HEARTBREAKS AND MELODIES | JENLISA (GP)

3

JENNIE

I woke up with a splitting headache and the sun streaming on my face.

The latter was likely responsible for the former. I preferred to wake in sheer darkness and let myself adjust before braving the light. There were times when I'd shower in the dark at my penthouse, relying on fumbling and muscle memory because the sunshine seemed to trigger these morning skull-splitters.

But with the noise drifting up from downstairs and the brightness beaming through the window, there'd be no rolling over and sleeping until noon. When my parents had redecorated my former bedroom, they'd replaced more than just the bed. The blackout curtains I'd had as a teenager were gone, and in their place were light gossamer coverings.

Why hadn't I insisted on the hotel?

Because at one time, I'd been a part of this family, and now I was an outsider. So I'd deal with the morning headaches for one week because, at the moment, I didn't want to rock the boat. My goal was to survive Nan's funeral, spend a little time with my parents, then get the hell out of Montana.

I slid from bed and shuffled to the bathroom I'd once shared with Brooklyn and Hanbin. The shower didn't help my headache, and I winced blow drying my hair. There was no need for my normal heavy eyeliner and shadow since I wasn't planning on leaving the house, so I opted for a light coat of makeup. Maybe if I looked more like the teenage version of Jennie than Hush Melodies Jennie, my family would relax.

By some miracle, I'd survived yesterday's lunch, but I wasn't sure if I had the energy to sit through another.

Dinner had been marginally less painful simply because it had only been Mom and Dad across from me at the dining room table. Dad had opened his mouth about fifteen times, ready to say something only to clamp it shut. Mom had attempted small talk for a few minutes before giving up.

Conversation had been nearly nonexistent through the meal, and I'd excused myself early to settle into bed, blaming my sudden fit of fake yawns on the travel and the time change. Mom had seemed sad to see me retreat up the stairs. Or had she been relieved?

Avoid. That was the plan for this week. I'd stay out of everyone's way, not spark any conflicts or discussions of the past, then retreat to my life.

Dressed in a pair of jeans and a simple black tee, I swallowed three Advil down with a guzzle of water, then braced to go downstairs.

"Morning," I said, announcing my arrival in the kitchen.

"Good morning." Mom was buzzing around, pulling out colorful, plastic bowls for cereal, much like she'd done when we were kids. Except there were wide swaths of gray in her hair now. When she smiled, wrinkles formed by her eyes. "How did you sleep?"

"Great," I lied, putting on a happy face despite my throbbing temples.

Coffee. I needed caffeine.

"Isn't that bed comfortable?" she asked. "Very." I nodded at the truth.

It was nicer than the bed I'd had as a kid. It was soft. The blankets were warm and heavy. But it was strange to sleep in my old room without my twin bed. I'd woken up a few times, not exactly sure where I was.

That didn't happen when I traveled. Maybe it would take me a minute to remember what city I was in or where we were headed next, but I always knew I was in a hotel bed and could sleep.