thinking about Lisa. Chahee probably knows she wasn't listening, but she hasn't called Jennie out on it yet.

"Long story, Peniel, but it's definitely not what you think it means. You want to play?"

"Uh, sure."

Her mom's voice from the kitchen breaks the monotony in the living room. "You all want cocoa?"

"Only if you spike it, Ms. G." She’s got a different devilish grin this time. It’s the one that kind of grosses Jennie out. Chahee always seemed to have a thing for her mom. She quirks her eyebrow at Jennie.

"I guess you're old enough for that now, Chahee, but that joke wasn't so funny eight years ago."

"Has it been that long?" Chahee yells back.

Her mom appears in the doorway. "Since you first asked me to spike your drink? I think so."

It feels like they're flirting. Peniel's staring into the fire and Jennie's uncomfortable.
"You're first, Chahee." Her mom disappears back into the kitchen.

"No, last time's winner is always first."

Last time's winner.
"Well, Lisa's not here, so you're first." She can feel it come out meaner than she wants. Probably some combination of this weird flirtation and memories of Lisa in Peniel’s space by the fire.
"Sorry. I wasn't thinking."

Jennie just shakes her head. The grin disappears as Chahee doles out the tiles and they silently arrange them. She can hear her mom stirring the milk in the kitchen. Peniel's still staring into the fire.

"You know that she quit law school, right?" Chahee asks, her voice thin.

Jennie looks at her for too long, playing her words back again and again. "What?"

"Yeah." Chahee looks away, like maybe she wants to take it all back.

Lisa quit. She can't fathom it. There's no "first time around" to think back on, no first experiences of first memories of when Lisa quit. She'd never considered the possibility.

"Lisa did?" She hears herself whisper like she's looking down at the whole conversation. Looking down at Chahee with her wide eyes, looking down at Peniel, who seems to know something's up but just glances between the two of them, looking down at the empty Scrabble board. "Quit? There's absolutely no way."

Chahee is nodding. Jennie just stares. "She did. I...uh...heard it through a friend of a friend."

Jennie's up and moving toward the kitchen before she realizes what she's doing. "Mom, did you hear that?"

"Hear what, honey?"

And then she's in the kitchen and looking at her mom. "Lisa quit law school."

"Uh." The spoon stops stirring but she can only see her back.

"Mom?"

"What?"

"Did you know that Lisa quit law school?"

She sees her head dop and Jennie's sure she knows. "She emailed me, yes."

"What?" She feels her face twist up and tears spring to her eyes.

"We talk occasionally,” she says, turning to face Jennie. “She asks for advice and I give it to her. Honey, don't be upset, she just needed some guidance. She asked me not to tell you."

"And she means more than your own daughter?"

"That's not what it means at all and you know it. What good would it have done for me to tell you?"

"How long have you guys been emailing?"

She remembers back to their fight after graduation, when her mom forced her to call Lisa after avoiding her calls for hours. And the time when she woke up on her mom's birthday to her and Lisa deep in conversation, her mom's hand on Lisa's shoulder, Lisa's head hanging low. And after their break up, just a year ago, when her mom somehow knew more about Lisa's inner workings than she did.

"Gosh, a while. Since before graduation."

"What?"

"I think she just needed a different perspective."

It's all too much and it makes her want to throw up. Chahee knows. Her mom has known. Lisa's supposed to be out of her life. She's supposed to be miserable in New York and finishing law school and worrying about pleasing her parents. She's not supposed to somehow find happiness without Jennie. She wants it all back. The first life. The misery. The terrible job and the mom and best friend who won't talk to her. It all seems preferable to this betrayal.

"So, are we still playing?" she hears his deep voice as she reaches the top of the stairs.

"Sorry, Peniel. I may have created a crisis. Let me go talk to Jennie." She wants to lock the door, but she's too old for that.

Chahee sits on the top step next to her. "So you heard it from my mom?"

"Yeah." She's staring ahead and Chahee's staring at her.

"Do you and my mom often talk about Lisa?"

"Honestly?" Chahee asks with a sigh, like she knows to be honest, even if she doesn't want to be. "She comes up occasionally."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She was a big part of your life, Jennie, and ours too, in a way. It's clear that you miss her. And, based on what Minzy's said, that she misses you."

"What do you mean?" she bites out. Sure, she misses Lisa, but she hasn't been obvious.

"It's not really for me to say exactly, but she's back at American and she's working for the Senator again."

It's one thing for Lisa to quit law school. It's another thing completely for her to be romping around DC and working for the Senator again. Lisa's taken every one of her suggestions but has just written her out of her life now? She feels the anger bubble up.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" she seethes as she stands and turns to her room.

Chahee stands too. "I didn't realize we were supposed to."

"I need some time. Sorry, Chahee."

The game definitely isn't going on downstairs. Or if it is, it's the most subdued game of Scrabble ever played in the Kim household. A few hours later, the sounds of goodbyes and the door quietly closing wake her up for a moment. She should feel bad, but she figures she just needs to sleep it off. They have to understand her perspective on this.



The next morning she feels hungover. It's almost 11 o'clock when she makes her way downstairs, but her mom is still in her robe, standing over the coffee like it's early in the morning.

"Will you tell me where she is?" She can't think of anything except her mom and Lisa talking behind her back. She wonders how much her name comes into the conversation.

"I don't know where she is."

"You know that she's at American. You know that she's working for the Senator."

“Chahee told you?” She swears there’s a hint of disappointment on her face, but she doesn’t want to that look into an argument. At least not immediately. She’ll save it for ammo later, if necessary.

“Yes.”

"Honey, I don't know where she is right now. If you want to see her, then call her."

She's so mad at the logic of her response. Call her. Duh. She could have done that last night. Lisa hasn't changed her number, she's sure of it.

But Jennie hasn't changed her number either.

"Why hasn't she called me?" Her voice sounds thin and weak and she hates everything about herself but she can't stop.

"I don't know, baby," her mom says softly. She hands Jennie a cup of coffee and puts her hand on her shoulder. "I haven't heard from her in a while. You can call her, you know."

"I just don't understand why she'd do all this to be happy but not come and find me. Was it me who made her so unhappy? Did I make her so unhappy that when she finally decides to chase her dreams she talks to my mom but wants nothing to do with me?”

"Oh, Jennie. Sometimes relationships just don't work out and it's not quite anyone's fault."

"I need to find her, mom."

"Talk to her. Call her. It might help you both."

"Why would she need help with this? What did she tell you?"

"Nothing, Jennie, honestly. It's just a mother's intuition."

"I feel like you're not telling me things, mom. Like you're protecting her."

Her mother steps back and runs a hand through her hair with a deep sigh.

"I will tell you everything I know. You’re my daughter and I love you and I will tell you anything if you think it will help you. What do you want to know, Jennie?"

"When did she come back?"

"In the late summer. She was accepted to American's grad program and had a part-time job lined up with the Senator."

"What's she doing in grad school?"

"Something with politics, I don't remember exactly what."

"What about her family? Are they still talking to her?"

"They're upset, but not as upset as she thought they'd be. Her brother Alec is doing well. He's gone back to school, so that probably helps with things."

"Alec did?"

She's surprised to hear his name. He'd been the source of Lisa's ill temper a few times in their last year together, but he was usually a reason for her trek out to Brighton Beach. Something about looking for Alec or talking to Alec. Jennie knew he was a troublemaker but she doesn't remember hearing about him dropping out of school. Then again, she may just be misremembering. She'd usually tune out as soon as she heard anything Brighton Beach related anyway.

"Yes. Lisa seemed very happy to share that news."

"When does she work at the Senator's office?"

"Oh Jennie, I don't know specifics like that. I know that she's studying a lot, but then you probably do, too. That's Lisa."

"She's studying a lot? At American? I have to go."

She imagines Lisa in her old carrel at the Environmental Science library, pencil tucked behind her ear and glasses slipping down her nose. She imagines Lisa hunched over their desk in the Bronx, notebooks piled high on either side of her. She imagines Lisa falling asleep next to her, laptop close to falling out of the bed, a streak of highlighter across her cheek. They're not visions of the future and for some reason she's desperate to know whether Lisa still studies the same.  She tries to imagine, but she just can't. She cries harder than she has since they broke up.



It's still less than an hour's metro ride away, albeit from another direction. The tears dry sometime halfway through and she figures she must look at least halfway crazy, but that can't be a new scenario for the people who regularly ride public transportation in DC. When she's finally off the metro, she curses herself for living in such a daze. Her hair is greasy from her missed morning shower and she's wearing stained grey Georgetown sweats and Lisa's old Columbia Law hoodie.

The walk over reminds her of graduation day and disposable cameras and sweaty palms.

Somehow, she's forgotten this.

It looks like the same table.

There’s the same study bun.

Maybe even the same pencil pressed against her lips, then to the page, and back to her lips.

Lisa's face is thinner. Her cheekbones seem higher, her jawline more pronounced. She doesn't look different from the last time Jennie saw her, just different from the last time Jennie saw her here.

"I'm glad you're a creature of habit." Same line. Jennie's suddenly conscious of her appearance again. Lisa's wearing a button-down, sleeves rolled up, pressed slacks. Jennie wonders if she's come from somewhere else, wonders just how much of Lisa's life she's interrupting.

"Jennie?" The pencil bounces off the table and falls to the floor when she looks up.

There’s several moments when nothing happens and it’s terrifying. Lisa looks at her, mouth slightly parted, eyes open a little wider than usual. She feels her mouth go dry and wishes she’d have just opted to call, or maybe email, or maybe do nothing at all.

"How…how did you know I was here?"

"I bullied my mom into telling me." Jennie sits down across from her. The library's not even close to full and she remembers that it's technically a holiday on the American U. campus. Most libraries should be closed, but not this one. Just the same, she sits so that she won't call more attention to herself.

"Oh." Lisa's eyes dart from Jennie's eyes to her lips to her greasy hair and her sweatshirt. Jennie's not sure if Lisa's judging her appearance or if she's remembering what she misses most, or if she's thanking her lucky stars that they're not dating any more. She really wishes she'd at least taken a shower before coming over.

"She may have let it spill that you two have been emailing for a while. I told her that I wanted to see you. But...I can leave you…if you want." She doesn't want to say the last part, but it seems right. Lisa has her number.

"No. I came here, to DC, for you. Because of you, I mean." Her cheeks turn the slightest bit red and she looks between Jennie and the floor.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Her voice wavers and she worries that she’s about to betray the anxious, scared girl who was talking to her mom a few hours ago.

“I wanted to make sure that this was the right decision for me, first. You were always trying to convince me that this work would make me happy, but I had to make sure that I did it for me and not just to please you.”

“Does it make you happy?”

“I think so.”

Jennie leans forward, hoping to capture Lisa's eyes. "You don't hate me?"

"I just...can't believe this is happening. Where did you come from?" Lisa's obviously flustered. Her cheeks are flushed and she twitches the fingers on her right hand where the pencil might be if it hadn’t fallen to the floor.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. I can go."

"No. No," she says just as Jennie starts to push the chair back. "Why would I hate you?" Lisa's face twists up like it's the most ridiculous thing Jennie's ever said. (And she knows she's said some ridiculous things.)

Jennie rubs her hand against the back of her neck and looks away. "Where do I start?" She's too afraid to look at Lisa, too afraid to confirm what she knows is true.

"Stop." Lisa's hand is on the table between them. Her long fingers. Her neatly trimmed nails. That one cuticle on her left pinky from where her anxieties physically manifest. Jennie remembers playfully slapping that hand away from Lisa's mouth's idle work many times. Her cuticles would bleed and Jennie would tsk her and Lisa would bring her hand back to her mouth without thinking. (And sometimes Jennie would grab those fingers and bring them to her lips and try to kiss away those worries.)

"No, you should hate me. I didn't listen to you. You knew how I was feeling, how I would feel about everything. You knew I wasn't happy and I ignored you everything you said."

The old Jennie would want to agree. She would even want to store that old 'I told ya so' for a lighter day, when they could laugh about it. But it's been too long for 'I told ya so.'

"I think maybe you should hate me. I never really tried to understand. I always assumed that your father was some awful guy forcing you to do the things you did."

She's had too much time to replay all of those arguments and fights and phone calls.

"No," Lisa says with a sigh. "It was just me trying to live up to the expectations I thought he had for me." Her lip quivers a little and Jennie knows that even though Lisa's taken this huge step to leave law school and abandon her family's wishes, everything is still raw.

"He wasn't mad that you quit law school?"

"Oh no, he was livid." It's said with a smile, but Jennie can see tears spring to her eyes. Lisa looks down at the highlighter that she's sliding back and forth across the table. "We didn't speak for a few months, but Mama still made me come over for dinner once a week. We'd eat in silence, but he'd always make sure I took home leftovers. It probably helped that Alec got his act together. He's not going to be a doctor or anything, but at least he's back in school and not hanging out with those guys anymore."

Just one trip to Brighton Beach under her belt, Jennie can still picture it. Lisa's father thin-lipped and arms crossed, eating quickly and rushing out the door and back to work without a word. Lisa's mother coldly doting, bringing seconds without prompting. The image has had some time to settle and doesn't seem as foreign as it might have seemed just a year ago.

"So are things alright with you guys now?"

"With Tato? Yeah, I think he's disappointed that he's not going to have a lawyer or a doctor in the family, but he came down last month and visited me in the Capitol. He met the Senator and had his picture taken with him with one of those stupid disposable cameras and everything. So I think he's becoming more and more okay with it. It helps that Mama said she never really cared, as long as I was working hard."

Jennie feels the tears streaming down her cheeks despite her attempt at a smile.

"God, I feel like such an ass."

"Why?"

"I just had the wrong idea about them. I never really gave them a chance."

Lisa's eyes meet hers from across the table and she sees them well with tears. She knows that Lisa's probably fighting too hard to keep them at bay, but it wrenches a sob from her just the same.

"I used to tell you that you wouldn't understand."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"It's ok," Lisa says. She reaches her hand across the table, palm turned up and toward Jennie. "I'm here now. I'm working hard. I'm happy."

Jennie's hand goes to Lisa's without thinking.

"Are you?"

"I can think of a few things that would make me happier," she says with a slight smile, "but can't we all?"

"That's true."

There's a few things Jennie knows could make her happier: more commissioned work, a more steady income, a few more friends to help pass the time.

But somehow, in the last year, she's found some clarity around this whole do-over thing, too.

She knows that there will always be things that can make her happier and there will always be things that will tear her apart. It's the things that threaten to undo her the most that are most worth her time and love. It's her relationship with her mom, and the memories she got to have (for a second time, even) with her dad.

And it's Lisa. It's knowing Lisa and falling in love with Lisa and allowing Lisa to know her and love her, too.

"I can think of something that would make me happier, too."

"What's that?"

"Will you forgive me?"

"For what?"

"For picking those fights. For probably just making things worse."

"No," she says with a little laugh. "I won't forgive you for that. Remember how you used to always talk about fate?"

It scares Jennie to hear Lisa bring it up, like fate is a jinx that, once in the open, might doom them both. She feels her palm dampen against Lisa's, still resting on the table.

"I think that's probably just part of our story, Jennie."

"Is our story over?"

"Is our story over?" Lisa repeats and Jennie's feels almost sure of the jinx.

"I don't know," Lisa says, "do you want it to be over?"

She shakes her head, slowly at first, then faster until her face breaks and she sobs, "No. I think about you a lot."

"Me too."

Lisa's hand grips at hers and it makes her feel that this is her real life, this twenty-four is the way it's always supposed to be.

"Do you want to maybe take a walk? Get out of this stuffy library for a bit?" She smiles a little through the tears.

"That sounds familiar," Lisa says, standing up and pulling Jennie with her. One hand firmly grips Jennie's, while the other smooths out her shirt and pants. "Did you happen to just stumble in here looking for a book, too?"

"Very funny. That line should sound familiar. I've used it on you before."

"Well it worked this time." It takes a little bit longer, but Lisa uses her one free hand to stuff her books and pencil and highlighters into her bag. "How about we walk to dinner? I'm starving."

"I'd love that."




There's something different about Lisa here at twenty-four. It's something Jennie's never experienced before. Not at twenty-three or twenty-four when they were just going through the motions, nor at twenty-one or twenty-two when things were fresh and fun.

It's in the way she walks, with her bag casually strung over her shoulder and a bounce in her step like she's wearing new shoes.

It's in the way that she laughs, full and with abandon, eyes crinkling in delight.

It's in the way that she sees Jennie and the way that Jennie sees herself reflected in Lisa's eyes.

She's free.



Jennie thinks it's funny how it translates to so many areas of Lisa's life, including her new apartment. It's big and open and airy and inviting. It's everything that Harlem (the first time) and the Bronx (the second time) are not.

There's a picture of Lisa's family on the nightstand and a picture of Lisa and Jennie tucked into the corner of the frame. It's validates everything, in a way. It makes it worth the (still) greasy hair and sweats and the fight with her mom (who she'll have to give a big hug to) and the uncomfortable metro ride. But it's also worth the arguments and the misunderstandings and even the break up.

It feels like fate and it doesn't feel like a jinx.

She's somehow convinced Lisa to let her into her home, to allow her to take a shower, to slip under her covers. If the roles were reversed, it'd take her no convincing at all. Maybe it didn't really take Lisa any convincing at all, either. Lisa slid under the covers before Jennie had even stepped into the shower, eyelids heavy and head sinking into her big feather pillows.

Lisa's eyes are closed when Jennie steps out of the bathroom. She lets the towel fall down to the floor and turns off the overhead light before slipping under Lisa's cotton sheets.

"I want to remember," Jennie says as she tucks a wisp of hair behind Lisa's ear. Lisa's eyes blink open, eyelids heavy, pupils dark and full.

"Remember what?" She leans into Jennie's hand, her voice barely there.

"Us. Being in love."

"What can I do?"

"Make love to me."

Lisa shifts to sink her body on top of Jennie's.

"That was never your line," Lisa says with a whisper and a smile.

Jennie pokes a finger into Lisa's ribs and she squirms between Jennie's legs, her lean, lithe body weighing heavily against Jennie's as she giggles and shakes.

"You can use my line on me in the morning." Jennie smirks at the thought of what happens in the morning after a night like this.

It's as though Lisa didn't hear. Her brow is furrowed, hand outstretched to cup Jennie's cheek. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I'm terrified," Jennie says as she leans into Lisa's palm. She closes her eyes and takes a moment to feel Lisa's skin against her skin.

"Me too." Lisa's voice is close. Her breath puffs against Jennie's lips as she tilts her head back.

People don't think Lisa's this soft. She's full of hard edges. There's the obvious hard edges: her jaw line, her tattoos, her pointed glare. Then there's the underlying hard edges: her terseness, her devotion to academics, her Eastern European single-mindedness. But on nights like these, Jennie's so grateful to know this Lisa that no one else knows.

"I love you." Lisa whispers it against her lips, then against her collarbone, against the soft skin of her belly, and against her inner thigh.

Her fingers burn against Jennie's skin and she feels like she can't stay still under Lisa's touch. Her body shakes and rocks and she feels like she's on the verge of losing her breath again and again. Her fingers move against Lisa's body of their own volition, as though the future had been written in the past.

It builds way too quickly.

When Jennie pleads in a strained whisper, "Together," Lisa quickly buries her face into Jennie's neck.

Jennie pulls Lisa back. It's instinctual. She craves her eyes, her lips, the way her eyebrows knit when they're on the precipice together like this.

"Jennie." Lisa whispers it like a prayer before death.

She can't keep her eyes open, but she feels it. She feels everything fall into place. Together.




The next morning, Lisa's fingers on her cheek wake her. "I don't think I can use your line," she says in her hoarse morning voice.

"You can't?" Jennie's still blinking her eyes into focus and her own morning voice sounds just as hoarse and worn as Lisa's. "I think that line's pretty hot."

"It had a time and place."

"And now's not the time or place?" Jennie giggles.

"I mean, I could go for it."

She swings her leg over Lisa's hips. "Fuck me, Lis." She punctuates it with a slow grind against Lisa's abdomen.

Lisa's hands grip Jennie's hips, assisting her slow push and pull. "Yeah, I can definitely do that."





She may miss this the most. The slow unwind after sex. How her heart syncopates to the beat of Lisa's as she collapses on top of her. How her panting breath fades into a slow and even rhythm. How Lisa's fingers trace across the soft skin of her thighs, to the muscles of her back. How their eyes meet and rest on one another, devout and uninhibited.

"I don't want to hear it," Lisa whispers. Jennie can feel her smile against the skin of her shoulder, but she nudges up to look at Lisa just the same.

"Hear what?"

"I told you so."

It hurts to think that Lisa might be expecting it, even as a half joke, but then she remembers that a year has passed and, while she's learned and grown, twelve hours might not be enough to reveal that.

"Ok." She reaches her hand out to cup Lisa's cheek and Lisa's smile fades.

"I think 'told you so' doesn't work anyway. Sometimes, you can't tell anyone anything."

"Yeah, I've been learning that. For a while now, actually."

If Lisa only knew.

Sometimes she thinks about telling her.

Sometimes she just wants to tell someone.

But her mom's been fragile and Lisa's been encumbered and she's been so used to having her secrets.

Sixteen the first time. Sixteen the second.

Losing a parent the first time. Knowing you're going to lose a parent the second.

Twenty-four the first time. Twenty-four the second.

Fighting against fading love the first time. Fighting against fate the second.

"Did you know?" Lisa's eyes flit from her eyes to her lips to the blush that’s starting in her cheeks.

"Know what?"

"That we'd break up?" She can barely hear Lisa's whisper, but she thinks this has been what she's been waiting for. She hasn’t decided whether she’ll let anyone in on this strange life she’s been living.

Still, she can't let on without some clarity. She tries to play it off. "I was the one who broke up with you. So, yes?" She should smile or laugh or pinch Lisa, just to add that last bit of brevity. But she can't.

"No, I mean...did you know? Like that time in the library," tears spring to Lisa's eyes and roll quickly down her cheeks and onto the sheets, "when we were nineteen and you were crying. When you knew that we'd be together. Did you know back then that we'd eventually break up?"

They never talked about that time. There were only two other times that it came up - this weird 'knowing,' as Lisa put it.

One was their first meeting at twenty-one, among the marbled tiles of crowded hallway in the Capitol, just like Jennie had said she would. Lisa’s wide green eyes found Jennie's, her mouth couldn't quite close, and her brow was permanently furrowed. Jennie had told their future and Lisa submitted.

The other time was that moment in the Brumidi Corridor in the Capital Building, also at twenty-one, when Jennie found herself overwhelmed and alone and suddenly 'without.' Lisa pulled Jennie toward her, tucked Jennie's head under her chin, and whispered a few soothing words. Jennie had predicted it, back at nineteen and in the American University library. Jennie knew in that hallway in the Capitol that Lisa had more than heard her. Lisa had listened to her tell their future. She'd thought about it. She'd replayed it in her mind. She'd committed Jennie's words to memory. How else to explain her ability to comfort Jennie years later? But they'd never talked about it.

"No." She answers. It’s the truth. They’re in completely uncharted territory and Jennie has no idea what’s next.

She wonders, now that they're talking about fate, now that they’re in a new realm of their lives, if it's about to all disappear.

That’s what happens in these weird sci-fi stories, right?

She's about to wake up in her sixteen year-old body with her sixteen year-old life.

"No?"

"It didn't happen that way." Her heart pounds and her mouth goes dry.

"How did it happen?"

"Doesn't matter." It's enough. She can't bear to talk about it any longer.

It's quiet for a long time and Jennie can tell that Lisa's deciding whether or not she wants to be the judge of whether it matters or not. She deserves to know. Jennie knows she does. She just can't fathom how she can possibly explain any of it.

"Thank you," Lisa finally whispers.

"For what?"

"For leaving me."

"Really?" Jennie laughs, her whole body shaking. "It was one of the worst times of my life."

"Me too. We didn't have a choice. You weren't going to love me for much longer."

"Yeah." Still, she's pretty sure she loved Lisa at twenty-four. She wonders if there's a twenty-four year-old "other" Jennie out there, figuring that out right now, too.

"Instead," Lisa says, "it looks like we've traded in a rough couple of years for a lifetime of loving memories."

"A lifetime, huh? Is that a marriage proposal? Because if it is, I'm going to need a redo when we're not naked and sweaty."

Lisa pales for a moment, hands freezing and eyes on Jennie.

"I'm teasing, babe," Jennie says, as she nudges her forehead against Lisa's.

Both of Lisa's hands cradle her face. "I'd like to marry you, one day. I think it's written in the stars."

That's one element of fate Jennie can't predict, but it seems pretty dead on.

“Cheesy."

"I can't help it when I'm with you," Lisa says, pulling Jennie's face to kiss along her brow, her cheeks, her nose, and chin.

"What am I going to do with you?" Jennie asks, squirming away.

"Love me back?"

"I've loved you for longer than you will ever know."

Somehow, she knows Lisa will tuck that line away and think about it for a long time to come. Maybe she does know, after all.









She’ll never know the answers. There’s some strange comfort in always having the questions but never the answers.

Is there another Jennie and Lisa out there?

Are there several?

Are they happy?

Is there a situation where her dad lives?

How did it happen?

Why?

She stops to think about it sometimes.

Most times, it's fleeting.

It’s a quick thought to what might have been or why.

There are never any answers.

There’s a constant, though ever incrementally diminishing sense that this life will be snatched away from her.

It's tiresome.

Especially when, despite the imperfections that linger - some major and some minor - she doesn't want things to be any different.

When these questions pop into her mind, she renews her vow to live in the moment, with the people she has, with the people she loves.

It’s an extra reminder of why this life is so special.

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End, I hope you guys enjoyed it!

⚠️THIS IS A WORK OF ADAPTION, CREDITS GOES TO THE ORIGINAL AUTHOR.