HEAL YOU | JENLISA

TWENTY-TWO

LISA

* * *

JENNIE’S PARENTS’ HOUSE IS SMACK IN THE MIDDLE OF PALO Alto, not too far from my mom’s place in EPA (East Palo Alto), fifteen minutes tops, but it’s a world away from the place where I grew up. The front yards are well lit and don’t double as junkyards. There are no chain-link fences. The landscaping is immaculately manicured. Everyone has solar panels. As for the homes themselves, each one could grace the cover of Better Homes and Gardens magazine, especially Jennie’s parents’. There’s a two-story main house up front and a separate guest house in back. They’re Mediterranean style with cream stucco and orange tiled roofs, very California.

The driveway is empty, but I pull up next to the curb. The driveway doesn’t feel like it’s for me.

Just parked outside, I tell Jennie in a text message.

It’s stupid, but I’m nervous. It’s been forever since I last saw her (two whole weeks), and I have this irrational worry that things between us have changed for the worse during that time, even though we’ve been texting and talking.

I don’t get a reply from her, and I drum my fingers on the steering wheel as I debate walking up to the front door and ringing the doorbell. That might wake someone up, though. They’ve broken her dad’s care into eight-hour shifts so there’s always someone watching him throughout the day, but that means there’s always someone sleeping, too.

Before I can text her again, the front door opens and Jennie races out in bare feet. Her hair’s up in a messy ponytail and she’s wearing the ugliest sweat suit, but she’s the best thing I’ve seen in a long time.

I get out of my car just in time for her to crash into my arms, and I hold her close and breathe her in.

“Hey,” I say in a gruff voice.

Instead of speaking, she hugs me tighter.

“Is everything okay? Your dad’s okay?” I ask.

“He’s the same,” she murmurs without opening her eyes.

“Are you—”

“I’m fine,” she says. “It’s just really, really, really nice to have you here.”

That makes me smile. “I would have come earlier.”

“I know. Things were just so hectic and—”

“You don’t have to explain. I get it,” I reassure her.

She sighs, and I feel her tensed-up muscles relax.

“Are you hungry? I told my mom about you and your family, and she gave me three boxes of food for you, not exaggerating,” I say.

She straightens and looks at my car curiously. “From her restaurant?”

“Yeah, spring rolls and noodle soup and stuff.” I open the trunk so she can see all the plastic soup cartons and foam containers, and her jaw drops.

“I don’t know if we have enough room in our fridge …”

I rub my neck as my skin flushes. “It freezes really well. I can bring some home with me, too.” But I’d have to try to eat it on my own, because sure as hell, I can’t tell my mom Jennie didn’t take it all.

“Let’s, uh, bring it in and see if it fits,” she says dazedly, and we pick up the boxes and cart them inside.

The entryway of her parents’ house is the showstopper kind. There’s a long marble hallway lined with paintings and a grandfather clock. To the side, there’s a sitting room with a grand fireplace, exposed wooden ceiling beams, elegant furniture, and the most expensive-looking drapes I’ve ever seen. They look like they’re made of gold, but I’m pretty sure it’s just silk—really nice silk. A ways down, I can see a formal dining room with an antique dining table that seats ten and a crystal chandelier.