TILL DEATH DO US PART | JENLISA

TWENTY-THREE

JENNIE

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The Things I’ve Learned

September 17th 2022

(8 years left)

***

I’ve learned that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

There has always been a part of me that wanted to know what Lisa was like as a child. Marco and Deborah used to tell me stories about how mischievous she was. Apparently, there was a day where she spread Vaseline over the entire bathroom floor and screamed bloody murder until Marco came running, the end of which I’m sure was jarring as he flew across the room skidding out of control. She also colored a white silk shirt blue with dye from the bluer in the toilet. And as the story goes, called the police saying she was left home alone, while Deborah was in the kitchen cooking. The outcome being she was unceremoniously barged in on by the Sheriff’s Department.

Did I mention this was just one day?

It was just one day.

It all seemed pretty funny at the time, but I’ve had a revelation in the last three years since giving birth to Emily. It’s only funny if it’s someone else’s child, and I now know firsthand what Lisa was like because Emily is just like her. I think that as I watch her play on the floor, where I can keep tabs on her and negate her subterfuge while I attempt to text Ryan my opinion on a case. I really hope she turns out to be a singer, or she’s going to end up being a criminal mastermind. Even now, as I turn away for a moment to reference my notes, out of the corner of my eye I can see she is trying to scoot toward the kitchen nonchalantly.

“Emily.”

That’s all I have to say. It’s not what I say, it’s how I say it. I could probably say bagel the same way and she would still respond by giggling maniacally and coming back to her toys. ‘Cause she knows she’s been caught. It’s very much like the giggle Lisa has when she’s doing something she shouldn’t be.

It doesn’t just end with the temperament and the personality. She is Lisa through and through, from the long spiraling dark hair, to the tan skin and pretty little pouty lips. She has my eyes though, and the contrast is very extreme, incredibly breathtaking. Every time I look at her, especially when she’s angry because it’s so darn cute, I’m spellbound by it.

Which isn’t probably the best thing, since it makes standing my ground against her whims difficult.

And though I’m okay with her being three and strikingly adorable, I’m not okay with the idea of her growing up into the stunningly beautiful woman I’m sure she will be. I cannot wield a baseball bat as well as I will need to in order to keep the boys away.

Or girls for that matter.

Whatever makes her happy.

“What are you doing?” She stares at me, hazel into matching hazel. This is something else she picked up from me both genetically and environmentally–the eyebrow raise. She’s using it on me now.

“I was thinking about you, sweetheart.” I shuffle my papers to the side, giving her a tickle.

“Play with me?”

“What do we say?” I prompt.

“Please.”

“Okay, let’s play.” I slide to the floor, stretching my legs out to get comfortable.