Realize (COMPLETED)

8.

Lisa

I stepped out of the house, determined to head to the market for dinner supplies for tonight and the coming days. I know Jennie has a penchant for junk food, so I want to introduce some fresh fruits and vegetables into her diet.

It'll be good for the baby, I think. I'm not well-versed in pregnancy or what it involves, but I do believe nutritious food will benefit her. And maybe a bar of soap for that potty mouth of hers. I hated leaving Jennie tied up like that, and the thought of it will gnaw at me until I return. This arrangement is shaky, I'll admit, but I have faith she'll come around when she understands. She's not used to being taken care of, and frankly, that's tough luck. I hope that in a few weeks she'll start to feel more at ease around me and maybe even share more about herself.

There's so much I want to know.

Every time I look at her, I find myself adding another question to the long list I want to ask. It's becoming a bit obsessive—not in a creepy way, though I know my recent actions might suggest otherwise. It's more about the urgency of needing answers; I feel like if I don't get them soon, I might just grab her by the shoulders and shake them out of her.

I want to know her likes and dislikes—her favorite color, movie, TV show, what she enjoys eating, and what she can't stand now that she's pregnant. I'm curious about her background, her family, and most importantly, why she's selling her body. I want to give her the benefit of the doubt, truly. I don't think sex workers are bad people, but I struggle to understand how someone can willingly give themselves to strangers for money. What must have happened for them to choose that life?

Jennie is so young, and she carries herself like someone who thinks she has it all figured out. Does she even grasp the seriousness of her choices? Especially in her current condition, I shudder to think of all the men who have touched her without a care for her pregnancy.

As I move through aisle after aisle of the small market, I fill my cart with things that catch my eye. I'm a decent cook, and I think Jennie will be pleasantly surprised by what I can whip up. I plan to impress her with dishes she's probably never encountered before. My Thai heritage allows me to create simple but incredibly flavorful meals. Just as I toss an eggplant into the cart, my cell vibrates in my back pocket.

It's my sister.

"Rosie." I answer.

"Hey Lisa, I'm almost at your house." She sang.

What! oh shit!

"No, didn't mom call you!"

"She called but I missed it. Why, what's going on?"

"Uh, I spoke with her earlier about putting a hold on you guys redecorating the rooms. She told me she would pass the message on to you. Why the hell didn't you answer?" Mom's call might have been serious and she decided to ignore it? It's odd that Rosie would disregard a call from mom like that.

"Lalisa Manoban we've been preparing for months!" I hate when she uses my whole name like that.

"I'm sorry. I know how much you and mom have been planning, but I just feel like this isn't the right time."

"We talked about this; you have to move on. She's gone. Harboring her memory isn't healthy."

We have talked, extensively, over the last two years about my needing to move on. I understand my family's concerns; I have fucking heard them all and frankly it's starting to piss me off. Rosie especially runs her mouth at every chance, putting her two cents in when she has absolutely no idea what I'm going through. But, now isn't the time to harp on the subject at hand, I need a diversion.