DEAR LISA | JENLISA

TWENTY-THREE

LISA

Month eight, letter number eight

October
***

Dear Lisa,

I hope you're doing well, sweetheart. Eight months is a long time. I hope you're feeling happier and more energized these days.

So this month's task is pretty straightforward. Do something for your professional career, and try something you've been scared of doing.

You've got this. I believe in you.

Love, Jennie

Well. That was a pretty crappy letter, if she was being honest. She'd gotten changed and poured a half glass of wine for this? She stalked around, her bare feet silent. Kuma lay asleep on the couch, oblivious to her mood.

"A shitty letter, Jennie," she said out loud. "Sorry, was I taking too much of your time?" Was she too busy to write more than a few sentences? Was she getting to be too much of a responsibility, and she only had a few Chicken Soup for the Soul platitudes to toss her way?

Rage swept through her, red and tarry, blotting out everything else, and before she could switch gears, before she could call her mom or Ben, before she could get to the gym and hit the heavy bag, before the quick brown fox could jump over anything, the red tar was everywhere and she was drowning in it. A far-off, still-calm part of her brain guided her to the cabinets. She heard a smashing noise and more yelling, and there was pain in her foot, a distant pain, and then she slipped and her head thunked against the floor and she was out.

* * *

SHE WOKE UP to Kuma licking her face. His breath was awful. "Hi, Kuku," she said, and her throat was sore and scratchy. Also, something was sticking into her back.

She was lying on the kitchen floor.

She sat up, wincing, and felt the back of her head. A good-sized lump was there. And there were shards of porcelain everywhere.

Polka-dotted porcelain.

She picked up a piece and looked at it. Jennie's coffee cup. She'd used it every morning. Actually, she'd bought four of them, because, she'd said, they'd be everyone's favorite. And they had been. Even her mother had liked them, and she wasn't a person who cared a whole lot about mugs. She remembered a weekend morning when Jennie had her "three moms" over for coffee cake, and they'd all drunk from these mugs.

From the look of the mess on the floor, she'd broken each one. Yep. Four little handles scattered amid the ironically cheerful destruction.

There was a knock on her door. She went to it, limping slightly, and opened it. Creepy Charlotte.

"Hey, I heard some noise. You okay?" She looked her up and down. "You're bleeding, you know."

"Stop stalking me, Charlotte."

For a second, she wondered if Gertie the Medium had meant Charlotte, but if so, she would take that $500 back, thank you very much. She closed the door in her face, went back to the kitchen and surveyed the mess.

Nice job, asshole.

If Kuma stepped on the broken mugs, he might cut his paw. She put him in the guest room to keep him safe, though he gave her a disappointed look. "Sorry, honey. I'll be back in a few minutes."