Holiday Wine, with You and Me [Chaennie ]

Part 13 : On Your Knees (Falling)

It turns out Rosie Park can be surprisingly slippery, when she tries.

Jennie Kim wishes she had her talent. It would be immensely helpful in her current endeavor to dislodge the unnamed toddler that has wrapped himself around her leg. He's screaming about something called a 'nummy' at the top of his lungs while his parents look on from their place in line at the airport's car rental counter, showing vacant expressions and a complete absence of desire to intervene.

Jennie wonders if the agent behind the desk could be persuaded to lend her his clipboard, so she can sort of very subtly scrape him off.

Jennie can't even say Rosie has been avoiding her. Not really. Their text chain is as active as ever, and they've talked, over the phone. But Rosie has acquired an eerie ability to wrap up their chats right before Jennie can delve into more serious topics — like the night they spent together, and the feelings Jennie's been having about it — and last Sunday marked the third time Rosie had canceled their plans for lunch, blaming it all on last-minute wedding prep.

And, okay. Jennie gets it. Or— she tries to. Preparing for your sister's wedding is probably a lot of work, right? A lot of, whatever, emotional labor and stuff. Possibly in addition to doing actual labor. Honestly Jennie has no idea what all is involved. She's grateful Lisa had been fully aware of this fact when she made Jennie her best man; Jennie has been given all of the honor and almost none of the responsibilities the role usually demands. Only her presence is required, which might actually be big enough of an ask in itself, considering the brides' inexpedient decision to have a destination wedding in the middle of the Colorado mountains right as ski season is ramping up.

So she's here, for the second time in as many winters, trapped in an overcrowded airport looking at display screens that show mostly canceled flights, trying to arrange alternative transportation to the very same town she was held captive in last year.

The frazzled car rental agent looks up at her with eyes too tired to convey the full extent of his despair. "I can give you a Dodge Avenger," he says.

Jennie blinks at him. She wonders if it's the exact same vehicle she rented last year. She wonders if someone has bothered to clean it since then.

If Nietzsche's demon was right, and the rest of this weekend is going to unfold precisely like the one she spent here last December, every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh, Jennie really isn't sure whether to gnash her teeth or thank him for this blessing.

"Last car on the lot," the agent urges at Jennie's hesitation.

The child's parents give Jennie a look of utter desperation. Now they see her.

Jennie ignores them and takes the clipboard she's offered, clicks her pen. "Lucky me."

And then a familiar voice pipes up from just behind her, "I can give you a ride."

It's Rosie. Rosie is here, in all of her bright-eyed, blonde-haired, broad-shouldered glory, wearing ski boots and jeans and a faux-fur-lined parka. Jennie loses her breath for a moment, dizzy with it. She doesn't think she'll ever get used to being on the other end of that relentlessly fascinated gaze, the way Rosie lights up like a Christmas tree each time she sees her. Jennie wants to throw her arms around her and breathe her in, bury her face in that preposterous hair of hers. The compulsion is so strong that her whole body hurts from not having done it yet.

But Jennie is a little bit— anchored to the ground, at the moment.

Rosie's eyes track down Jennie's leg to the hollering toddler still attached to it. "Cute," she says, and with a wink, "Yours?"