HEAL YOU | JENLISA

TWENTY-FIVE

LISA

* * *

IT’S LATE, AND THE ONLY LIGHT IN MY BEDROOM IS THE GLOW cast by my phone’s screen as I talk to Jennie. This has become a ritual of sorts, catching up with her at the end of the day right before I go to sleep.

“How was today?”

“Long,” she says, and I can hear just how long from the beaten sound of her voice.

“How’d you like that video I sent of the octopus punching fish?” I ask, hoping to distract her.

“Such an asshole,” she says with a soft chuckle. “I got your message while Jihyong and his mom were visiting today. They wanted to know why I was laughing, and I didn’t know how to explain.”

An uncomfortable sensation crawls up my spine. “Jihyong … that’s your ex?”

“Yeah, that’s him. His mom is friends with mine.”

“How was seeing him after so long?” I ask carefully. I don’t want to act jealous. I want to be fair and calm and rational. But I wouldn’t mind punching him in the face.

“It wasn’t as awkward as I thought it’d be. We just acted like we’re back together.”

My stomach muscles flex like I’ve been punched in the gut. “Are you?”

“No.” She makes an amused sound. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.”

“Does he know that?”

She releases a long sigh. “I guess we haven’t had that talk yet.”

“Jennie …”

“I know. I need to. It’s just hard. It seemed so clear to me that we were over. I never expected that he’d actually want to continue where we left off after he … you know.”

I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help asking, “After he fucked half of San Francisco?”

She draws in a sharp breath and says, “Yes,” and I regret it instantly.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s true, though,” she says. “I’ve been meaning to talk to him for a while. But it never seems like the right time. Or else I’m exhausted. Sometimes, it’s all I can do to get out of bed. I accidentally took a two-hour shower yesterday. I didn’t mean to. I just … lost track of time. At first, my mom was afraid I fell or something. Then she yelled at me for wasting water.” She laughs, but it’s the saddest-sounding laugh I’ve ever heard.

“Why’s it so hard?” I ask.

“My dad is miserable, Lisa,” she whispers.

“But you’re helping him be less miserable, right?”

She’s quiet for a long time, and when she finally speaks, her voice has that husky, quavering quality that means she’s on the verge of tears. “I don’t know how long I can do this.”

I hear so much hurting in her words that my own eyes sting. It doesn’t entirely make sense to me. If our places were reversed, I don’t think I’d feel the same way. I like taking care of people. I like being needed. But Jennie’s pain is real.

I can’t brush it aside just because I don’t understand it. I can’t place judgment on it. Pain is pain.

I know what it’s like to hurt and for others not to understand.

“Can you take a weekend off, then? We can go out and see stuff, or we can stay in. Whatever you want. Just as long as we’re together,” I say. The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. I haven’t had Jennie to myself in ages.