L
Dear Jennie,
(This is a truce message)
Your AP Art teacher asked me why you've missed class for the past two weeks. I don't know if you want me to tell him that you've been spending it at the hospital with your mom, so I made up a lie. I also asked him for your homework assignments. (I asked all your other teachers, too.)
I put everything in your mailbox.
Forget You,
Lisa
Dear Jennie,
(This is another truce message)
Your painting, I Hate Her, won first place at the state art fair over the weekend. (I thought you said that you were done painting me with knives in my chest?)
I was already there since I won the essay contest, so I told them I lived next door to you, and they let me accept the blue ribbon and cash prize on your behalf. I don't want to put it in your mailbox, so I'll keep it on my desk.
Let me know when you want me to bring it over.
Forget You,
Lisa
Dear Jennie,
I'm sorry about the passing of your mother.
Sincerely,
Lisa
I crumpled my letter and tossed it through Jennie's window. It landed on her desk, right on top of all the other letters I'd thrown.
When her mom was diagnosed with stage four cancer months ago, Jennie refused to believe it. She stormed out of her house and up to my room whenever her mother started to say things like, "When I'm gone, make sure you..." or "When it's you and your dad, don't forget to..."
She was too convinced that her mom would beat it, and she didn't want to listen.
Even though my parents (and a lot of other people in the neighborhood) wanted to be hopeful, they braced for the worst.
Jennie was the only one who didn't.
Ever since the funeral, she'd sat on her bedroom floor, crying.
Her extended family paraded casseroles and flowers through her front door for the first couple of weeks—waving at me as I looked on, but they eventually stopped coming by.
I tossed tons of letters through her window, telling her how sorry I was, asking her if she needed anything, but she never tossed one back to me.
The few friends she had at school (Well, "classmates" since she didn't have any real friends), never stopped by her house to see if she was okay, and from what I could tell, they never called or sent letters either. When I confronted one of her art club-mates, to see when she was planning to visit, she said, "Why can't Jennie visit me? I mean, she's a pretty tough girl. I'm sure she's not crying about something like this for all this time, right?"
Standing up from my desk, I decided it was time to stop waiting on Jennie to write me back. The sympathy flowers on her porch were dying, and she and her father hadn't left the house in forever.
I made a few calls to places in town and changed clothes. Then I picked up a bouquet of lilies from her mother's favorite floral shop, and parked my car in her driveway.
I rang her doorbell, but there was no answer.
I rang the doorbell again.
Still no answer.
Knocking as hard as I could, I waited five minutes before walking to the edge of her porch. I lifted up the fourth flower pot and picked up her spare key.
Stepping inside, I noticed Mr. Kim sitting in the living room. He was staring at the television, and tears were falling down his face.
"Do you, Richard Kim, take Marie Jane to be your lawfully wedded wife?" A deep voice came through the speakers.
Mr. Kim nodded and sobbed as he continued to watch his wedding video.
I walked through the dining room and headed upstairs, but Jennie wasn't there. I checked all the other rooms, and made my way down to the kitchen.
Jennie stood in front of the oven, looking pale and several pounds lighter.
Her brown eyes met mine and she crossed her arms. "Lisa Manoban, if you're here to tell me that you're sorry, or that my mom is in a better place, please don't." Tears fell down her face. "I've heard those phrases enough to last me a lifetime."
"I'm not here to give you one of those." I handed her the lilies.
"Oh..." She tapped the blooms. "My mom used to give me these on the last Sunday of every month." A slow smile spread across her face. "Her favorite shop always had extra so—" She paused. "She used to..."
"Today's the last Sunday of the month," I said, stepping closer. "Now's the time when you two usually head out for your brunch at The Blue Lake Café, right? Even when you're grounded?"
She nodded. "Yes. Even when I'm grounded."
"Well, I called the café as soon as they opened this morning." I pulled my brand-new car keys out of my pocket. "They're going to hold a special boat on the lake for you all day."
She didn't say anything. She just stared at me.
"If you don't want to go, it's okay," I said. "I thought you might want to get out of the house."
"That cafe is near the college. It's outside of our county's permit driving zone."
"Not anymore." I handed her my wallet, and she flipped it open.
"You have your full-fledged driver's license now?" She looked up at me. "Is this real?"
"Yeah. Got it two weeks ago with my new blue convertible."
"What?" she raised her eyebrow. "Well, why didn't you immediately rush over here and rub all of this in my face?"
I didn't answer.
"Congrats on the car," she said. "As far as the test, I'm sure you cheated somehow, or you scored a cougar-teacher who has no taste and thought you were cute."
"It was definitely the latter." I smiled. "She also treated me to ice-cream afterward."
"I figured." She rolled her eyes. "I'll be ready in a few." She left the kitchen and rushed upstairs, returning in a baby blue quote shirt that she and her mom used to wear. A shirt she designed and hand-painted herself. A mother is a daughter's first best friend...
Carrying the lilies with her, she headed toward the front door.
Her dad was still staring at the television, so I readjusted the pillow behind his head and poured him a glass of water before leaving.
When we walked to my car, I opened the passenger door for Jennie and she slid inside. Holding the flowers in her lap, she cleared her throat.
"Your new girlfriend is cheating on you with your 'real friend' Mike Harper who lives down the street," she said. "I've seen them come home together all this week during fifth period. They mess around in his room and then they go back to school."
I cranked the engine and looked over at her.
"I was going to tell you the next time we got into an argument," she said. "But, since I know you really like her and you're being nice to me, I think you should stop wasting your time and dump her as soon as possible."
"I will." I handed her a box of Kleenex and pulled onto the street.
Our conversation ended there, and she kept her gaze forward. We rode in silence for half an hour, and at every stoplight, I leaned over and pressed a fresh Kleenex against her cheeks.
When we arrived at The Blue Lake Café, a waitress rushed out to my car and opened Jennie's door. She pulled Jennie into her arms and held her close.
"I'm so sorry, Jennie." The waitress cried, hugging her even tighter. "I am so sorry."
The manager came out next, and then one by one each staff member took turns giving Jennie an embrace. When the last hostess said her words, the manager took Jennie's hand and motioned for me to follow them to the dock.
He walked us to a picnic boat that was already set up with the best lunch entrees, and waited until we were settled inside.
"You'll be the only two on the water today. Okay, Jen?" He handed her a bouquet of white roses. "You can stay out there all night if you want."
"Thank you." She smiled. "I really appreciate it."
He nodded and untied the boat from the dock, whispering to me, "Take good care of her today, Lisa."
"I will." I steered the boat to the middle of the lake, then over to where Jennie and her mother always stopped to get the best view of the downtown skyline. After that, just like her mom, I pulled out a small bottle of sparkling juice and poured two glasses.
"You have to say, Cheers to living your best life every day, Jennie." Tears fell down her face. "That's what my mom always said when she did that."
"Okay." I handed her a glass. "Cheers to living your best life every day, Jennie." I waited for her to drink before following suit.
When she was finished, she set her glass down and looked at me. "Do you know what comes next?"
"I think so," I said. "Is this the part where she typically says, I know we have our differences from time to time, but I want you to know that at the end of the day, I love you more than you'll ever know?"
"Yes." She nodded, a faint smile crossing her lips. "After that, she always asked me if I still hated Lisa Manoban."
"Okay." I dabbed her eyes with another Kleenex. "Do you still hate Lisa Manoban?"
"Yes." She leaned on my shoulder. "More and more every day."