HEAL YOU | JENLISA

THIRTY-TWO

LISA

* * *

THE STREET WHERE JENNIE’S PARENTS LIVE IS SO CROWDED that I have to park a block away and walk. Someone is having a party.

Normally, I wouldn’t mind. I’d enjoy stretching out my legs and imagining people having a good time. But tonight, all I can think about is how badly I need to see Jennie. I feel like shit, and there’s only one thing right now that can make this better. Her.

I need her in my arms. I need to breathe her in.

As I get close to her house, however, I see that the driveway is packed with cars. The party is here.

Two things occur to me at once: First, this must be her dad’s birthday party. Second, she didn’t invite me.

That definitely feels like a stab to the gut, but I tell myself it’s okay. I get it. I need to work harder at winning her family over. But how the hell am I supposed to do that if she doesn’t invite me to stuff like this? I should be in there buttering up the old folks, making golf dates with anyone who plays, and becoming best friends with her cousins. Most important, I should be at Jennie’s side.

But I’m not. I’m out here while she’s in there.

I slow to a stop in front of her neighbor’s house and debate turning around and going home like a reject, but that’s when I hear her sister.

“Thanks for helping me get my dad into his chair, Sheila.” There are trees and bushes in the way, so I can’t see her clearly, just a glimpse of her profile as she lifts a cigarette to her mouth. The smoke blows directly my way, and I suppress a cough.

“No problem,” replies Sheila, who’s completely hidden from view. “It was easy with that Hoyer Lift device. I never saw one of those before today.”

“Easy, yeah, but you definitely need two people. I didn’t want to ask Jennie. She’s been so airheaded lately that she might have dropped him,” Priscilla says, and there’s a bite in her tone that makes me stiffen. I have to clench my teeth together to keep myself from defending Jennie.

“You’re so tough on her,” Sheila says, and I want to hug her in gratitude.

“Maybe I am, but I expect a lot from people. You don’t think I’m tough on myself, too?” Priscilla asks.

“I know you’re toughest on yourself.”

Priscilla’s hand lifts, and the end of her cigarette flares ember red as she draws on it. A fresh cloud of smoke wafts my way. “I quit my job while I was in New York.”

“What? Why? I thought you loved your job.”

“I’ve been due for a promotion for three years, and they just gave it to this new guy who took over my projects while I’ve been here. I had to fly to New York to fix his problems, and they promoted him over me. Fuck them. I might sue.”

“That’s horrible,” Sheila says. “I can’t even imagine that on top of everything else you’re going through. Have you ever thought of trying therapy?”

Priscilla laughs bitterly. “Yeah, right. Jennie went to therapy and now she thinks she’s autistic. What a load of crap. Not for me, thanks.”

There’s a pause before Sheila muses, “Jennie might be autistic?”

Priscilla makes a scoffing sound. “No.”

“I don’t know. She was such a weird kid, so quiet. I don’t think she had a single friend when—”

“I’m not listening to this,” Priscilla says.

“Oh, come on, you don’t think—” Something drops and shatters into pieces on the sidewalk directly in my line of sight. “Crap.”

Instead of running away to avoid being seen—the hell with that—I step forward. “Need help with that?”

Priscilla and this Sheila whom I’ve never met jump in surprise.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” I say.

“You must be Lisa,” Sheila says as a huge grin takes over her face. “I’ve been wanting to meet you. I’m Sheila.” She steps toward me like she wants to shake hands, but glass crunches beneath her shoe.

“Nice to meet you,” I say as I come forward and crouch down to gather up the broken pieces of glass. The champagne flute is still mostly intact, so I put all the shards inside it. When I’m done, there’s nothing but a wet spot left from the champagne.

Priscilla takes it from me with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks, Lisa. You must have come to see Jennie.”

Before I can say yes and apologize for showing up uninvited, Sheila grabs hold of my arm enthusiastically. “She’s out back. She’ll be so happy to see you. Come on, let me take you there.”

Priscilla looks like she wants to say something, but in the end, all she does is aim a nauseated-looking smile at me as Sheila leads me around the side of the house, past the garbage bins, where Priscilla chucks the broken glass, and to the backyard.

I can hear the people before I see them, laughing, talking, coughing, screaming (there is one very pissed-off little kid here). When we round the corner, it takes me a second to process it all. It looks like they’re celebrating a wedding, not a birthday.

“Let’s see here. Where is she?” Sheila says as she scans the crowd.

Someone says, “There’s Priscilla,” and soon her mom waves at her, summoning her toward a table on the far side of the tent where her dad is sitting in a wheelchair.

“I have to go. Feel free to eat and drink. The bar’s right there,” Priscilla says, pointing to a nearby corner where there’s a short line of people waiting for drinks before heading away.

I’m about to thank her when a loud clanging draws everyone’s attention to a good-looking guy who’s banging a fork against his wineglass. “Attention, please, everyone. Attention,” he calls out.

Jennie is next to him. She’s wearing a simple black dress, and her long hair is down. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I step toward her just as the dude sets down his fork and takes her by the hand.

A friend of hers?

No, that guy’s body language doesn’t say “friend.” I don’t like that guy’s body language at all, not while he’s holding my girlfriend’s hand.

“First, I wanted to wish a happy birthday,” he says as he lifts his wineglass toward Jennie’s old man.

At the table with Priscilla and Jennie’s dad, Jennie’s mom pats her husband’s shoulder before smiling graciously and lifting her champagne flute.

“Saeng-il-eul chughahabnida” the guy says before drinking from his glass, along with everyone else in the tent. “Next, since everyone’s gathered here, I wanted to share some news with you all.”

I go completely still. My feet feel like they suddenly weigh a thousand pounds. This can’t be what it looks like.

“Who is that guy?” I ask Sheila in a low whisper.

She looks at me with wide eyes and lifts her hand away from her mouth to say, “Jihyong.”

My heart stops beating as I stare at Jennie’s face and try to read the situation. She’s smiling up at that piece of shit, hanging on his every word. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes sparkling. So fucking gorgeous.

“Jennie and I are getting married,” Jihyong announces.