we loved with a love that was more than love // JENLISA

13

You hadn't been at Jennie and Lisa's for very long when Jennie declared that Friday evenings were to be what she called "vintage movie nights."

At the time you didn't really get what she meant but -- like anything Jennie suggested -- you were excited about it. One day the three of you drove up to Jennie's dad's house (even though he wasn't home, since he was still working at a hospital in Africa) and collected a box full of rectangular, plastic "videotapes" and a dusty machine called a "VCR."

While Jennie and Lisa selected the tapes they wanted, you took a moment to wander around the first floor of the house. It was large and airy, with creaky wooden floors and white crown moulding, and you could imagine how grand it must have been back when it was brand new.

Not that it wasn't grand now, in a modern sort of way -- the stone counters were cold and smooth under your fingertips, and you could practically see your reflection in the stainless steel appliances. Still, it was difficult to envision your Jennie growing up here.

Then you saw it -- a framed photo above the mantle, positioned just where a photo of you, Jennie, and Lisa sits back at home. In this one, a younger Jennie is in the center, all smiles and sunburnt cheeks. She's resting her head on the shoulder of a woman, who's looking down at her like she's never been happier than in this moment. On Jennie's other side is John -- you recognize him from photos at home -- who's standing with his arms wrapped around the two of them, head thrown back like someone just told the most hilarious joke.

It made you feel sad and happy all at once.

"That was back at our old house," Jennie said from behind you. "My dad moved here after she died. We took that photo not long before her car accident, actually."

Her voice sounded hollow, and it scared you. You wondered if Jennie has a special empty place in her mind, too, one she can retreat to when it all becomes too much.

"She seems kind," you said. "You look like her."

You felt Jennie squeeze your shoulder.

"Thanks, kiddo," she said, and she sounded a bit more like herself. "The two of you would've gotten along really well, you know. She'd have loved you."

The thought of Jennie's mom liking you -- loving you -- filled your chest with pride. You wrapped your arm around Jennie's waist and rested your head on her shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. My dad always said my mom and I were like two peas in a pod -- we both have great taste. And I love you, so she definitely would've, too."

Ever since you'd learned that Jennie had lost her mom you'd felt sorry for her, but these past few moments changed your perspective. You wish Jennie didn't have to lose her mom, but now you knew how lucky she was to have had a mother who loved her so very much.

You look up at her, and she's smiling down at you like she's never been happier than in this moment. (Like the way she always looks at you.) (And Lisa.)

In the book you're reading -- a large hardcover you borrowed from Jennie's office -- there's a line about how the people you love never truly leave you. Here, in her father's empty house, you finally understand what that means.

***

It took some frustration and a trip to Best Buy to get the VCR hooked up to the flat screen in the living room, but once Lisa finally got it working Jennie pulled her down on the middle of the carpet and kissed her face with so much affection and softness you kinda want to look away.

You knew Lisa hadn't seen most of the video tapes in the box, nor did she have the same positive association with them as Jennie -- with her happy childhood -- but when Jennie set her free Lisa was flushed and beaming. Not for the first time you wondered if Jennie's enthusiasm has transitive properties, because you were welling with anticipation, too.