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It’s been a while.
She pushes the door to her apartment, careful to keep the bag of groceries she has in one hand from dropping to the floor and the other finding the light switch on the wall out of habit.
It’s been a while and she still finds herself anticipating the little laugh and the soft pads of socked feet on her wooden floors, the soft hi that manages to fill the silence and speak of longing, and brown eyes that look at her in earnest as she tries to wiggle her way through the small gap in the door.
It’s been a while—that she forgets that there’s nothing there to greet her but a silence that fills the ears long after she’s turned on the TV to try and drown it out, as she places the bags on the kitchen counter.
She lets the thought go, for a moment. Rummaging through the plastic and carefully placing each item into its designated place inside the kitchen. It’s almost mechanical, a well learnt routine that somehow fills her afternoon with something to do other than sit on the sofa and think about things that were.
She allows herself a smile, reaching into her back pocket to get the box of cigarettes that she brings along with her that she doesn’t really have the heart for most days. And then there are days like these where the urge is undeniable and even if it tastes like burnt paper and grass, she still finds herself lighting one out of habit and taking a long deep drag that fills her lungs with nicotine laced smoke that she keeps in—longer than she should.
She hears the reproach in Chaeyoung’s voice in her head talking about integrating new habits to get rid of old ones and for a while that worked.
Except she hates lying, and she was never really great at keeping the momentum needed to establish those habits, and so she stuck with the ones she’s familiar with.
She takes an orange out of the bag, digs her nails into the skin and starts peeling it off slowly. Measured movements that stain her hands with juices that she licks off. The citrus scent filling the space around her, clinging to the skin under her nails, the back of her throat and even on her teeth—and for a minute it fills her head with the image of her smile.
She lets it linger.
Longer than usual.
Pushing herself to try and draw the smile she gets when she comes home from work and finds her seated by the counter with a glass of wine in hand and a readied plate of heated food that she secretly hates but eats anyway because she spent the entire evening pouring over youtube how-to-cook vids to get it perfect, in her mind.
It works, if only for a moment.
Finally feeling her touch on her skin, fingers through her hair, “Stop moving and let me braid your hair,” warm breath against her ears and she almost drops the slice of fruit in her hands.
Regret pours over her and she shakes it off with popping the orange into her mouth.
It’s sweet and tangy; soft lips against her own.
It’s not working at all, she thinks, so she picks up the phone and dials the number before she can think of anything else that’s logical that should have kept her from biting her lip in anticipation as the line rings.
“Hello?”
She takes an intake of breath and she’s filled with the scent of orange and peach, and warm nights sprawled out on the bed and their legs tangled with each other.
“Hi,” she whispers into the receiver, careful to keep her voice from giving her away.
“Lisa?”
There’s that old familiarity in her voice that cuts through, somehow, to her bones. The kind that only comes from not talking to each other for two years.
“Hey, it’s been a while.” she starts, not really knowing how to end it.
“I wasn’t—” she hears paper rustling and a door opening, “This is quite the surprise.”
“I know.” I know.
“Is everything okay?” there’s that hint of concern, the one she keeps for her, whenever they’re alone.
“Yes.” not really, maybe?
“Okay,” she hears the drag in the voice, the little intake of uncertainty and she knows she’s as clueless as her but she was never one to be open about her weaknesses and so she continues on, “Is this–is this a good idea?”
“No, not really,” she answers honestly because she deserves that at least. She plays with the telephone cord, “Look, I know it’s been a while but can you—”
“Lisa…” there’s understanding in her voice, and for a minute she can see her smile in her head and shake her head softly.
“Hear me out? I promise it’s not anything like the ones before,” she takes a deep breath, “I won’t beg you to tell me you still love me.”
She hears the burst of laughter against the crack of static and laughs in turn, “Okay, go on.”
“I was hoping we could just talk? For a little longer.” she manages to blurt out, it’s a little too messy for her taste but she can smell her in the air and having her voice on the other line keeps the incessant what-if’s at bay.
“Can you say that again?”
“Were you not listening?” she manages to tease
“No I was,” her laughter fills her ears, “I just like hearing your voice.”
There’s truth to the admission because she knows Jennie never really lied to her either. If anything, the only thing they managed to keep between themselves the same over the course of pain and happiness was honesty.
“I didn’t think it was possible to miss someone this much,” she finally admits.
“I know.” she knows,
“I was eating a piece of orange.”
“Were you now?”
“Yeah, and it—I don’t know, it reminded me of you.”
Jennie’s chuckle sends a quick flutter to her heart and it almost stings, except she has learnt not to let it get in the way.
“It’s probably because of my perfume, love.”
Lisa nods, into the space in front of her knowing Jennie understands that the silence means yes and that sometimes silence is all they’ve ever needed.
“Have you been eating well these days?” Jennie asks after a beat of silence.
“Well isn’t that very prim and proper of you?” Lisa stares at the orange on the table and smiles, “But yeah, I have.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” it isn’t okay. “Call me love again and my heart–”
“Has mitral valves, love.”
“They do.” Lisa feels the shudder that warms the tips of her nose.
“And as much as I want to stay here talking to you because,” Jennie lets out a sigh, “I missed you a lot too, this has to stop at one point.”
“I know .”
“You do, but you’re stubborn as fuck.”
They both laugh, “isn’t that one of the things you liked about me?”
“Like.”**
Lisa almost stutters, “What?”
“It’s still one of the things I admire about you,”
She revels in the brief sense of pride that comes along with that statement, only now realizing the hollowness that comes right after.
“This has to stop...” Lisa repeats, more for herself.
“Yes.”
“Have you been well?”
“I have,”
“And are you happy?”
“I—am, yes.” she is.
“Do you ever think about me?”
There’s a quiet little gasp she catches from the other line.
“Sometimes, I do.”
“Are they good ones? The thoughts?”
“All good ones, yes.”
“Did you ever regret it?” Lisa whispers into the receiver, after some time.
“Do the answers help?”
“No.”
“I don't regret the choice, I don’t regret loving you either. It’s just, the relationship has run its course and we were being destructive to each other.”
“We were, weren’t we? We were rather good at it too.”
She hears Jennie sigh and knows she’s running her hands through her hair, “We very much were.”
“Thank you,”
“I thought the answers didn’t help?”
“They don’t, but it’s nice finally having something close to a finality to the maybe’s running in my head. They’ve been driving me insane.” Lisa laughs, genuinely, for the first time in a while “I couldn’t just get you out of my mind.”
“It gets better.”
“I love you,”
“You should probably hang up Lisa.”
“I know.”
“I do miss you, sometimes when I try not to think about you.”
“I know.”
“That’s better.” She hears the smile on the other line, and Lisa nods along. Understanding what she meant but somehow wishing she didn’t.
“Bye Nini.”
“See you when we get the chance.”
There’s a click on the other line and the busy tone fills her ears, and she almost laughs at the irony of the peace it gives.