Jennie
She hesitates before answering, either deep in thought or else getting her bearings. "She was only four years old when our mom died. It took her...well, it took her a long time to bounce back from that. I was practically the only person she trusted. I was the only one she would listen to."
I can't imagine losing a parent now, much less while so young. "How old were you?"
"Nine."
Jesus Christ.
I don't want to push her for anything she's not ready to tell me. I keep rubbing her hair, hoping to give comfort.
"We had to go live with Chitthip and Marco," she goes on. "It took her a long time to open up to them. It was hard."
I'm not sure I want to know the answer, but I ask anyway. "Where was your father?"
She chews on her lip for a moment. I can tell she doesn't want to talk about it, and I almost regret asking.
"You don't have to tell me. Sorry," I quickly murmur.
"It's fine," she whispers, and with a deep breath, she says, "He was in jail. He killed her. He said it was an accident, but he beat her so badly that she...that she..."
Lisa's getting anxious. I try to soothe her, but she shifts against me, tugging me closer, and she apparently doesn't have the will to stop now that she's begun.
"He died soon after. Pneumonia or something. But it was probably his health issues from drinking. He saw a doctor once who told him he'd die if he didn't stop soon, but he didn't listen." Lisa swallows, and I see her jaw clench. And then, "I can't say I was sad to see him go."
I hug her. I hug her as tightly as I can, and it's still not enough. I had no idea she was shouldering so much pain from her past.
"I'm so sorry, Lisa," I whisper.
She doesn't look at me. She stares straight ahead, her head still resting on my chest, and what little I can see of her face is void of emotion.
"Do you think that's awful?" she finally asks me, and her voice holds the emotion that her face tries to hide. "I tried to care that he was gone, but I just...honestly? I was pissed off. For everything."
"Of course it's not awful, Lisa," I quickly assure her. "He put you through a lot. He took away your mother..."
Lisa's eyes close and she sighs deeply. "I worried that I'd be like him," she goes on. "I didn't drink...I wouldn't touch the stuff. Then there was this girl in high school that I dated for a while. I liked her...she was the first person that I'd ever gotten close to."
I remain impartial, because this moment isn't about me and whatever petty insecurities I might have. This is her past, and from the sound of it, it's not a happy one.
"Okay," I say, my voice encouraging. Perhaps once it's all off her chest, she'll feel better. Freer.
"She cheated on me. A friend of mine encouraged me to get drunk...he said it would make me feel better. So I did. And then I confronted her, and I was angry, but not like...I wouldn't have done anything. I wouldn't have hit her." Lisa's voice is insistent. "But she got scared, and later she told me that she worried about it. I'm not sure why, because she didn't know about my father. But it got me to thinking...and I stressed over it. And I didn't get drunk again. And I just stopped making an effort. With women."
She looks at me, her eyes remorseful. My heart bleeds for her, and I feel her pain.
"I drink," she tells me quickly. "I even get tipsy, but never completely trashed. I don't like...not being in control of myself." her words are slow. Careful.
"My dad was a decent person when he wasn't drinking. I mean he was always drinking, but sometimes he drank enough to act right, while other times he got trashed. And that's when he would go after her."
I slide down so that we're eye level, pulling her body close. While she may have a hard time staring me in the eye during her confession, I want to assure her that all my words are true. That they're heartfelt, and that I don't judge or think anything terrible of her.
"But he's not you, Lisa," I say, silently imploring her to believe this. "You're not him. You're the person who won't get drunk, the one who's never hit a woman. The one who was ashamed of that behaviour."
There's sadness in her eyes, but no moisture. She doesn't cry.
"I know," she says, and her voice sounds tired. "I've never acted like him or wanted to. I figured...I hoped...that maybe some of my mom's qualities overshadowed his."
"I'm sure they do, Lisa. You're not a bad person."
"I'm worried about Rosé, Jennie. She's moving away from the only family she's ever had." she pauses briefly. "I was hoping she'd come back," Lisa whispers.
I run my fingers down her nose, over her lips and chin, and she closes her eyes at my touch.
"It's natural to be worried," I assure her. "If your mother was here, I'm sure she'd be worried too. Chitthip and Marco are probably worried.
"But that doesn't mean you should try to hold her back or baby her because of what happened. She's a stronger person for it. She's an adult and can take care of herself, and she'll always have Chanyeol to lean on if things get hard. And of course she'll call and come visit."
Lisa kisses me, and it's tender and careful and full of emotion. And though she doesn't say so, I can tell from her actions that I'm helping. It's in the way she holds me close and skims my nose with her own; it's in the way she plants soft kisses on my chin and simply enjoys the little bit of comfort I try to bring.
Time passes, and we lay together in silence while I continue to stroke her hair, soothing and reassuring. And her words are low, but they sound crystal clear in the silence of the night.
"I love you, Jennie."
And my returning response is the same.
"I love you too, Lisa."
