Holiday Wine, with You and Me [Chaennie ]

Part 8 : If Only In My Dreams

Jennie Kim is going to die alone.

She's not catastrophizing. She's merely a reasonable woman, making a responsible choice. She prefers solitude, the safety, the simplicity of it. She'd decided on this solitary trajectory long before Rosie Park barged into her life, pushing every single one of Jennie's buttons and her entire world off-kilter before leaving it just as abruptly — not calling, or texting, or even granting Jennie the courtesy of letting her know she made it out of Colorado alive.

Jennie assumes she survived. The last week of K-Corp's fiscal year have her on long conference calls with Lisa every day, sometimes several times a day, and Jennie imagines her best friend would probably have mentioned something if her fiancée's little sister had tumbled down a mountain and broken all of her bones, or, in a much more likely scenario, finally burned her mouth so badly it had led to her dying of starvation.

It was a mistake, Jennie understands now, sliding into the backseat of the town car waiting for her in the parking garage — a moment of weakness, giving Rosie her number. She's grateful Rosie seems to have recognized that too. Jennie's actually really impressed with her. Clearly she's handling this whole thing much better than Jennie is. She hasn't called, and Jennie, who has barely managed to survive a week of feeling her stomach twist itself in knots each time she's checked her phone, unsure if she'd been hoping for a missed call or an empty inbox, should consider it a mercy. Kims, even the ones born from a respectable man's momentary lapse in judgment, aren't built to maintain intimate connections with members outside of their family. Emotional attachments are messy. People are messy, constantly requiring things and making demands. Jennie's life is demanding enough.

Besides, Jennie notes as she inspects her make-up in the mirrored doors of the private elevator taking her up to her office, it's not as if she's had time to dwell on their quaint little entanglement. Not as if she misses her. Obviously. She's spent literal hours in Rosie's company, it's not as if any one person is able to impact her so profoundly in such a brief amount of time. Jennie has more important things to attend to — most pressingly, at the moment, the intimidating stack of files Jess is carrying to her desk along with Jennie's 8 am Monday beet-and-ginger smoothie.

Her assistant is scrutinizing Jennie through a pair of semi-rimless glasses Jennie hasn't seen her wear before, a large reusable Starbucks cup in her other hand. Jennie adjusts the collar of her shirt, knuckles ghosting against the long faded bruises Rosie had kissed into her skin, and doesn't think of the pumpkin spice latte Rosie had her try. Doesn't remember the sugary goodness of it, does not relate it to Rosie's own demeanor, to the soft creases that appear around her eyes when she smiles. Jennie takes a heartening sip of her smoothie and flinches when the flavor hits her tongue, an unexpectedly unpleasant contrast to the sweetness of the memory.

The eyebrow Jess raises as she appraises her boss is perfectly executed, and Jennie wonders, not for the first time, if perhaps she has taught Jess too well. "Something wrong with your breakfast, Ms. Kim"

"Stop that," Jennie chides. "If you're comfortable enough to call me a dick over text, you can address me by my first name in the privacy of my office."

Jess narrows her eyes at her, a compact and impeccably dressed picture of undisguised disapproval. "Those vacation days were wasted on you," she decides. "You look more high-strung now than you did before your little overnight adventure."

Jennie gulps down another stubborn mouthful of what is supposed to be one of the few treats she'll allow herself this week and pretends Jess' choice of words doesn't inspire a crystal-clear memory of Rosie hooking her arms underneath Jennie's thighs and savoring her. She regrets her decision immediately when she's met with another blast of blinding zest rather than the sweet earthy flavor she thought she'd grown so fond of.