Lies My Girlfriend Told Me
Page 17
She clicks her tongue. “I don’t mean that.”
“Oh.” But I want to. And no one’s here to stop me. I kiss Liana. The kiss stretches on and I feel that hitch in my lower belly.
She breaks off the kiss and says, “Do you think this is some kind of revenge thing?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
She smiles. She kisses me again. Her lips are so soft, and my need is so great. My hands have a mind of their own and begin to roam up her sides and down her legs. We’re lying side by side and my hand sneaks up between her thighs.
She pushes me away a little. “Don’t.”
The same thing I used to say to Swanee every time we got this far.
Eyes lowered, she goes, “I’m still a virgin.”
“What? No way. In six months, you never…?”
“I won’t lie to you. I wanted to. But you couldn’t move an elbow in that stupid Smart car, and she wanted to do it in my car, which I thought was gross. I told her I’d split the cost of a hotel room, as long as it wasn’t infested with roaches and bedbugs.”
I laugh. Sort of hysterically. It startles Ethan awake and he starts to cry.
Crap. Liana pushes to her feet and lifts him out of the playpen. “He’s wet.”
“I’ll get a diaper,” I say.
I run upstairs with wings on my feet. They never did it. I don’t know why it makes a difference, except it’s one thing Swanee wanted and never got. From either of us.
After Liana leaves, I know exactly what I’m going to do my critical analysis paper on. Hopefully, Mrs. Burke has seen the movie and understands its contribution to the role of humor in bolstering the spirit of humanity.
I finish my outline, then lie in bed and replay what happened today. Did I make the first move? Did Liana? Does she want me as much as I want her? And is it for revenge, like she said?
I should feel guilty and ashamed about falling for her, especially since Swan’s been dead for such a short time. But wasn’t she the one who said how lucky we were that coincidence brought us together?
The baby monitor echoes a muffled wailing from Ethan’s room. I run in there and find him turned over onto his stomach, trying to roll back. Resettling him, I hum and rub his arm the way Liana did, but it doesn’t get him back to sleep, so I pick him up and take him downstairs. In the living room, I put him in his baby swing and tug it over in front of the TV. I don’t guess it matters what he watches or when, but who knows how early in life you’re damaged by all the sex and violence on TV? I remote around until I find South Park, which is sort of a cartoon. Right?
The phone rings and I feel my heart leap, thinking it’s her.
Dad says, “I hope I didn’t wake you up. Just checking in.”
Checking up is more like it. And of course Liana wouldn’t call on our home phone. I reassure Dad that all the knives were sharpened with no bloodshed.
He says, “We’ll be home in the morning, but we switched to an earlier flight.”
Why? What if Liana comes again? “Stay another night if you want,” I tell him. “Stay two nights.”
“We could never do that. We miss you too much.”
Is he serious? It’s only been a day and a half. You’d think they’d want to get away more often. I can’t even remember the last vacation they took alone.
Out of nowhere, he goes, “We’re really proud of you, Alix.”
For finally being the sister I always should’ve been? A lump forms in my throat.
“Alix?”
“Ethan just woke up. I better see if he needs a bottle or something.” I mumble a quick good-bye. Ethan’s glued to the TV and I think, Great. Now I’ve planted the seed for a couch potato.
As if he read my mind, he whines like he’s hungry. I warm a bottle and cradle him in my arms on the sofa, singing softly as he suckles. The first song that comes to mind is “Born This Way,” by Lady Gaga. He seems to like it because he grins and claps his hands. I wonder what Liana’s doing now. If she’s attracted to me as much as I am to her. What’ll happen next, if anything?
I should call or text her. Ask point-blank.
I’m so sure. Like middle school: Do you like me?
Ethan’s bottle rolls off my foot and I blink back to the present. He’s sound asleep. I turn off the TV and gingerly lift him up, draping him over my shoulder without a towel. If he spits up, all this milky goo will run down my back.
I don’t even care.
My cell chirps upstairs and I want so badly to take two stairs at a time, but I know it would jar Ethan awake.
After I tuck him in and kiss him, I tiptoe to my room.
A text message from her:
I’m sorry if I went too far today
I text back:
No. I am
It takes her a long time to reply and I think the conversation’s over. Another text arrives:
We need to stop apologizing. It was the same with she-who-shall-not-be-named. I was always apologizing for something, always feeling bad or inadequate
I text immediately:
Me too!
All these memories come surging back. She hated my clothes; she told me I should lose weight, exercise more. She didn’t like my taste in music and movies. She resented the fact that I had to eat dinner with my family, and spend weekends doing chores or homework. Any time I wasn’t available was like a personal affront.
Liana texts:
She’d show up at my school and expect me to just take off. I couldn’t do that. I had cheerleading, and a job. Then she’d accuse me of not loving her enough
I text:
That sounds familiar
Except unlike Liana, I did give up my life for her. I gave up everything.
Liana texts:
How’s it going with Ethan?
Good. Great. He woke up and I got him back to sleep. You wove some kind of magical spell on him and now he loves me
She texts:
He’s always loved you
I read that line again and realize I’ve always loved him. And I’ll always have his back.
I had fun today, she texts. I always have fun with you
Me too
Que tengas dulces sueños. That means sleep well
U 2. That means you too
LOL
After we disconnect, I lie in the dark and gaze up into the dark, feeling slightly intoxicated. Something—a flickering light—bounces off the ceiling. It’s Swanee’s cell in my bag. The glow-in-the-dark decal on the case is starting to fade. A final memory sears my brain. Something she said a few days before I decided I was ready. We were in her car, parked behind Safeway, and I almost, almost let her go all the way. When I pushed her off at the last second, she said, “For fuck’s sake, Alix. I’ve never met anyone who hasn’t had sex by the time they were seventeen.”
Liar liar liar.
I straggle out of bed, kick the bag with the cell into my closet, and shut the door.
Chapter 19
Mom and Dad walk in around noon, as Ethan’s finishing up breakfast/lunch. There’s baby cereal splattered all over Ethan and me, the table, and the walls. I was hoping to have a chance to swab the deck before they got home.
Ethan squeals and reaches up for Mom. She takes him, giving him belly spuds. He giggles his head off.
I say, “I know it’s a mess—”
“You done good, kiddo,” Dad cuts in. “Thanks for stepping up.” He gives me a little squeeze around the shoulders.
Actual physical contact. I begin rinsing out a sponge at the sink to wipe down the walls.
“Don’t worry about this.” Mom waves me off. She tells Ethan, “Say ma-ma.”
Dad murmurs in my ear, “I told her Ethan said da-da first and now she’s jealous as hell.”
Whoa. My parents rarely curse.
I leave the sponge on the counter and ask, “Can I go out for a while?”
Mom says, “Sure. And thank you again, Alix.”
I can’t grab my hoodie from the front closet fast enough.
At the first stop sign, I text Liana:
We’re on
She texts back:
YAY . Meet at our regular?
I beat her to the McDonald’s. The smell is too tempting, so I begin to slam down my cheeseburger deluxe and fries before she arrives. I ordered her favorite combo, and as she scoots into the booth, she says, “Ooh, I could kiss you.”
Do it, I think.
Our eyes meet and the electricity sends a shock wave through my body. She inhales a ginormous bite of burger and garbles, “What you want to do today?”
“I don’t know. Have sex in your car?”
She snorts and kicks me under the table. “There’s this event in Boulder where you go around to a bunch of artists’ studios and watch them work. Does that sound like good times?”
“It sounds awesome.”
“It’s free, too.”
She pulls out a brochure and we pore over it. There are potters and painters and glassblowers. A map of all the studios is included. We decide to take my car, but Liana doesn’t feel comfortable leaving hers in the parking lot at McDonald’s, so she asks if I’ll follow her home.
As we drive through Greeley, I note it’s kind of a juxtaposition of farming community/cow town and cool college campus. The University of Northern Colorado is spread between plots of land with buildings of diverse architectural styles. Students are out playing Frisbee or walking to or from dorms.
When Liana swerves to a curb, I pull in behind her. She locks her car door and heads back to me. “Come meet my family,” she says.
I glance at her house. It’s a two-story redbrick bungalow. The kind of house I’d like to own someday.
“If my mom starts praying on her rosary beads, just make the sign of the cross and say, ‘And with your spirit. Amen.’ ”
Is she kidding? I practice to myself as we head up the walk. She opens the door and an older man greets us. “Papá,” Liana says. “This is Alix.”
“Hello, Alix.” He extends his hand. “Liana’s told us everything about you.”
I widen my eyes at Liana. Like what?
She smacks his arm. “Stop it.”
His hand is so large it envelops mine. “Nice to meet you,” I say.
“Let me go grab a jacket in case it gets chilly,” Liana says, leaving me alone with her father.
He says, “Sit,” indicating a well-worn sofa. I sink into it. He plops into a leather recliner across from me, leans back, and folds his hands over his middle. He has thick curly hair that’s going gray at the temples, and a mustache. “Tell me about yourself.”
I gulp. What does he want to know?
“How do you know Liana?” he asks.
“Um, we’re just friends.”
He smiles as if he reads more into that than I intended. Or not.
I add, “I don’t go to her school.”
“No?” He arches his bushy eyebrows. “Where do you go?”
“Arvada,” I say.
“That’s a long way from here.”
“My parents just got back from Texas.” Wait. Did he ask about them? Have I answered all of his questions?
“So they travel a lot?”
“Hardly ever.”
Liana returns. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Thank God, I think. Another minute and I’d be volunteering my life story.
We walk back to my car and Liana says, “Did he ask you if we were sleeping together?”
“What?”
She laughs. “You should’ve told him you were on the Pill and not to worry.”
The artists run the gamut. Boulder’s known to be eclectic by nature, and a lot of the artists look like they stepped out of a time machine from the hippie era. But they all have one thing in common: their passion for their work.
As Liana and I stand and watch a glassblower create a delicate vase, I can feel the artist’s joy at creating something from nothing. All of her pieces are twisted twice at the neck, which must be her trademark look.
My gaze drifts to a shelf where a collection of glass swans are displayed. My lunch threatens to reappear. I see Liana looking, too, and she says, “Let’s get out of here.”
We visit about six pottery studios, where I’m amazed at how a glob of clay can be thrown on a potter’s wheel and shaped into a perfect bowl or plate or cup.
This one artist uses recycled junk to make centerpieces and candle sconces. They’re original and beautiful.
The last studio on our list is a jeweler. It’s within walking distance, and without even thinking about it, Liana and I intertwine our fingers. She smiles and says, “Are you having a good time?”
“The best,” I reply.
Her fingers tighten.
A bell over the door to the jeweler’s studio tinkles when we enter. Four jewelers share the space. One makes silver-and-turquoise earrings, bracelets, and rings. They’re gorgeous, but too conventional for me. The jewelry that really captures my attention is in a glass display case. All the pieces are copper. The jeweler behind the counter sits at a wooden table, pounding out copper he’s cut into geometric shapes to blowtorch together in layers. “Hi,” he says to me. “If there’s anything you want, it’s all on sale.”
“Thanks.” Even the sale prices would set my Visa limit back two months.
He asks me, “Where did you get your earrings? I’ve never seen anything like them.”
Liana twists her arm through mine and says, “She made them herself.”
He gives me a nod of approval. “If you ever want to rent out studio space here, let me know.”
Is he serious? No way does my caliber of work compare to these professionals’.
Outside the studio, Liana says, “You want me to ask him how much it costs for a space?”
“Oh.” But I want to. And no one’s here to stop me. I kiss Liana. The kiss stretches on and I feel that hitch in my lower belly.
She breaks off the kiss and says, “Do you think this is some kind of revenge thing?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
She smiles. She kisses me again. Her lips are so soft, and my need is so great. My hands have a mind of their own and begin to roam up her sides and down her legs. We’re lying side by side and my hand sneaks up between her thighs.
She pushes me away a little. “Don’t.”
The same thing I used to say to Swanee every time we got this far.
Eyes lowered, she goes, “I’m still a virgin.”
“What? No way. In six months, you never…?”
“I won’t lie to you. I wanted to. But you couldn’t move an elbow in that stupid Smart car, and she wanted to do it in my car, which I thought was gross. I told her I’d split the cost of a hotel room, as long as it wasn’t infested with roaches and bedbugs.”
I laugh. Sort of hysterically. It startles Ethan awake and he starts to cry.
Crap. Liana pushes to her feet and lifts him out of the playpen. “He’s wet.”
“I’ll get a diaper,” I say.
I run upstairs with wings on my feet. They never did it. I don’t know why it makes a difference, except it’s one thing Swanee wanted and never got. From either of us.
After Liana leaves, I know exactly what I’m going to do my critical analysis paper on. Hopefully, Mrs. Burke has seen the movie and understands its contribution to the role of humor in bolstering the spirit of humanity.
I finish my outline, then lie in bed and replay what happened today. Did I make the first move? Did Liana? Does she want me as much as I want her? And is it for revenge, like she said?
I should feel guilty and ashamed about falling for her, especially since Swan’s been dead for such a short time. But wasn’t she the one who said how lucky we were that coincidence brought us together?
The baby monitor echoes a muffled wailing from Ethan’s room. I run in there and find him turned over onto his stomach, trying to roll back. Resettling him, I hum and rub his arm the way Liana did, but it doesn’t get him back to sleep, so I pick him up and take him downstairs. In the living room, I put him in his baby swing and tug it over in front of the TV. I don’t guess it matters what he watches or when, but who knows how early in life you’re damaged by all the sex and violence on TV? I remote around until I find South Park, which is sort of a cartoon. Right?
The phone rings and I feel my heart leap, thinking it’s her.
Dad says, “I hope I didn’t wake you up. Just checking in.”
Checking up is more like it. And of course Liana wouldn’t call on our home phone. I reassure Dad that all the knives were sharpened with no bloodshed.
He says, “We’ll be home in the morning, but we switched to an earlier flight.”
Why? What if Liana comes again? “Stay another night if you want,” I tell him. “Stay two nights.”
“We could never do that. We miss you too much.”
Is he serious? It’s only been a day and a half. You’d think they’d want to get away more often. I can’t even remember the last vacation they took alone.
Out of nowhere, he goes, “We’re really proud of you, Alix.”
For finally being the sister I always should’ve been? A lump forms in my throat.
“Alix?”
“Ethan just woke up. I better see if he needs a bottle or something.” I mumble a quick good-bye. Ethan’s glued to the TV and I think, Great. Now I’ve planted the seed for a couch potato.
As if he read my mind, he whines like he’s hungry. I warm a bottle and cradle him in my arms on the sofa, singing softly as he suckles. The first song that comes to mind is “Born This Way,” by Lady Gaga. He seems to like it because he grins and claps his hands. I wonder what Liana’s doing now. If she’s attracted to me as much as I am to her. What’ll happen next, if anything?
I should call or text her. Ask point-blank.
I’m so sure. Like middle school: Do you like me?
Ethan’s bottle rolls off my foot and I blink back to the present. He’s sound asleep. I turn off the TV and gingerly lift him up, draping him over my shoulder without a towel. If he spits up, all this milky goo will run down my back.
I don’t even care.
My cell chirps upstairs and I want so badly to take two stairs at a time, but I know it would jar Ethan awake.
After I tuck him in and kiss him, I tiptoe to my room.
A text message from her:
I’m sorry if I went too far today
I text back:
No. I am
It takes her a long time to reply and I think the conversation’s over. Another text arrives:
We need to stop apologizing. It was the same with she-who-shall-not-be-named. I was always apologizing for something, always feeling bad or inadequate
I text immediately:
Me too!
All these memories come surging back. She hated my clothes; she told me I should lose weight, exercise more. She didn’t like my taste in music and movies. She resented the fact that I had to eat dinner with my family, and spend weekends doing chores or homework. Any time I wasn’t available was like a personal affront.
Liana texts:
She’d show up at my school and expect me to just take off. I couldn’t do that. I had cheerleading, and a job. Then she’d accuse me of not loving her enough
I text:
That sounds familiar
Except unlike Liana, I did give up my life for her. I gave up everything.
Liana texts:
How’s it going with Ethan?
Good. Great. He woke up and I got him back to sleep. You wove some kind of magical spell on him and now he loves me
She texts:
He’s always loved you
I read that line again and realize I’ve always loved him. And I’ll always have his back.
I had fun today, she texts. I always have fun with you
Me too
Que tengas dulces sueños. That means sleep well
U 2. That means you too
LOL
After we disconnect, I lie in the dark and gaze up into the dark, feeling slightly intoxicated. Something—a flickering light—bounces off the ceiling. It’s Swanee’s cell in my bag. The glow-in-the-dark decal on the case is starting to fade. A final memory sears my brain. Something she said a few days before I decided I was ready. We were in her car, parked behind Safeway, and I almost, almost let her go all the way. When I pushed her off at the last second, she said, “For fuck’s sake, Alix. I’ve never met anyone who hasn’t had sex by the time they were seventeen.”
Liar liar liar.
I straggle out of bed, kick the bag with the cell into my closet, and shut the door.
Chapter 19
Mom and Dad walk in around noon, as Ethan’s finishing up breakfast/lunch. There’s baby cereal splattered all over Ethan and me, the table, and the walls. I was hoping to have a chance to swab the deck before they got home.
Ethan squeals and reaches up for Mom. She takes him, giving him belly spuds. He giggles his head off.
I say, “I know it’s a mess—”
“You done good, kiddo,” Dad cuts in. “Thanks for stepping up.” He gives me a little squeeze around the shoulders.
Actual physical contact. I begin rinsing out a sponge at the sink to wipe down the walls.
“Don’t worry about this.” Mom waves me off. She tells Ethan, “Say ma-ma.”
Dad murmurs in my ear, “I told her Ethan said da-da first and now she’s jealous as hell.”
Whoa. My parents rarely curse.
I leave the sponge on the counter and ask, “Can I go out for a while?”
Mom says, “Sure. And thank you again, Alix.”
I can’t grab my hoodie from the front closet fast enough.
At the first stop sign, I text Liana:
We’re on
She texts back:
YAY . Meet at our regular?
I beat her to the McDonald’s. The smell is too tempting, so I begin to slam down my cheeseburger deluxe and fries before she arrives. I ordered her favorite combo, and as she scoots into the booth, she says, “Ooh, I could kiss you.”
Do it, I think.
Our eyes meet and the electricity sends a shock wave through my body. She inhales a ginormous bite of burger and garbles, “What you want to do today?”
“I don’t know. Have sex in your car?”
She snorts and kicks me under the table. “There’s this event in Boulder where you go around to a bunch of artists’ studios and watch them work. Does that sound like good times?”
“It sounds awesome.”
“It’s free, too.”
She pulls out a brochure and we pore over it. There are potters and painters and glassblowers. A map of all the studios is included. We decide to take my car, but Liana doesn’t feel comfortable leaving hers in the parking lot at McDonald’s, so she asks if I’ll follow her home.
As we drive through Greeley, I note it’s kind of a juxtaposition of farming community/cow town and cool college campus. The University of Northern Colorado is spread between plots of land with buildings of diverse architectural styles. Students are out playing Frisbee or walking to or from dorms.
When Liana swerves to a curb, I pull in behind her. She locks her car door and heads back to me. “Come meet my family,” she says.
I glance at her house. It’s a two-story redbrick bungalow. The kind of house I’d like to own someday.
“If my mom starts praying on her rosary beads, just make the sign of the cross and say, ‘And with your spirit. Amen.’ ”
Is she kidding? I practice to myself as we head up the walk. She opens the door and an older man greets us. “Papá,” Liana says. “This is Alix.”
“Hello, Alix.” He extends his hand. “Liana’s told us everything about you.”
I widen my eyes at Liana. Like what?
She smacks his arm. “Stop it.”
His hand is so large it envelops mine. “Nice to meet you,” I say.
“Let me go grab a jacket in case it gets chilly,” Liana says, leaving me alone with her father.
He says, “Sit,” indicating a well-worn sofa. I sink into it. He plops into a leather recliner across from me, leans back, and folds his hands over his middle. He has thick curly hair that’s going gray at the temples, and a mustache. “Tell me about yourself.”
I gulp. What does he want to know?
“How do you know Liana?” he asks.
“Um, we’re just friends.”
He smiles as if he reads more into that than I intended. Or not.
I add, “I don’t go to her school.”
“No?” He arches his bushy eyebrows. “Where do you go?”
“Arvada,” I say.
“That’s a long way from here.”
“My parents just got back from Texas.” Wait. Did he ask about them? Have I answered all of his questions?
“So they travel a lot?”
“Hardly ever.”
Liana returns. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Thank God, I think. Another minute and I’d be volunteering my life story.
We walk back to my car and Liana says, “Did he ask you if we were sleeping together?”
“What?”
She laughs. “You should’ve told him you were on the Pill and not to worry.”
The artists run the gamut. Boulder’s known to be eclectic by nature, and a lot of the artists look like they stepped out of a time machine from the hippie era. But they all have one thing in common: their passion for their work.
As Liana and I stand and watch a glassblower create a delicate vase, I can feel the artist’s joy at creating something from nothing. All of her pieces are twisted twice at the neck, which must be her trademark look.
My gaze drifts to a shelf where a collection of glass swans are displayed. My lunch threatens to reappear. I see Liana looking, too, and she says, “Let’s get out of here.”
We visit about six pottery studios, where I’m amazed at how a glob of clay can be thrown on a potter’s wheel and shaped into a perfect bowl or plate or cup.
This one artist uses recycled junk to make centerpieces and candle sconces. They’re original and beautiful.
The last studio on our list is a jeweler. It’s within walking distance, and without even thinking about it, Liana and I intertwine our fingers. She smiles and says, “Are you having a good time?”
“The best,” I reply.
Her fingers tighten.
A bell over the door to the jeweler’s studio tinkles when we enter. Four jewelers share the space. One makes silver-and-turquoise earrings, bracelets, and rings. They’re gorgeous, but too conventional for me. The jewelry that really captures my attention is in a glass display case. All the pieces are copper. The jeweler behind the counter sits at a wooden table, pounding out copper he’s cut into geometric shapes to blowtorch together in layers. “Hi,” he says to me. “If there’s anything you want, it’s all on sale.”
“Thanks.” Even the sale prices would set my Visa limit back two months.
He asks me, “Where did you get your earrings? I’ve never seen anything like them.”
Liana twists her arm through mine and says, “She made them herself.”
He gives me a nod of approval. “If you ever want to rent out studio space here, let me know.”
Is he serious? No way does my caliber of work compare to these professionals’.
Outside the studio, Liana says, “You want me to ask him how much it costs for a space?”
