(Lisa) 4:56 pm
Hi Jennie, it was good to see you again.

(Lisa) 4:57 pm
I hope you’ve had a good rest of week.

(Lisa) 4:57 pm
I know this is short notice, but are you free tomorrow afternoon? It’d be good to …

(Lisa) 4:58 pm
If I stop using the word good, do you think you’d be more free?

These are the four texts that await Jennie on Thursday evening, and has her grinning at her screen after locking up her studio and making her way upstairs to the loft.

The messages on her phone show incontrovertible proof that the previous Sunday at the Standard happened, and of the earnestness of Lisa’s desire to renew their friendship.

They hadn’t talked more after the lunch, Jennie leaving it in Lisa’s court to follow up, but also giving her some space to understandably have a change of heart. Room for second thoughts that she herself hadn’t had time to consider because of the flurry of typical post-opening activities.

Leaving on niceties and the open-ended ‘let’s stay in touch,’ Jennie was happy to let things steep longer. But while Lisa was never far from her mind, she hadn’t expected to hear from her again so soon. It’s still an adjustment that they are now a tap and a swipe within reach of one another as they inch closer towards the precipice of their newly renegotiated alliance.

She smiles at Lisa’s repeated word use and can’t resist mirroring it as she types out her availability.

(Jennie) 8:02 pm
I should be good for tomorrow.

It’s a tonal shift from last Sunday, but Jennie embraces the lightness of the texts as they chart this new territory. Maybe they can do this after all.

While waiting for the reply, she heats up her dinner and scrolls through her social media and news feeds. Several retweets, likes, and favourites later, the ding comes as she’s spooning out her chicken risotto.

(Lisa) 8:18 pm
That’s great! Grounders in Williamsburg at 3pm okay?

More than, Jennie thinks, biting her lip. Old Lisa was not usually one for exclamation points in texting, a general opponent of over-enthusiastic punctuation. She’s curious then what’s motivating the break from norm but gladly welcomes filling her social calendar with another Lisa-requested event.

Jennie hasn’t heard of Grounders but she isn’t opposed to discovering new places with Lisa, even if it’s oddly another café. It does make her wonder if there’s a handbook on Friendship & Frappuccino that Lisa is consulting for tips on how to stay gal pals with your ex, the caffeine edition.

She chuckles at the thought of Lisa sporting her tortoise-rimmed glasses as she thumbs through and tabs the more salient points in the chapter on Ladies & Lattes.

(Jennie) 8:20 pm
Sounds good.

—

Grounders is not a coffee shop. At all.

When she had read Grounders and Williamsburg in the same sentence, her mind automatically went to overpriced home brews and cheekily-named scones served by skinny jeans and overgrown facial hair while obscure bands play through vintage speakers. She had imagined a shop front with a vintage bicycle leaned against the flower-pot window sill, and inside, posters of vintage bicycles. Moustaches everywhere.

Jennie was expecting something akin to the dozen or so cafés she had passed along the way here, Handlebar, Hip-Stir. Even Cofvefe would have made more sense.

Instead, when she entered the building, Jennie was handed a baseball helmet and asked her shoe size. She was beyond confused.

A hipster place this was not.

Grounders is a batting cage. An indoor baseball training centre. There’s real dirt a few feet from her. There are balls flying everywhere.

She isn’t sure what to think of Lisa taking her where projectiles are hurtling in every direction at an alarming velocity. Though they’ve reached a tentative treaty with Lisa’s olive branch to start anew as friends, Jennie is still weary that all of this has been a ruse. She can feel the blisters already forming from how tightly she’s choking her baseball bat, fearful of letting go of her only weapon against unwelcoming spheres.

Putting her apprehension aside, she overlooks the whiteness of her knuckles in favour of observing the puzzling but cute scene in front of her. Lisa’s preoccupied with tying her shoelaces and tightening her batting gloves, sporting a level of concentration fit for the World Series (according to high school Lisa that was the name of the really important baseball championship that, perplexedly to Jennie, only involved two countries).

“Thanks for coming. I had a booking here with Atticus that I couldn’t get out of.” A shy smile accompanies the explanation.

Jennie has no clue who or what Atticus is, or why she’s here if Lisa couldn’t cancel today. Her presence feels unnecessary when she could be somewhere safer, with fewer moving threats.

As if reading her mind, Lisa continues, “Lea had called in sick and Dylan couldn’t come last-minute and wanted to cancel. But apparently, if you don’t give them 24-hour notice, you’re in their black books. Ark loves Grounders. I didn’t want a mark on his or Atticus’s name because of Dylan’s delinquency.”

“I see.”

Jennie does not, unfortunately. She’s still at a lost for her involvement in this scenario, let alone trying to figure out who Lea or Dylan or Ark are.

What makes even less sense, however, is the image before her, a far cry from the first one at the gallery, or even the one at The Standard.

Nowhere in sight is the impeccably-dressed, stoic woman. In her place is Geena Davis from A League of Their Own (the movie that high school Lisa made her watch because it was supposedly a rite of passage; to what, at the time, she hadn’t specified).

Jennie had given herself whiplash when she dismissed a tall brunette walking towards her, wearing a cute snapback and red jersey, only to turn back around when she realised a second later that it was Lisa, who had also fully committed to the role with white form-fitting pants, red knee-high socks, and to complete the colour trifecta, red cleats.

It has been one surprise after another since the exhibition opening, but it would seem Lisa’s latest strategy is to keep Jennie on her toes via inexplicable wardrobe changes. She hasn’t seen this Lisa in awhile, and is wondering if she had somehow stepped into a time machine somewhere between Lisington St and Mulberry Ave.

Clocking Jennie’s darting eyes, Lisa mistakes her confusion for regret. She looks around contritely, brows furrowed, seemingly clicking into the volatility of the situation she has put them in.

“I’m sorry. We were down one adult, and the kids really like it here. You were the only one I could think of who had a flexible schedule. I thought it’d be a good first crack at bat at this friendship thing.”

Lisa ends on a shaky chuckle. She’s rambling. Terrible puns come out when she’s nervous. Jennie would usually find it cute. But she is too busy with her own apprehension to respond, too intently focused on trying to understand what’s going on, an especially arduous task when it involves sports, of all things incomprehensible.

Before she can parse Lisa’s words, an excited squeal diverts their attention, followed by a blurring of motion that comes careening towards them. On the meteor’s collision into Lisa’s leg, Jennie had reflexively shut her eyes and blindly lifted her bat ready to strike.

When she opens them, her heart swells at the image of a mini version of Lisa identically dressed in uniform, save for a mop of blonde hair on a head that comes up to just about Lisa’s hip.

“Hi, buddy.”

Lisa bends down to scoop the little guy up in her arms, causing a fit of giggles.

“No, it tickles!” His protests contradict his bubbling laughter, holding on tighter as she lifts him higher in the air. She skilfully dodges his kicking feet and bony elbows.

When she has him safely returned to the ground, Lisa is bent down by his side, resting on one knee with an arm around his shoulder. He steps closer into her hold, however, when he notices Jennie looking curiously at them.

“Ark, this is my friend, Jennie,” Lisa makes the introduction. “Jennie, this is Ark.”

Contrary to his shyness, he boldly—and adorably—extends his arm out completely perpendicular to his body in a bid to shake Jennie’s hand. She lowers herself to oblige, only to have Ark grasp her forearm instead.

“Nice to meet you, Ark,” Jennie greets, amused by the awkward arm shake.

“Hi.” He smiles looking up from under his lashes.

“Ark is Atticus’s best second baseman. Right, buddy?”

Ark beams proudly at the compliment but then bashfully hides his head into Lisa’s shoulder and doesn’t move to say anything more.

Jennie looks the pair over, and though her lips want to curl at seeing their closeness, she feels a seed of anxiety growing with not knowing the exact nature of their relationship. The familiarity with which Lisa is now rubbing his back, and how wholly safe he looks tucked into her side, is giving Jennie pause.

Her pulse quickens, wondering if this is Lisa’s son, if she has a wife or if Ark has an other mother who means something to her. The resemblance is minimal. Sandy blonde instead of auburn whisky; baby blue for forest green; rounder features over sculpted bone structure.

Or maybe he’s adopted, or shares those traits with mamma instead mommy. Maybe mamma was the woman that came to collect Lisa at the gallery. Maybe there’s a second bedroom somewhere in Park Slope with a twin bed, dolls and Legos on the floor and Captain America and Wonder Woman on the walls.

Maybe there is a master bedroom where two moms spoon each other, stretching out the morning before Ark and the husky puppy he had begged for and had received as a birthday gift come pounding in to wake them, pleading to go to the park. Maybe mamma is busy today so it’s bonding time for mommy and son at baseball practice.

Because Ark can’t possibly be a stranger to Lisa. She’s only been in town for a little over a month, she couldn’t have bonded with someone that quickly for him to be a new addition to her life.

Yet, Jennie’s own experience with the gravitational force of Lisa’s pull tells her otherwise; the immediacy of their connection, and the speed of its development, reminds Jennie of the ease of charting a course within Lisa’s orbit.

Lisa is an all-in type of girl, selective of the company she keeps but offers full access to anyone who figures out the secret knock. No key is needed then. Every door and window wide open.

Jennie’s hoping this might be the case, that Ark has just taken an extreme liking to Lisa, and she had unconditionally let him in. Because Jennie may not be able to survive the impact on her frangible   heart if it were the Park Slope option instead.

Before her irrational brain has time to spiral further, she’s snapped out of it when Ark shifts in Lisa’s hold, stealing another curious look at her. It would seem she’s not the only one playing guess who.

Picking up on the crease of Jennie’s forehead, and intuitively easing her imminent panic, Lisa goes on to explain that her office is a sponsor of a Little Little League team, Ark one of its stars, and that they’re here to work on swings and batting stances today.

(Jennie learns later, when Ark’s out of earshot, that a few of the players come from a nearby children’s group home, and that the shy 4 year-old boy had taken to Lisa because of her history with the sport. He had come out of his shell when she started talking about the Tigers, his favourite team and animal.

Finding out about Ark’s adoption status, Jennie feels conflicted relief, a guilt for wishing he didn’t belong to Lisa, and now a wistful pang that he did. She has to resist from reimagining the earlier scenario with herself inserted as the second mom.)

“When I told Ark that I was bringing a friend, he very nicely asked if you could come help him practice.” Lisa ruffles his hair affectionately.

He brightens at the word ‘practice’, and gives her a starry-eyed, toothy grin that would have Jennie believe Lisa had invented the sport.

Jennie wouldn’t know a bunt from a banjo, and how useful she’d be to Ark, but congenially accepts nonetheless. “Of course.” She grips her bat tighter out of solidarity.

“Hey bud, where’s the rest of our kru?” Lisa asks looking around, like she suddenly remembered the task at hand.

Ark turns in Lisa’s embrace to look over her shoulder. When Jennie follows the direction of his little pointed finger, she is gobsmacked to find an army of Lisas behind them. A dozen or so boys and girls, aged between 4 and 6, and similarly dressed in red, are wiggling about in various positions between bending over, lying down and general bored repose. Standing next to them are two overwhelmed adults, one of whom waves beseechingly at Lisa to come rescue them.

Seeing the rag tag group, only then does Jennie notice the insignia of their uniforms, the words Warriors emblazoned across large and tiny chests alike. It must be a reverse-psychology ploy because each warrior looks less like a fearsome fighter readying for battle, and more like a kindergartener ready for an afternoon nap.

She chuckles at the few yawns released, as if on cue, that don’t support their brand identity.

“Ok, let’s go play!” Lisa rises, as Ark excitedly follows her over to the group, Jennie trailing nervously behind.

—

Thankfully, they retreat to a play area that’s safety-appropriate for Ark and his teammates’ pint size, and manageable for Jennie’s anxiety.

The large bullpen is covered overhead by protective netting all around to keep the big kids’ hits from reaching them. The swoosh of balls travelling at 90 mph and the colliding cracks with metal are still audible, and really scary (Jennie hasn’t stopped flinching every time she sees one headed their way), but at least they won’t actually cause any physical harm.

Apparently the Little Brooklyn Baseball Association takes their baseball very seriously, offering an indoor programme that starts in January. While everyone else is still enjoying their off-season rest before regular play resumes in the spring, LBBA teams squeeze in an extra three months of practice. Jennie wouldn’t know what’s in season or not, but she does appreciate when Lisa tells her the extended period is an economic alternative for lower-income families who can’t afford the more expensive ice-related activities.

Normally the outdoors is needed to give a wider berth for exerting bundled energy, but with the frigid weather conditions, Lisa explains, they come to Grounders to work on specific skills within a more climatically controlled environment. By the squeals of excitement, the kids don’t seem to care where they go as long as there is a ball and bat involved.

Atticus is split into three groups and set up at different batting stations, each player taking turns. Given their limited range of motion and attention spans, it’s more tee-ball than baseball. There are varying degrees of concentration and patience as each Warrior tries to knock the ball off the tee. Often than not it’s a smacking of the pole holding up the ball than contact made with the ball itself.

To Jennie’s relief, as the spare adult with little knowledge of the game or proper technique, she isn’t assigned a station, tasked instead to keep an eye out for scrapped knees and weak bladders, overseeing first aid and counter-productively administering both fluids and bathroom breaks.

In her designated role, she’s free to observe the adorable furrows of brow from a nearby bench. And must work hard to hide her amusement at seeing the three adults spending most of their time on their knees, crouched to match the average height of 3’-6” and under.

She tries to distribute her attention fairly across all stations, but her eyes invariably stray to Lisa’s corner.

The brunette coaches each batter with all the focus and seriousness of advising an elite athlete. Despite overall coordination being a general challenge for four year-olds, Lisa goes into detail about feet and hand positions, batting stances, weight balance and distribution, grip best practices, swing mechanics. Ark, in particular, hangs on to Lisa’s every word.

A hip gets adjusted, a shoulder tweaked, an elbow tucked in, knees bent, feet kicked farther apart; each followed by motivating words of encouragement. She works them through dexterity exercises and drills of separation, slot, impact, extension; all completely foreign concepts to Jennie but embraced eagerly by Lisa’s flock.

Her attentiveness is rewarded with joyful smiles and jumping cheers whenever a ball is successfully hit (whacked, really, despite their best efforts). Though sometimes the ball doesn’t travel farther than five feet in front of the pair, it’s regardlessly celebrated with the same verve as a home run over the tree lines of Central Park.

Something tugs at Jennie watching Lisa in her element. She is visibly more relaxed than she was at The Standard, smiling and having genuine fun as she shares hearty laughter and pats-on-backs with her motley crew of baby warriors.

Jennie has always felt that pull towards her, but none more so than when Lisa gives herself completely over to others, the supportive branch from which flowers bloom. The type that attracts birds and butterflies.

She feels a fluttering in her stomach that she has to forcefully temper down, the same flutter that started during spring of freshman year.

*****

“Are you lost?”

Jennie ignored Lisa’s teasing question, and asked her own.

“How did I not know about this?”

She swept her eyes across Lisa’s attire that has her decked out in black from head to toe. Her best friend was almost unrecognisable wearing a short sleeve top with Badgers written in white across the chest and the animal itself underneath, the jersey neatly tucked into pants so tight that Jennie felt her cheeks pink in second-hand embarrassment.

“I’m not just a pretty face, Jennie,” Lisa says.

Though a fact that Jennie can’t deny, it doesn’t alleviate her confusion.

“Yes, apparently also a spandex collector.”

“I’m a lesbian, Jennie,” Lisa said nonchalantly as she adjusted the velcro on her batting gloves, “they would revoke my card if I didn’t engage in some form of group-organised physical activity.”

Despite the revelation, Jennie breezed pass it like they were discussing the weather.

“Well I’m a half-member of the club but you don’t see me owning half of one of those.” She pointed uselessly to the bat Lisa is holding between her knees, not knowing what it’s called.

Lisa’s lips quirked in response to Jennie’s subtle admission, but she dipped her head trying to hide her smile by focusing more intently on her task.

That was how Jennie and Lisa came out to each other, during the most inane argument over athletic wear and equipment. It wasn’t exactly news to either of them, considering the rainbow flag pinned to Lisa’s bag from that first afternoon they met six months ago, or their many conversations about and mutual appreciation for so-and-so lips and eyes. But Jennie was never one to assume, and glad to have it confirmed out loud. If only so that lingering gazes now had a name to them.

(Although to be fair, she might’ve had arrived at a conclusion of Lisa’s sexuality sooner had those gazes been directed at a general gender than a singular recipient. Then again, introspection is difficult when flecks of green and gold and grey are so effectively distracting.)

In the moment, Jennie was more concerned with Lisa’s coming out as an athletic person, than a gay one.

“Are you any good?”

“At being a lesbian?” Lisa laughed at Jennie’s displeased look, and then answered her intentionally misinterpreted question with an equally purposeful deflection. “You’ll just have to find out. But seriously, what are you doing here? Did you get lost on your way to the art room?”

Jennie didn’t dignify that with an answer. She was in fact in the art room when Hyuna had dragged her to the fields to scope out the football tryouts.

Knowing her friend’s ulterior motive, she had purposely complained every step of the way about not caring for pigskin, and that the only ‘pig’ that interested her was getting just the right pigment. If Hyuna was going to make her suffer than it was only fair she did the same, going into excruciating detail on the nuances of azure and the associated difficulties of achieving the perfect mix of brilliance and clarity.

Fed up with the unsolicited art lesson, Hyuna finally shut Jennie up by admitting to being more invested in the new running back than anything related to the sport.

When they arrived on the field, she had promptly abandoned Jennie to get a good seat from the sidelines. Jennie was about to reluctantly join her friend when she eyed MANOBAN adorning the back of a familiar brunette, standing a few yards away the next field over. Jennie had come stomping towards Lisa as she was stretching her arms.

“Why didn’t you tell me you played football?” Jennie demanded, so confused at seeing her best friend in anything other than denim, cotton, or plaid.

“Because I don’t,” Lisa deadpanned. At Jennie’s even deep crease of brow, she clarified with a glint of endearment in her eye. “Jennie, this is baseball.”

“I know that.” Jennie crossed her arms, utterly dissatisfied with the complete lack of progress of this conversation. “Is this a frequent thing? Like, more than once?”

“Yes, pretty likely, considering I’m the captain.”

“What?!”

“Jennie, I told you like two weeks ago that I made the roster, and last month, that I’m a pitcher.”

“I thought you were referring to going out drinking. How was I to know it meant … this.” She emphasised the last word by looking up and down Lisa’s body, and gesticulating her hand inarticulately.

“We first met near a baseball diamond.”

When Jennie only gave a shrug in reply, Lisa looked at her with exasperated adoration.

”If you’d stop inhaling paint fumes, you might discover a whole wide world out there.”

She moved closer to Jennie to uncross her arms from her chest, and took an orange and red-stained palm into her hand to prove her point. Lisa traced the blotches of paint with her gloved finger, following an invisible path with such softness that Jennie had to suck in a breath to keep the butterflies from taking flight.

(The winged creatures had started showing up in recent weeks, catching Jennie off guard as to her body’s sudden interest in lepidopterology. She couldn’t pinpoint when she had become an unwitting collector.)

As Lisa held one hand, Jennie decided to return the favour, moving her other to draw the stitching outline of the cute furry creature on Lisa’s jersey. She missed the tiny gasp from Lisa when her gentle exploration bordered dangerously too close to a sensitive area.

“I didn’t think freshmen could be captains.”

“A lot of last year’s team were seniors who graduated. Three of us are the most experienced players, everyone else has only played recreationally. But neither of the Juniors seemed to care for the captainship. Jennie, we had a forty-five minute conversation about this.”

They likely did. Jennie couldn’t deny the conversation happened, knowing how her eyes usually glaze over, and her ears suddenly stuffed with cotton balls, when any form of competitive movement got mentioned.

“This is a spectator sport, isn’t it?” Jennie asked in consternation after some thought.

“Yes.”

“And cheering is typically involved?”

Jennie’s nose scrunched up at the idea of adding baseball cheer to her extracurriculars. It had been a monumental undertaking to even learn a minuscule of the rules of soccer. Attending all of Hyuna’s home matches hadn’t help her to better understand offside or diving or why after 90 minutes there was no score.

(Hyuna ultimately gave up trying to teach her, and was just happy when she knew which side to root for when the ball did finally go into the net.)

“Jennie, what sport doesn’t involve cheering?” Lisa laughed, squeezing her hand and then linking their fingers. “But you’re not obligated to attend my games. I know how busy you are.”

“Of course I’d want to come and cheer for you, Lis. I just can’t guarantee I’ll know what or when to cheer.”

Jennie stopped her ministration on the jersey to pick up Lisa’s other hand as well, swinging their arms back and forth in between them. This too had been a new development in the last few weeks. Under the auspices of deepening friendship, they had taken to hand-holding more frequently. In a chicken-and-egg situation, Jennie can’t pinpoint if the butterflies showed up because of the hand-holding or the other way around. Even with Lisa’s batting gloves on, she could still feel the flap of their wings.

She asked, a moment later, “do you score goals too?”

Lisa laughed again, realising what a mountain climb this might be. “If you mean, do I throw a ball at a target, then yes, I also score goals.”

“Ok.”

That day forward Jennie spent her springs and summers as a fixture in the Badgers dugout, occupying her reserved spot at the end of the players bench and wearing a batter’s helmet for protection (by Lisa’s insistence and to her great amusement), to watch a sport she did not understand one bit despite every inclination (and a brunette motivation) to try, just so she could catch the gleam in her best friend’s eye when she scored a goal.

*****

Jennie is broken out of her memory when a little girl, maybe a year older than Ark, approaches her and reaches up to pat her hair, unencumbered by the social oddity of her gesture.

“It’s yellow,” the 5 year-old states, after she’s completed her unbidden assessment.

“Yes, it is,” Jennie bemusedly agrees to the obvious, entertained to see where this would go.

She feels small hands move to her cheeks as her head is turned from side to side for a more thorough appraisal. “It’s pretty. And soft. I like it.”

“Thank you. I like yours too.”

Honey brown eyes light up as the little girl retracts one hand to touch her own light brown hair, only to frown when fingers get momentarily tangled in a damp patch that was a result of earlier exertion. Jennie wordlessly helps smooth out the unruly clump, and finger-comb it back to a more presentable state.

“What’s your name?”

“Ella.”

Jennie chuckles when Ella broadly smiles and goes to stick her hand out without hesitation, in the same spirited manner as Ark. It must be a Warrior thing.

“Nice to meet you, Ella. I’m Jennie.” She isn’t surprised when Ella’s hand extends past her hand to grip her forearm.

Jennie is barely given time to return the peculiar arm shake before Ella abruptly changes the objective of their interaction.

“Did you see me before? I hit the ball really far!” Her round face beams with both pride and hope that someone else was witness to her achievement.

“I did!” Jennie hadn’t, but she doesn’t want to disappoint the Warrior by admitting that she was too busy spying on her coach to take notice. “You did really well.”

Ella goes on to detail the measures she took that led to her success, how she concentrated really really hard, and held the bat a little higher just like Coach Lisa had instructed, and then visualised where she wanted the ball to go before she swung with all her strength.

Jennie is so immersed in the story, trying to keep up with the step-by-step reenactment that accompanied it, she almost doesn’t catch Lisa looking their way, a quiet smile in her eyes and a small curl to her lips. When they lock gazes for a moment, Jennie quickly loses the thread of Ella’s narration, and only picks it up again after Lisa gives her a bashful nod with a hint of a blush before returning attention to her own little Warrior.

“Isn’t she great?” Ella asks.

Jennie hasn’t caught up to Ella’s speech timeline early enough to know to whom she’s referring, but is saved from having to scramble for a cover when the little girl answers her own question. “Coach Lisa is the best! And she’s really pretty too. I love her hair.” The last part is loudly whispered in Jennie’s ears.

Jennie laughs brightly at their full-circle return to the girl’s obsession. She steals another glance to the object of their mutual affection.

“Yeah. Yeah she is.” She agrees. On both accounts.

—

Sometime later, during a much-needed break, the Atticus are contently drinking from their juice boxes and munching on chips. While they lively babble amongst themselves about their recent feats, Jennie and Lisa finally have the chance to chat one-on-one.

“Is this ok?” Lisa asks, looking about, as she hands a juice box to Jennie, and sits down astride on the wooden bench.

Though her suggestive gaze refers to their general vicinity, she leaves it unclear whether she also means her specific proximity to Jennie. There’s still a measurable gap between them that can easily fit three Warriors, but it’s physically the closest they’ve been all afternoon.

“Thanks,” Jennie takes the proffered drink and pops the straw into the aluminium foil slot, as she replies genuinely, “yeah, it’s great.”

With her feet dangling off the bench, she sips happily and feels like she’s back in primary school. She hasn’t really lifted a finger in the past hour but nonetheless feels sympathy fatigue for all the sweating and grunting, and is happy for a moment of rest.

The conversation is easier this time, when there’s something to talk about that’s not them. There are less stop gaps and more hidden smiles.

Lisa offers insights into some of the Warriors backstories and gamely answers Jennie’s questions about particular baseball terms and techniques. Jennie enjoys the hand gesturing that articulates each point.

Nervousness still bubbles under the surface but is offset by the distraction of kids doing adorably kid things. The flow of their chitchat often interrupted to observe the Warriors’ complete lack of care for social decorum. Jennie wishes, that as an adult, when she’s tired or grumpy, she can just stop whatever she’s doing and lie down on the floor in protest—especially if it’s in the middle of an exhibition.

During a lull in the conversation, they let several minutes of comfortable silence pass between them, as Lisa crunches her way through her snack-size bag of blue corn tortilla chips while Jennie focuses on her pomegranate punch.

She tries not to let her gaze linger on the slight sheen of sweat that’s deepening the crimson tint of Lisa’s lips. When their plumpness presses around the straw of her guava juice box and makes a light sucking sound, Jennie has to avert her eyes completely. The jerky movement of her head almost dislodges her straw further up than it needs to go.

“Blue corn, pomegranate, guava?”

She asks, breaking the silence after recovering from her near choke. At Lisa’s confused look, she tips her head to the juice box, teasing. “Whatever happened to the classics, apple and orange? This was your doing wasn’t it?”

“As a former fruitarian, I feel duty-bound to ensure their sugar intake is of high nutritive value. If they’re going to be hyped up on it, might as well be good for them,” Lisa defends good-naturedly, taking on a PSA tone.

Jennie laughs at the prompted memory. It’s a similar argument that had Jennie on a food cleanse for a too-long period of only liquified-fruit after Lisa had won a blender at Columbia’s Christmas raffle. They had mutually suffered through the impromptu detox not out of any misguided dietary concerns but because Lisa felt she had to make the most of her prize.

(“Jennie, I want to taste the difference between chopped, crushed, and puree.”)

Three days in, and Jennie’s incessant complaints about melting away later, they were sat at the nearest fast food joint gorging on cheese dogs, bacon burgers, and salted caramel milkshakes. Though they would regret that impulsive decision as well, since then, and every time they were near the fruit aisle of the market, Jennie would never let Lisa forget about her temporary foray into juicery. Her one earnest effort at mastering a small kitchen appliance.

“No avocado?” Jennie persists with her ribbing, earning a smile this time.

While old Lisa’s familiar refrain, mockery is not the product of a strong mind, pops in her head, she’s relieved for a better reaction than the last time the tropical fruit came up.

“No,” Lisa says slowly, then turns her head to ascertain no one’s listening before she leans back in and whispers, “the good stuff is still in the trunk of my car.”

Jennie laughs again, knowing how much of a hoarder Lisa is when it comes to her beloved berry—and that she is most likely not kidding.

They’re both smiling when Lisa further clarifies. “Actually, Ella’s mom works for Whole Foods. This is the overstock they can’t sell. I guess anything that’s called Guava Gomega Goodness doesn’t really fly off the shelves. But the kids don’t seem to mind.”

Looking over Lisa’s shoulder, Jennie can see that indeed the healthy drinks and snacks are consumed like it’s their last chance for sustenance before embarking on Noah’s Ark. Though, after the active morning they’ve had, Jennie suspects the Warriors would down anything that doesn’t taste like burnt tires. Anything with sugar content for a much-needed pick-me-up.

She smiles fondly when she spots a few heavy lidded eyes and little bear-sized yawns that support her case.

“Thanks for having me along,” Jennie says as she turns her attention back to Lisa a moment later.

She receives an appreciative but contemplative nod in return.

“Yeah, no, thank you for coming on such short notice. I wasn’t sure about this.”

Again it’s unclear what this Lisa references, the batting cage and Grounders in particular, or their attempt at friendship in general. There’s a hint of uncertainty in Lisa’s tone that gets lost around the crunch of a chip. Jennie politely declines when Lisa offers her some.

Lisa meets her eyes when she quietly contends, “I know it might not be what you expected.”

Reading the unasked question underneath, Jennie’s not sure how to respond. She sucks more purposely, trying to drain out the bottom of her juice box, buying herself more time.

It definitely isn’t what she had in mind, but for a completely different reason than what she thinks Lisa might mean.

Two weeks ago, the idea of them playing baseball moms to a bunch of primary schoolers was most definitely out of the realm of possibility. But well over a decade ago, it could have been, and felt like, an inevitability.

The weekend crunch to get out the door to make Lisa’s early morning practices; the shuttling from one field to another, black coffee for Lisa and a triple triple with an extra dusting of sugar powder for Jennie; Lisa taking the mound and Jennie sketching her in action; Lisa’s excitement during October—and Jennie’s confusion—watching the playoff games on TV.

The routine of it all served as a blueprint for their future.

It seemed foreseeable that their mornings, evenings, and weekends would take a similar shape in some way, where older Jennie and Lisa would be helping tiny versions of themselves do the same things. They’d be baseball moms to various permutations of blonde or brown hair and blue or green eyes, with Lisa coaching and Jennie providing the moral support.

Lisa had even teased that hopefully by then Jennie would have figured out what the base in baseball means.

*****

“Are we winning?”

Jennie had tried fruitlessly for the last two and half hours to decode the mystery of the complex scoreboard. There were just too many numbers. She finally gave up and turned to her friends for rescue, glad to have opted for the stands during this playoff game instead of her usual perch in the dugout.

“Yes, but barely,” Hyuna mumbled, leaned forward in her seat next to Jennie, elbows on knees, hands steepled, and biting her lip.

“Jennie, it’s basic math. I know you passed the 2nd grade, I was there.” Jisoo poked her teasingly from her other side.

Rosé scoffed at her jibe, but otherwise stayed silent to her left. Too tired to pile on her own typically creative mockery of Jennie’s ignorance. She had made the three and a half hour drive in from Boston to watch her sister try to clench the last playoff spot for their team, and was reserving her energy for the expected after-game celebrations. (Her professors weren’t too happy that she had shirked first-year college responsibilities to go “see some ass getting kicked.”)

“I don’t even know what numbers I’m meant to be adding or subtracting!” Jennie pouted, unsure where to look.

Even if she did put her arithmetic skills to work, her confusion was compounded by the presence of letters beside the numbers. This was the second season now and she still had no idea what the acronym RHE stood for, even after Lisa’s numerous tutorials. (“No Jennie, it doesn’t mean Really Hot Exercising.”)

“Shhhhh, your girl’s up.”

Hyuna hushed them, and tipped her body forward even further. She was a toe pivot away from launching herself into the next row in front of them.

“She’s not my girl.”

Jennie feebly protested under her breath even though she had perked up when Lisa came out onto the field to retake her place atop the tiny mountain.

She had watched entranced as Lisa performed her warm-up ritual, and though she couldn’t understand why the pitcher needed to raise her knee as part of her pitching, she held her tongue from posing the question to her friends. Her open mouth was too busy catching flies anyways as she secretly appreciated the emphasis to Lisa’s ass that the motion had caused.

“It’s the top of the ninth. There’s two on base, at second and third, and two outs. We’re ahead by a run. If Lisa can strike out the next batter, then she closes out the game and we don’t have to go to bat,” Jisoo whispered, trying to fill her in and effectively cutting off her daydream.

“I don’t know what you just said.”

“Just cheer when we do.”

That’s exactly what Jennie did.

She cheered when the home crowd roared after the first pitch landed in the strike zone; gasped in unison when the second was hit high to the far right field, only to let out a collective breath when it changed course at the last second, landing just outside the foul line; booed the umpire when the next two were called balls, and followed Hyuna’s example when she directed many not-so-nice words at him; and then at last, jumped to her feet, a millisecond behind, when everyone erupted out of their seats at the pounding sound of the fastball hitting the catcher’s mitt.

The ump’s redeeming cry of ’Strike Three!’ and the batter’s expletive at the tail end of his missed swing were both drowned out by the euphoria.

All throughout, Jennie couldn’t keep her eyes off of Lisa, who was the poster child of composed under pressure. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail through her cap, and though the bill shielded Jennie’s favourite pair of eyes, she could imagine their steely gaze, a darker shade of green whenever she concentrated.

She was mesmerised by Lisa’s perfect form. How her body was contorted into taut lines that would extend beautifully when she released the ball. That was what Jennie enjoyed most about baseball, watching Lisa was like watching charcoal in motion as it fluidly moved across the page. Like a life drawing unfurling before her eyes, muscle and tendons snapping into place as the kinetic energy gathered and then exploded to devastating effect. She didn’t envy anyone on the receiving end of that raw power.

Not caring that she had upended her nachos from her lap, she went to hug her friends and join in on the ecstatic shouting and jumping around them. But just as promptly, she left the trio hanging mid high-fives when she caught Lisa’s eye, her beaming smile widening impossibly more when her peering search into the stands landed on Jennie. When their gazes met Jennie could feel Lisa’s joy bubble in her own chest.

Her dork of a best friend made a fist pump in the air with her hand still in her mitt, imitating the iconic ending scene of The Breakfast Club they had watched two nights prior.

As screams of unchecked mirth fill her ears, calling for her to join in the celebration, Jennie only had one goal in mind. She didn’t need an invitation before she was scrambling down towards the diamond.

—

She had to weave through a sea of black and white before she was able to reset her sights on Lisa again. But when she was within striking distance, Jennie launched herself at the sweaty athlete, uncaring about the probability of moisture transfer.

Lisa effortlessly caught her running hug, laughing at her antics, and they embraced as if one of them had just returned overseas from an extended tour. As though they hadn’t just seen each other three hours before in the locker room when Jennie bid her good luck with a shy kiss to the cheek and almost hit the door on her way out in her haste to sprint out of there.

(Three heads had turned to question her deep blush when she joined her friends amongst the crowds.)

“You did it! You scored!!!” Jennie exclaimed in her ear.

“I did,” Lisa laughed beautifully.

Jennie could still sense Lisa’s adrenaline by the movement of her ribs against her. If their soft panting wasn’t from Jennie running into Lisa’s arms and from Lisa securing a quarter-final berth for the Badgers, she would find the quiet exchange of breaths a bit too intimate to publicly share in front of their high school classmates.

For the small visiting crowd, here to support the other team, the intimacy could be easily mistaken as a celebration between the winning captain and her girlfriend. Dressed in reverse colours, Jennie is wearing Lisa’s white alternate kit, the number nine on her front and the name Manoban on her back.

The hug turned out short-lived, to her disappointment, when Lisa let go of her to bend down and pick up her baseball cap that had been knocked off by the force of Jennie’s enthusiasm. Before her heart could protest the loss of contact though, Lisa’s next actions had her breath hitch twice in succession. Both times causing goosebumps to create new landscapes across her body.

First, when she went to place the snapback on Jennie’s head, turning the bill to the back and then moving in close to gently sweep a few flyaway hairs away from her face and tuck them behind her ear. “There, now your outfit is complete.”

Second, when she wrapped her arms around Jennie again for an even tighter hug, burying her head in the crook of Jennie’s shoulder, and infusing her nose with the scent of vanilla and pine. She was the best smelling athlete ever, in Jennie’s limited experience with smelling athletes. (Jennie had never wondered whether Hyuna or Dawn also carried the scent of a spring in bloom after their games.)

Feeling Lisa’s smile against her skin did nothing to lessen the tingles. Her senses were overwhelmed in the best way, and had her wondering if she wasn’t the one who had thrown the winning pitch. She had to fight off shivers as shallow breaths hit her neck when Lisa exhaled, “thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” she said, her voice quieter this time.

They pulled back after a stretch of time, unmindful of the clamouring around them. When Lisa looked at her, the steely green from the game had been replaced by a saturated hue as when a forest canopy was covered in morning dew.

Rich, and full of life.

They were standing nearly nose to nose, with Lisa now holding the sides of Jennie’s waist, and Jennie’s arms sitting atop her shoulders, hands criss-crossed behind her neck. She looked between Lisa’s eyes and mouth, torn as to where to rest her gaze, an indecision mirrored in the pitcher’s own flickering movements.

Eventually her divided attention gave way to a singular laser focus.

Even though Jennie didn’t subscribe to the typical high school conventions, she was not immune to the cliché of unspoken pining over your best friend for fear of losing that friendship over a silly thing as a love declaration. Ever since last summer, after her grandma’s, Jennie had been a walking advert of high school romantic complications.

But in the moment, she felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her best friend, cliché be damn. Whether it was from second-hand adrenaline or not, never in her life did lips look so inviting and achingly beautiful.

Only a few centimetres away, it wouldn’t take much for her to cross that deep canyon of want.

Jennie wasn’t the one who made the move, in the end. She felt Lisa leaning forward, and the grip of her shirt tightening, that had her rising on her toes and closing her eyes in anticipation.

The next thing she felt, however, weren’t soft, moist lips. Rather a wrong kind of wet sensation drowned her. Jennie realised belatedly that Lisa had poured a cooler of water and ice over her.

With her heart and thoughts still lagging behind from the near kiss, she was too shocked to immediately react. Lisa quietly, smartly, broke away from their hold to escape Jennie’s likely revenge.

When she finally gathered her wits, Jennie chased after her, upper body completely drenched, shouting promises of pain-appropriate retribution.

“That was really unsportswoman-like. Come back here, asshole!”

Lisa just laughed and easily stayed out of her reach. The other Badgers looked on, smiling broadly at the sight of their usually-serious Captain having unabashed fun. She seemed to enjoy being chased by her biggest fan almost more than winning the game.

It didn’t take long for Jennie’s heart rate to spike to an unsustainable level. Minutes later, she finally collapsed atop of home plate, unaware she had ran all three bases.

Lisa took pity on her then and plopped down too, star-fishing across rubber and dirt. Their friends joined them shortly thereafter, adding to the mass of limbs and laughter.

“Kim, I don’t want to know why you’re wet.”

A disgruntled voice, likely Rosé’s, could be faintly heard somewhere in the pile.

*****

“I honestly didn’t know what to expect. But, you were always good at surprising me.” She sends Lisa a meaningful smile, and then chuckles with a shake of the head as she follows up with, “though you must’ve been really desperate if you had to ask me to fill in.”

Lisa smiles softly in acknowledgement. A moment later, with a distant look she admits, “I miss it, you know. Baseball really isn’t a thing in England.”

Jennie stiffens at the unprompted allusion to their separation. They haven’t outright talked about Lisa’s time in London yet. By some silent agreement, they don’t mention it, neither appearing ready to chart those waters, a daunting task that is as precarious and unpredictable as swimming across the English Channel. An unforgiving current that threatens to tow them both under lest they tread carefully.

Luckily, Lisa steers the conversation away from crashing waves and back to safer shores.

“One of the things that drew me to this New York office was their charitable work, and how involved they are in the communities where they build. And when they mentioned tee-ball with tykes, I was sold.”

“You’re very good with them,” Jennie compliments, relieved for the evasion, “especially with Ark.”

They both look over to where the boy is ardently showing Ella his batting stance, oblivious to the two sets of smiles observing them. Seeing his animated posturing, Jennie thinks of how similar he and Lisa are, despite the lack of relation. Quiet and serious but when they open up, there’s a lightness there that you just want to be a part of whatever excites them.

Lisa studies her with a curious look, trying to read the intent behind her gaze. Jennie knows she’s probably projecting, not having known Ark long enough to make such precise observations. But she can’t help how the sight of blonde hair and blue eyes matched with Lisa’s mannerisms and demeanour has her stomach flipping; has her being speculative about unwritten futures. Of a different kind of Friday afternoon supervising their children hit balls.

“It’s easy when they’re good kids,” Lisa demurs.

After several minutes of quiet, Lisa tosses her finished drink and snack wrapper into a bin, and rises from the bench to pick up a bat that she hands to Jennie.

“C’mon, Kim. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“What?” Jennie eyes the bat suspiciously. “Lisa, no.”

Lisa simply looks towards the peanut gallery for some back-up.

“Yay, Jennie!” Come the tiny shouts of support, accompanied by chants of her name.

“That’s not playing fair,” Jennie pouted, her protest falling on unsympathetic ears. “Alright, alright,” she relents after a second round of encouragement, “but I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

—

Her prediction hits the mark, seeing as her bat doesn’t. She’s no better than the kids, resorting to whacking as well. Jennie can see the appeal though; it is wholly satisfying to expel all her energy on an inanimate object.

It also helps to distract from Lisa’s near presence as she amusedly watches. Though there is no actual touching—the brunette is still a safe distance clear of Jennie’s wild swinging technique—Jennie can feel the hairs on her arm standing from memory of Lisa’s past proximity.

She can imagine a gentle hand on her waist and a soft voice in her ear, as it had happened dozens of times before when Lisa tried to show her proper stance and bat grip. The way Lisa would pull her closer against her pelvis, then lean over her back, and bracket her arms around Jennie’s, wrapping hands over her fingers.

“Loosen your hold on the handle, love, I’ve got you,” she’d hear before Lisa would slowly twist their torsos in unison, extending their arms and swinging the bat up and over their right shoulders, mimicking for Jennie the correct position her upper body and hands should end in.

It’s debatable whether Lisa’s hands-on approach and whispered instructions helped or hindered her performance, but the ghost of her lingers still from their numerous practice sessions. Jennie can feel the mould of Lisa’s body against hers.

The unique feeling gives Jennie pause to consider the peculiarity of palpably missing someone who is present in the same room.

This is the third time that they’ve met, and the third time without any direct bodily contact. Outside of their friendship-agreement handshake and Jennie’s overheating incident, there hasn’t been any physical exchanges. Hellos and good byes have been spoken through nods, conversations sustained through extended eye contact.

Yet it is not so much a physical distance she feels as a heightened awareness of each other’s closeness. An invisible bubble of near-touches and almost-grazes that wraps the two former loves together. Movements are considered and precise, careful not to burst it. Like they both know that once pierced, they may not be able to hold back.

For every non-touch there’s an echo of a past one. For every close-but-not-quite brush of a hand, Jennie feels a deep reverberation of its last imprint against her skin.

But although these insensate interactions is akin to trying to pick up grains of sand with a fork, if they can continue to have afternoons like these, Jennie has faith that they’ll eventually build a sandcastle together.

With the gorgeous laugh that she draws from Lisa when one hitting attempt sees the bat flying out of her hands as the ball remains stubbornly on the tee, she can already see the tower taking shape.

Despite the distinct lack of tactility, this first friendly date has left a more visceral mark than any romantic dates Jennie has been on in the last four years.

—

“I feel like we’re in a parallel universe. I still can’t believe she’s back. And that you’re dating her again.”

“We’re not dating, Hyun.”

“Fine, friendly dating.”

A week after Jennie’s time at Grounders, she makes good on her promise to give Hyuna a play-by-play of the Lisa-sized developments in her life since the exhibition opening.

The two friends are catching up at the playground near Hyuna’s house, bundled together on the park bench, arms linked, and keeping warm with hot chocolate. There was a blip in the weather that made it temporarily tolerable to be outdoors but chilly enough to still need steaming cocoa and a cozy best friend.

Beside them, sleeping contently in the stroller in his feather-down cocoon is Hyuna’s toddler son, Tyro. He’s tightly hugging the stuffed lion that Jennie had gifted him for Christmas, as small puffs of air emit from full, rosy cheeks.

His cub-like snores had fallen to the background as Jennie back-catalogues for Hyuna the night she saw Lisa at the gallery, her embarrassing literal meltdown at the Standard, and the subsequent friendly arrangement.

Hyuna couldn’t hold in her laughter at Jennie’s dramatic recount of her thermally-induced self-sabotage. Her disbelief that Jennie was nearly done for by a parka was only usurped by incredulity that Lisa had proposed to renew their friendship through dating.

“A friend date,” Jennie corrects, trying to put extra emphasis on the word. “And there’s only been one, I wouldn’t call it dating.”

Hyuna eyes her skeptically but allows the point. “How’d it go?”

“It was good. I think,” Jennie answers honestly, not sure what sentiment would accurately or adequately articulate her overall experience so far, subconsciously picking up on the word that Lisa had used to ask her on the date.

“That sounded like a question.”

“I don’t know. We’re still finding our feet around each other, but I enjoyed it. It was a really nice time with the kids. She’s great with them.”

Jennie goes on to detail her afternoon, telling Hyuna about their session at Grounders with Ark and the Atticus Warriors, leaving out anytime her heart sped up when Lisa mother-goosed them. She recounts the group outing for mac & cheese afterwards before parting ways, and how the whole event, though well out of her non-athletic comfort zone, had furthered their fledgling reconnection.

She doesn’t mention the things that she and Lisa have yet to say, happy for the moment to leave be the pink elephant wearing a tutu.

“Definitely not your everyday…” Hyuna comes to an adjacent conclusion. Jennie is about to agree when she finishes her thought, “first date and kids already.”

Jennie glares at her.

A pregnant pause later, Hyuna sets her face in her most serious look, before asking, “Jennie, do you even know what a grounder is?”

“Hmm,” Jennie blows on her hot chocolate, and unapologetically shrugs her shoulders. “No fucking clue.”

Hyuna laughs. “You and sports, it’s like your arch-nemesis. Except when it comes to Lisa. I still remember having to scrape your jaw off the ground after that first time you saw her in her baseball uniform.”

Hyuna shakes her head, smiling for that day she lost her wing woman to stretched polyester.

“I’m not even going to deny it. She was hot. I didn’t know I had a thing for uniforms until that moment.”

Jennie reminisces, a tilt to her lips thinking of how the cut of Lisa’s jersey revealed her lean cut while doing justice to her subtle curves and not-so-subtle ones. Before she can think of running her fingers along a sinewed back, a tangent memory springs to mind.

“Wait, wasn’t that also the same day you finally had the balls to talk to Dawn? It feels like ages ago.”

“Maybe there’s hope for you after all. One batting practice and now you’re making sport references!”

“Fuck off,” Jennie laughs, and then covers her mouth when she realises the language she’d used in front of Hyuna’s child, only to sigh in relief when she sees he’s still blissfully snoring. His babbling had recently turned into semi-coherent speech. Tyro was prone to repeating the wrong words. (Hyuna had to keep a vigilant ear out whenever Jisoo was close by.)

“What I meant, smart ass, is that things have changed. Dawn’s traded in his football helmet for a firemen’s hat. And you went from chasing Dawn and a ball to chasing after Tyro and bad guys.”

“Yeah, we’ve all come a long way.”

“Exactly. Jisoo’s married, you and Dawn have a brownstone and a two year-old, and I just played baseball with the former love of my life who I haven’t seen in nearly four years.”

“Yup, unbelievable,” Hyuna chimes in.

“I know, right?”

“No, I mean it’s unbelievable that you played baseball.”

Hyuna’s joke earns an elbow into her side, forcing her to grip her cup tighter so as not to spill it. The abrupt movement startles Tyro momentarily. Jennie mouths her apology as Hyuna goes to smooth his cheek and readjust his baby beanie, cooing him back to sleep.

They are both weary of waking up the tiny monster who could be more than a handful to chase around now that he discovered the use of his legs beyond walking. It had taken a bit of coaxing when they first arrived at the park to get Tyro down for his nap. Both she and Hyuna had to take turns singing ‘My Heart Will Go On’ before he willingly conceded his battle to stay awake. (Jisoo played the long game when it came to her rivalry with Hyuna, putting on Titanic whenever she babysat.)

It still amazes Jennie how her friend, a warrior by all accounts and a force to be reckoned with, could turn into goo around her son. That was something that Hyuna shared with Lisa, the ability to unsheathe their armours at the drop of a hat when it came to those they love. Jennie can imagine Lisa being in a similarly helpless position at the mercy of a demanding little prince. Her interactions with Ark alluded to as much.

Jennie isn’t afforded any more time to ruminate on Lisa’s fictional parenting skills when Hyuna returns her attention. There’s no longer a trace of the earlier levity in her expression. Maybe her short interaction with Tyro sobered her to what’s at stake.

“I’m genuinely happy that Lisa is back. We’ve all missed her. God, I’ve missed her. But, I need to ask you something.” Hyuna pauses to arrange her next words carefully, asking in a measured tone, “what do you hope to get out of this friendship?”

Jennie’s stomach sinks.

The mood immediately drops, both knowing what’s coming next. Of the three of them, Hyuna had a knack for cutting to the chase. While Jisoo can be equally critical in her own creative ways, Hyuna never failed to beat around the bush. There’s a swift change in the air, and by the steel blue that’s staring intently at her now, Jennie braces for the reality check that she’s undoubtedly about to receive.

“A friend?”

Hyuna doesn’t even bother acknowledging her poor attempt to deflect with a joke.

“You’ve never gotten over her. We both know she isn’t the former love of your life. Are you sure this is a good idea? She turns up out of nowhere after four years, and wants to be friends? No questions asked? How is this going to work?”

Jennie feels her throat tightening, her hands subconsciously close into fists. She doesn’t have an answer to any of Hyuna’s questions. Though her instinct is to refute the first point, they both know her denial would be a ridiculously futile lie.

“What happens when you want more and she doesn’t? When it’s not enough?”

“It has to be, Hyun. You know I can’t go there.”

She can’t. Despite the butterflies that never go away when she’s anywhere near Lisa, Jennie needs them to stay in their conservatory. She’s happy to visit them in dreams but letting them escape isn’t an option if she wants to safeguard the glasshouse of her heart from shattering altogether.

“I’ll figure it out as I go. Three weeks ago I didn’t even think I’d ever see her again, let alone the possibility of friendship. I can’t ask for more.”

“But you want to.”

“I can’t. I lost that right.”

She shakes her head. Tears are starting to collect as she pays dues to her buried feelings that have risen in her chest in the last few minutes.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is that when I saw her at the gallery, it felt like I could breathe again. Since the day she left,” Jennie has to pause to swallow down a sob, “since the day I pushed her away, I have felt a constant ache. This phantom pressure, this fucking crushing weight, has been siting on my chest.”

Jennie moves her hand to the weak spot as if to check that it’s still there, still tattered. Another swallow as her emotions swell, the lump in her throat growing.

She tells Hyuna of how the pain never goes away.

Not when she has her morning coffee and can only stare at the set of lopsided mugs Lisa made for them with her horrible attempt at pottery, the one made during the couple’s ceramics course that she had gifted Jennie for her birthday.

Not when Lisa’s Badgers letterman still sits in her closet, along with a box of baseballs that she has absolutely no use for but can’t give away.

Not when she wants to paint blues and reds and all she can see through blurry eyes is green.

The ache is there when she tries to distract herself by going on a coffee date with someone who’s face and name she won’t and don’t want to remember. And it’s certainly still there when she returns to their bed at night, the one it took them months to pick out during grad school because Lisa needed the mattress to have the right spring to stiffness ratio. There when she tries in vain to sleep but can’t because the bed’s too fucking big for one person.

And she knows it’s crazy, Jennie does, but she swears to her best friend she can still make out a faint indent in the foam on her side of the bed.

Thinking of the empty space, the tears well over, its flow a late bid to keep pace with the outpouring of words.

Hyuna pulls her in for a hug and rubs her back consolingly. Silent solace is rote by now, the comforting hand doing the talking. The soothing rocking motion the only balm she can offer.

“Do you know what one of the worst feelings in the world is?” Jennie asks brokenly, her voice unable to shake its tremble. “It isn’t being alone. It’s reaching out in the middle of the night, and expecting to find someone there. Thinking that you aren’t alone. Thinking that someone will take your hand and keep it safe in their warmth.”

Hyuna would give her hand in empathy but knows it’s not the one Jennie aches for.

“I’m still reaching out, Hyun. It took four thousand nights to form the habit. I don’t know how to break it.

I don’t know how to get over it, how to get over her.

I thought I was doing the right thing … I thought it was the right decision at the time. When I cut her out of my life, I didn’t think it’d be an incision so …

It still hurts, and I … I haven’t been able to breathe.”

Opposite to her worrisome confession, Jennie is heaving at this point.

“I know,” Hyuna tightens her embrace, and presses firmer circles on her back, but doesn’t have any more reassuring words. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Hyuna doesn’t know how to ease the guilt that her best friend still carries for breaking Lisa’s heart, knowing the hurt runs deeper for having broken her own in the process.

“God, I’m being melodramatic,” Jennie self-deprecates after her breathing calms, releasing an overcompensating laugh at her unnecessary mid-day hysterics as she wipes the tears that’ve tracked down her cheek. “Obviously I had to breathe to stay alive.”

She takes in a gulp of air at the reminder.

“That’s the thing, though. It’s only felt like I’ve been surviving. But seeing her at the gallery, for the first time the vice grip loosened. And every meeting since, it’s been a bit more bearable. I just … I just want to be around her. And if she’s offering that. If she wants to be friends again, then I want to take that chance.”

At Jennie’s pleading tone, Hyuna pats her knee in understanding and brings her head in to rest on her shoulder.

They sit silently for a long while, letting the chill wind pick up Jennie’s words and carry them on shaky leaves and across lunch-hour traffic. What is left of their hot liquids have since cooled. Tyro remains oblivious to his aunt’s emotional turmoil and his mother’s deep concern.

—

“Do you know what she said to me after the ceramics class?” Jennie asks. “We’re not straight. Why should our mugs be?”

They laugh at Lisa’s staunch defence of her artistic license, and Jennie feels a little lighter for it, though the sorrow remains ever-present.

“I just don’t get it. She’s so good with her hands. I mean, you’ve seen the furniture pieces in our—” she quickly corrects, “in my apartment. She could whittle a block of wood to look like the statue of David by using just a butter knife if she wanted to. But for whatever reason, she’s completely dismantled by spinning clay.”

She smiles thinking of Lisa’s endearing contradictions, and fondly remembers the war fought between Lisa’s white shirt and the wet clumps of earth.

Yet, despite the obvious battles at the potter’s wheel, Lisa was secretive about her mission. It made Jennie laugh that her back was turned to the blonde throughout the hour and only the frequent grunts and under-breath curses alighted her to something happening in the neighbouring workstation.

It wasn’t until the end of the glazing class that Jennie was finally presented with two of the most hideous looking, nearly unusable mugs that she had ever seen. It sat somewhere aesthetically weird between Munch’s Scream and Picasso’s blue period, if Jennie’s critical eye were to attempt an artistic evaluation.

But Lisa had been so proud of making their first hers and hers set of anything—even undertaking the labour of monograming them—that Jennie didn’t have the heart to deflate her balloon.

(“It looks great, babe,” she had never told a bigger lie.)

“We had so much fun together,” Jennie tells Hyuna, and then more softly as her smile spreads to her eyes, “I want that again.”

Her friend nods, knowing there’s not much that can stop this freight train now.

It’s not until they are packing up their things later that Hyuna returns to the topic in a last ditch effort to safeguard Jennie’s heart. She turns to face Jennie and fixes a weighty look when she says, pouring as much care into her words as she can, “I just want you to be careful, is all.”

And then pointedly, but not unkindly,

“You and Lisa were never really friends to begin with.”

*****

Lisa wasn’t Jennie’s first kiss.

But by the way it started in the softness of her eyes before she leaned in, the way her mouth parted reverently and exchanged a breath for a sigh when lips finally touched, the way they explored wantonly looking for landfall, and on finding it, didn’t stop searching for new places to leave their mark, by the press of a shy tongue that wanted more but didn’t demand, how fingers in her hair, tugging lightly, did the asking instead—she wished it was her first and wanted this kiss to be her last.

For a time, Jennie had thought that there was truth to the claim that the best kiss is the one that has been exchanged a thousand times between the eyes before it reaches the lips. If so, then she and Lisa have been having the best kiss for the last twenty months.

Yet, here now, lying under the night sky, being kissed for the first time by a pretty girl she’s been crushing on since they first met, she knew it to be untrue.

The best kiss is the one that’s a lifetime in the making, the one she didn’t know she was waiting for until it arrived, where the world didn’t fade away but sharpened in focus, where heartbeats don’t quicken but beat in time to the steady rhythm of another.

That was what kissing Lisa felt like.

A first kiss that didn’t expand the universe but tethered her to it, grounding her in softness and warmth and pure joy; that didn’t just make the stars explode but lifted her soul towards its constellations.

It felt like so much, and yet not enough—a feeling she wanted to capture on canvas but couldn’t even begin to know how to describe, until Lisa put the words together for her.

Love and adoration shone in Lisa’s eyes when she opened them to quietly profess, “I would lay down my sword and kingdom for the chance to rest forever on the brow and slope of your lips.”

Jennie would swoon if she weren’t already laid on the ground, weak-kneed from the swooping sensation in her stomach that hasn’t stopped since Lisa’s lips slid against hers. Her cheeks flushed deeply from the leftover tingles and the renewed eruption of butterflies.

“Uh-huh, yeah. Ditto,” she inarticulately reciprocated.

Practice had ended early, the team still too exhausted from going into extra innings of the semi-final the night before to put in full effort. But while the rest of the players had already vacated the premises, Jennie stayed behind with their team captain.

They were lying on top of Lisa’s letterman jacket, on their backs on the grass in left field. Close to the foul line and as close to each other as possible. The evening sun had recently dipped, the field lights and distant twinkles above now their only companions and source of illumination.

They were speaking of parallel universes and imagining versions of themselves where Jennie was a sky princess and Lisa a ground warrior, fingers entangled with one another, and looking at each other well past the intimacy boundaries of friendship, when the tension had finally snapped.

The entire left side of Jennie’s body had felt electrified from being pressed so closely to Lisa’s, the current running through every nerve and fibre. But the heat of that charge paled in comparison to the blaze Lisa ignited when she had turned on her side to face her, the intent clear in her eyes and alighting Jennie to how her world was about to change. Lisa paused for only a second, a silent ask for permission that was never needed, before moving in to give her the best kiss of her life.

“Why haven’t we done this before?”

Jennie rhetorically asked the question to Lisa’s parted lips, their softness giving under the gentle caress of a brushing thumb that moved in sync with each expel of warm breath. She moistened her own lips in sympathy feeling the wetness of Lisa’s.

“You mean this?”

Lisa leaned in again, and realigned her mouth with Jennie’s, kissing her just as deeply, if not with more desperate need. With greater intent. Her heart almost stopped when Lisa licked into the roof of her mouth before she started to gently suck on her tongue. Jennie panted, and was glad for the slight breathing room a moment later when Lisa changed angle to take in her bottom lip. A moan escaped Lisa when Jennie’s tongue pushed back.

Her heart and lips swelled in equal measure with every stroke and touch and brush and skim of their mouths.

God, if this was heaven, why did she wait so long to get here.

She kept her eyes closed, unbothered by the likely smirk that Lisa sported when she finally pulled back to say, “I don’t know, you tell me.”

“I, uh, …”

Jennie started to answer but her mind was muddled by an intrepid hand that had made its way to the underside of her breast. She gave up finishing her sentence altogether when her train of thought got lost in Lisa’s other hand making circles on her stomach, feeling herself sinking further into their makeshift bed of green.

“If I had known this was the only way to get you out on the field, trust me, we would’ve been doing this a lot sooner.”

She shoved Lisa away in feigned offence, but gripped her waist tighter contradictorily, refusing to let go. This time it was Jennie who tilted her head up to resume her new favourite physical activity. Once the dam broke, she was a goner. Drunk on the heady wine of Lisa’s taste, she never wanted to stop kissing her.

After an immeasurable amount of time, and the air between them becoming more humid and thick than it should be for a cool night, Lisa finally lifted herself off of Jennie.

Looking torn, and the opposite of wanting to stop, she nonetheless plead they do so before things got out of hand.

“Jennie, as much as I love that we kissed for the first time on the same field where we met for the first time, I really don’t want our first time to be out here too.”

Laying there in the afterglow of their first kiss, with Lisa now hovering over her, hands on either side of her head, hair spilling down in pretty waves, pupils dilated and lips kiss-bruised, Jennie could easily find fault in Lisa’s case for discontinuing what they’re doing.

There was no other place she wanted to be in that moment than under the hush of night, underneath Lisa and the cover of their burgeoning love.

Jennie looked up to the night sky, and whispered her apologies to the stars.

“I don’t know. I think I like it on the ground.

I kinda want to stay here forever.”

*****

A reason why we’re here

Reason can’t be far

and underneath it

underneath it

underneath it

underneath it

Hear the whispers of the restless brook

And while the shadows fall

We can find an answer

Getting closer by the hour

Closer than we have before

Underneath It by Ásgeir