DEAR LISA | JENLISA

FIFTEEN

LISA

Still month four

June 16

***

ON JENNIE'S BIRTHDAY, she went into her closet, sat with the last pair of pajamas she'd ever worn and held them against her face, breathing in her smell.

She would've been twenty-nine years old today.

For their third anniversary, the gift was supposed to be leather. She'd gone to the same jewelry store where she'd bought her engagement ring, and picked out a watch with a green leather band. While in the store, she'd also bought her a pair of dangling gold earrings with pearl on the end. They would look so pretty swaying against her hair, she'd thought. Pearl were her birthstone. Her plan had been to save them for June, unaware that she'd die within days of her purchase.

It seemed so long ago, that dark February day, the salesperson complimenting her on her taste and saying her wife was a lucky woman.

Today's weather was insultingly beautiful, the air dry and clear, sun shining, midsixties, flowers bursting out of window boxes everywhere. Even the ferns and hostas Jennie had planted on the rooftop garden had come back this spring, despite Lisa's neglect of them. (And the seagull, who shat on them. Maybe it was fertilizer.)

Life was everywhere except where she most wanted it to be.

The dogwood tree idea felt stupid today. She wished there were a grave where she could lay a bouquet of flowers. She should've thought about that, should've recognized that Jisoo and Donna would want somewhere to go.

Someday, she'd plant the tree. Where, she didn't know.

She texted Donna and asked if she could come over. She said yes, and half an hour later, she was in her kitchen, holding her as she sobbed. "I didn't know it would be this hard," she said, her voice muffled against her shirt. "I don't know if I can stand it. My little girl, my baby."

No, she thought. It was unbearable.

"I have a present for you," she said, handing her mother-in-law the box, and when she saw the earrings, she stroked them gently, as if they were alive.

"Her birthstone," she whispered.

"Yes."

She put them on, then looked in the small mirror by the door. "Thank you, sweetheart," she said.

Then she poured Lisa a cup of coffee, and they sat on the porch, Donna's hand on her arm.

"I heard from Jisoo you're seeing someone," she said after a time.

"Yes. Bill. He . . . he lost his son. Car accident. It's a comfort, having someone who understands. Do you have anyone to talk to, Lisa? Another . . . person?"

"I do. Online, but yes." She thought of what Jennie might say. "I'm glad you're seeing someone. I think Jennie would like that."

Donna tightened her grip on her arm. "Thank you," she whispered, then wiped her eyes again.

This day would end. They would both wake up again tomorrow, and the first birthday without her would be over and done with. For now, she'd stay here, with her wife's mother, and let her mourn her daughter.