Lies My Girlfriend Told Me
Page 7
I replace the urn on the mantel and go down the hall to Swanee’s room.
It’s exactly the same. I don’t know why I expected it to be different.
My vision blurs and I peer up at the ceiling. “Can you see me, Swan?” I struggle for words. “Can you feel me?”
No answer. A tear trickles down one cheek and I wipe it away angrily. Kicking through her mess, I stop at the bed and stare at the hospital bag. Untouched except by me. I whirl and slide down the side of the mattress to the floor, covering my head with my arms. “Please, God,” I murmur. “If you can really perform miracles, bring her back to me. I can’t live without her.”
Swan’s cell pings, startling me. I dig it out of my bag.
Stupid. I don’t believe in psychic communication, but maybe…
It’s Liana.
This chick came to my school and told me you were dead. But I guess you know that. Not funny, Swan
It’s the truth.
CALL ME
Why can’t she get it through her thick head that Swanee is gone, that the person who died was her Swanee, not Swanelle Delaney, or whatever stupid name she used?
Because of me, my deception. I should take her up on her offer, call and tell her the whole truth, including my part in leading her on. I press her number, but after one ring I chicken out. It’s all so… wrong.
Swanee’s cell rings in my hand. I can’t answer it. The ringing stops and after a minute the blip for a voice mail sounds. No doubt it’s her leaving a string of Spanish swear words.
I rummage around for all the items Joss wants. Her room is to the right of Swanee’s. It’s a pit, too. I shove everything I retrieved for her under the bed, including Swanee’s cell. But when I get to the door, I turn around, go back, and snatch up the cell.
It’s mine. Aside from the few memories I’ll always have, Swanee’s cell is my only connection to her, and I’m not ready to cut the cord. I’ll never be ready.
Back in Swan’s room, I go through everything to make sure I’m not leaving anything behind. I’m not coming back here; it’s too painful. On her dresser, under a pile of clothes, there’s a silver necklace with a cross. A religious symbol? She never wore much jewelry, including all the earrings I made for her. I’d never make her a cross. It’s obvious who gave her that.
I sweep through Swan’s closet. Her clothes, the ones on hangers, are all familiar. I bury my face in her pink-and-blue ski sweater, the one she wore the day we met.
I wonder if Jewell will miss it. Fuck. I’m taking the sweater.
I rifle maniacally through every drawer, tossing shirts and shorts and underwear to the floor. Spinning around, I see her bookcase, her stack of books beside it. I examine every book. Is it mine, hers, the library’s? I throw them one after another against the wall.
I feel wild, out of control. It’s so unfair. I’m mad at everyone, the universe. Most of all I’m mad at Swanee for dying and taking from me the most precious thing I ever owned. I didn’t own her, but she was mine. Mine, Liana. Do you hear me?
“Swanee, you had no right!” I know it doesn’t make sense to blame her, because it’s not like she meant to die. “But you did it. And you left me here, alone, to pick up the pieces.” An uncontrollable rage burbles up inside me.
There are magazines on her nightstand and I toss them off. A black-and-white essay book, or journal, goes flying. I haven’t seen it before. I flip through the pages, noting the handwriting isn’t Swanee’s.
On the first page it reads:
I love you forever.
Para siempre, mi amore.
L.
My breathing comes in rasps and I feel like I’m having a heart attack. Forever was us, Swanee and me. Liana was out of the picture.
I rip the first few pages out and kick them under the bed.
Bending over, I catch my breath. Calm myself. Time passes in waves. Surveying the mess I made, I think, Jewell will be livid that I ransacked Swanee’s room. Carefully, lovingly, I put things back where I found them, best as I can remember.
Mom’s there when I get home. She pushes up from the sofa. “The school called.”
Shit. “I didn’t feel well.”
“So where were you all day? And don’t tell me the Durbins’.”
I won’t tell her anything, then. I run up the stairs and shut my door. A few seconds later, Mom opens it. She could knock, at least. She comes in my room and sits on my bed. I roll away from her, wishing that she’d just leave. That everyone would just leave me alone.
“I understand how hard this is for you, honey,” she says. “You need closure. Maybe you should talk to a grief counselor.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter.
“You’re not fine. You’re hurting, and you’re bottling up your feelings. Taking out your anger on everyone around you won’t do anyone any good.”
That’s so deep, Mom, I think. You should’ve gone into psychiatry.
When I don’t respond, she exhales heavily. Then she gets up and goes.
Closure. I almost laugh. There is no closure. No such thing. Only open wounds. I can’t even imagine they’ll heal to the point of scabbing over.
Chapter 8
As I’m reading all the new condolence messages people have left on my Facebook wall, I see that my friend request to Liana was accepted. It feels bizarre that she’d confirm me after her text to Swanee yesterday.
I link to her profile. She has 488 friends. It doesn’t necessarily mean she’s popular. She’s accepting friends at will, the way I do. Not that I have people waiting in line. I search for Swanee’s name in Liana’s friends, but it’s not there. “Swanelle Delaney” is. Liana’s in a relationship with a person who doesn’t exist.
But then, so am I.
Liana has lots of photo albums. The first is a series of her in her cheerleading uniform, doing split jumps and contorting her body in midair. There’s a shot of a squad of cheerleaders performing leg kicks in a line, then one of them lifting her onto a pyramid. Next, she’s on top, raising a pom-pom.
The next album is Liana with a litter of kittens around her. She’s holding one up, nose to nose. A little calico. The expression on Liana’s face is so serene. If Mom weren’t allergic, I’d have a houseful of cats.
A family album includes photos of people at Christmas. There’s a photo of Liana in flannel pajamas, sitting with a baby on her lap and opened packages all around. The baby has her dark hair and huge eyes. Is it hers? Is that why Swanee thought cheerleaders were sluts? Liana’s relatives, I assume, are hamming it up for the camera, and then the family is sitting around a dining room table with a turkey and all the trimmings.
There’s a wedding where Liana is one of the bridesmaids.
Then I see an album titled SWAN.
The pictures go on for pages and pages. The Smart car, Liana hanging out the window, waving to someone. Liana and Swanee wearing Joss’s wigs at a roller rink. I bet Joss was elated about that—if she even knew. How often did Liana go to Swanee’s house, or stay over?
I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care.
Another picture with Swanee pinning Liana’s arms to the ground. The two of them laughing, gazing into each other’s eyes. Kissing.
I know I wasn’t Swanee’s first, but it’s hard to look at the evidence of her loving someone else.
How long were they together? I wonder. Because I have maybe ten pictures in my Facebook albums. She was always telling me, “Don’t post my picture. I look fat.”
Which was ridiculous. She was a lean, mean, running machine.
Joss would know how long Swan and Liana were together. In fact, she might be the one who took all the pictures of Swanee and Liana.
I call Joss that night and the first thing she says is, “Did you get my stuff?”
“Yeah. It’s in your room. I didn’t find her cell.”
“It should’ve been there. I know she had it on her.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not there.”
“Look again.”
“Joss…”
“Never mind. I’ll find it myself. I forgot to add that I want Swan’s car keys. I get my permit this summer, and it’s only fair that I get her car.”
“I didn’t see the keys, either,” I tell her.
“Jewell or Asher must have them,” she says. “Did you look around the house?”
I did, but not for Swanee’s car keys. “No.” A half-truth.
“Look in Jewell’s purses.”
“Joss, I’m not about to go through Jewell’s belongings. Or Asher’s.”
The pout on her face carries long-distance.
“Well, that car is mine, and so is everything else of hers. She was my sister. Mine.” Joss’s voice cracks and she ends the call.
Damn. I didn’t call to upset her. I just needed to ask more questions about Liana.
My cell chirps. Same number. I answer and Joss says, “Check Jewell’s red leather hobo bag for the cell and keys. She had it with her at the hospital.”
Joss’s voice is steady and demanding. I don’t want to get into it with her again, but I’m not going to scrounge through Jewell’s purses.
“Can I ask you a couple more questions about Liana?”
Joss goes, “God. Can’t you just drop it?”
“How long did they go together?”
Joss says, “I suck at math.”
I grit my teeth. “I don’t. Tell me when they met and I’ll do the math.”
“I don’t know the exact date.”
“Approximately.”
She expels an exasperated breath. “Approximately August fifteenth.”
“Of this year?”
“No. Nineteen eighty-four.”
I ignore that. “How do you know?”
“I was there. It was during freshman orientation, and Swan volunteered to be my senior escort. We had this overnight camping trip in Estes Park, and Greeley West was having a cheerleading camp there at the same time. I guess their gaydars crossed.”
August fifteenth was two weeks before school started. “Wasn’t Swanee going with Rachel the first month of school or so?”
“Swan dumped her in October,” Joss says.
I hate that expression. “So Swanee and Liana didn’t start going out until after?”
Joss lets out a short laugh.
“What?”
“You might be good at math, but you suck at logic. Why do you think Swan gave Liana a fake name?”
I’m… stunned.
“Does that answer all your questions?” Joss says. “Aren’t you glad you asked?” She ends the call.
Mom opens my door and says, “What are your plans for the day?”
Sleep. I didn’t sleep all night, processing what Joss had told me. If Liana was the reason Swanee broke up with Rachel, does that make me “the other woman,” too? Joss said Swan and Liana were over, but were they? Liana’s text messages suggest otherwise.
“Alix?”
I’m still speechless.
“Your dad and I would like to go to a movie and were wondering if you’d mind babysitting.”
That word jolts me back to reality. “I can’t. Betheny asked me to help her with this… um… project.”
Mom looks at me—through me—and smiles. “Tell Betheny she’s welcome to come over and work on it here. I miss her. I’ve been wondering what happened between the two of you.”
“Nothing happened.” Swanee happened. I add, “We have to do it at her house because it’s on her desktop.” Where do I come up with this crap? Who uses a desktop anymore?
“Do you think Betheny would mind if you took Ethan with you?”
“Mom, we wouldn’t get anything done. He’s a total distraction.”
Her smile dissipates. “Fine. We won’t go.”
A knot of guilt forms in my stomach because they never go out together. “Can’t you call Jennifer?” She’s the owner of the day care where Ethan goes.
“I did. She’s busy. We’ll just go to the children’s museum. Again.”
Guilt-trip overload.
I can’t babysit. The last time I did, I almost killed my baby brother. It was that day Mom and Dad left me and Swanee alone with Ethan. Swan was watching Pirates of the Caribbean for, like, the fifth time, and I was bored, so I had all my jewelry makings spread all over the floor.
It seems Swanee wasn’t as into the movie as I thought because as soon as Mom and Dad left, she pushed me over and started kissing me. She had her hand up my shirt, tracing the outline of my bra and sticking fingers inside, and it felt so good, and I was losing control and just about to push her off when Ethan started choking.
His lips were turning blue and he was gasping for air and I freaked. I dug in his mouth but couldn’t feel anything, so I bent him forward over my arm and began to pound his back. Hard enough to crack a rib, but I was panicking.
“Call 911,” I told Swanee.
She just sat there.
All at once an object flew out of Ethan’s mouth and he drew a deep breath. As if in reflex, he began to wail. I lifted him up and carried him around the room, trying to calm him. I’d never seen him cry so hard.
I warmed a bottle and he finally settled back in my lap, but I couldn’t stop shaking.
“What did he swallow?” I asked Swanee.
She got up and found a slimy button on the carpet. All I could think was, I’m so irresponsible, I’m so irresponsible.
And Swanee… She wanted to pick up where we left off.
It’s exactly the same. I don’t know why I expected it to be different.
My vision blurs and I peer up at the ceiling. “Can you see me, Swan?” I struggle for words. “Can you feel me?”
No answer. A tear trickles down one cheek and I wipe it away angrily. Kicking through her mess, I stop at the bed and stare at the hospital bag. Untouched except by me. I whirl and slide down the side of the mattress to the floor, covering my head with my arms. “Please, God,” I murmur. “If you can really perform miracles, bring her back to me. I can’t live without her.”
Swan’s cell pings, startling me. I dig it out of my bag.
Stupid. I don’t believe in psychic communication, but maybe…
It’s Liana.
This chick came to my school and told me you were dead. But I guess you know that. Not funny, Swan
It’s the truth.
CALL ME
Why can’t she get it through her thick head that Swanee is gone, that the person who died was her Swanee, not Swanelle Delaney, or whatever stupid name she used?
Because of me, my deception. I should take her up on her offer, call and tell her the whole truth, including my part in leading her on. I press her number, but after one ring I chicken out. It’s all so… wrong.
Swanee’s cell rings in my hand. I can’t answer it. The ringing stops and after a minute the blip for a voice mail sounds. No doubt it’s her leaving a string of Spanish swear words.
I rummage around for all the items Joss wants. Her room is to the right of Swanee’s. It’s a pit, too. I shove everything I retrieved for her under the bed, including Swanee’s cell. But when I get to the door, I turn around, go back, and snatch up the cell.
It’s mine. Aside from the few memories I’ll always have, Swanee’s cell is my only connection to her, and I’m not ready to cut the cord. I’ll never be ready.
Back in Swan’s room, I go through everything to make sure I’m not leaving anything behind. I’m not coming back here; it’s too painful. On her dresser, under a pile of clothes, there’s a silver necklace with a cross. A religious symbol? She never wore much jewelry, including all the earrings I made for her. I’d never make her a cross. It’s obvious who gave her that.
I sweep through Swan’s closet. Her clothes, the ones on hangers, are all familiar. I bury my face in her pink-and-blue ski sweater, the one she wore the day we met.
I wonder if Jewell will miss it. Fuck. I’m taking the sweater.
I rifle maniacally through every drawer, tossing shirts and shorts and underwear to the floor. Spinning around, I see her bookcase, her stack of books beside it. I examine every book. Is it mine, hers, the library’s? I throw them one after another against the wall.
I feel wild, out of control. It’s so unfair. I’m mad at everyone, the universe. Most of all I’m mad at Swanee for dying and taking from me the most precious thing I ever owned. I didn’t own her, but she was mine. Mine, Liana. Do you hear me?
“Swanee, you had no right!” I know it doesn’t make sense to blame her, because it’s not like she meant to die. “But you did it. And you left me here, alone, to pick up the pieces.” An uncontrollable rage burbles up inside me.
There are magazines on her nightstand and I toss them off. A black-and-white essay book, or journal, goes flying. I haven’t seen it before. I flip through the pages, noting the handwriting isn’t Swanee’s.
On the first page it reads:
I love you forever.
Para siempre, mi amore.
L.
My breathing comes in rasps and I feel like I’m having a heart attack. Forever was us, Swanee and me. Liana was out of the picture.
I rip the first few pages out and kick them under the bed.
Bending over, I catch my breath. Calm myself. Time passes in waves. Surveying the mess I made, I think, Jewell will be livid that I ransacked Swanee’s room. Carefully, lovingly, I put things back where I found them, best as I can remember.
Mom’s there when I get home. She pushes up from the sofa. “The school called.”
Shit. “I didn’t feel well.”
“So where were you all day? And don’t tell me the Durbins’.”
I won’t tell her anything, then. I run up the stairs and shut my door. A few seconds later, Mom opens it. She could knock, at least. She comes in my room and sits on my bed. I roll away from her, wishing that she’d just leave. That everyone would just leave me alone.
“I understand how hard this is for you, honey,” she says. “You need closure. Maybe you should talk to a grief counselor.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter.
“You’re not fine. You’re hurting, and you’re bottling up your feelings. Taking out your anger on everyone around you won’t do anyone any good.”
That’s so deep, Mom, I think. You should’ve gone into psychiatry.
When I don’t respond, she exhales heavily. Then she gets up and goes.
Closure. I almost laugh. There is no closure. No such thing. Only open wounds. I can’t even imagine they’ll heal to the point of scabbing over.
Chapter 8
As I’m reading all the new condolence messages people have left on my Facebook wall, I see that my friend request to Liana was accepted. It feels bizarre that she’d confirm me after her text to Swanee yesterday.
I link to her profile. She has 488 friends. It doesn’t necessarily mean she’s popular. She’s accepting friends at will, the way I do. Not that I have people waiting in line. I search for Swanee’s name in Liana’s friends, but it’s not there. “Swanelle Delaney” is. Liana’s in a relationship with a person who doesn’t exist.
But then, so am I.
Liana has lots of photo albums. The first is a series of her in her cheerleading uniform, doing split jumps and contorting her body in midair. There’s a shot of a squad of cheerleaders performing leg kicks in a line, then one of them lifting her onto a pyramid. Next, she’s on top, raising a pom-pom.
The next album is Liana with a litter of kittens around her. She’s holding one up, nose to nose. A little calico. The expression on Liana’s face is so serene. If Mom weren’t allergic, I’d have a houseful of cats.
A family album includes photos of people at Christmas. There’s a photo of Liana in flannel pajamas, sitting with a baby on her lap and opened packages all around. The baby has her dark hair and huge eyes. Is it hers? Is that why Swanee thought cheerleaders were sluts? Liana’s relatives, I assume, are hamming it up for the camera, and then the family is sitting around a dining room table with a turkey and all the trimmings.
There’s a wedding where Liana is one of the bridesmaids.
Then I see an album titled SWAN.
The pictures go on for pages and pages. The Smart car, Liana hanging out the window, waving to someone. Liana and Swanee wearing Joss’s wigs at a roller rink. I bet Joss was elated about that—if she even knew. How often did Liana go to Swanee’s house, or stay over?
I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care.
Another picture with Swanee pinning Liana’s arms to the ground. The two of them laughing, gazing into each other’s eyes. Kissing.
I know I wasn’t Swanee’s first, but it’s hard to look at the evidence of her loving someone else.
How long were they together? I wonder. Because I have maybe ten pictures in my Facebook albums. She was always telling me, “Don’t post my picture. I look fat.”
Which was ridiculous. She was a lean, mean, running machine.
Joss would know how long Swan and Liana were together. In fact, she might be the one who took all the pictures of Swanee and Liana.
I call Joss that night and the first thing she says is, “Did you get my stuff?”
“Yeah. It’s in your room. I didn’t find her cell.”
“It should’ve been there. I know she had it on her.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not there.”
“Look again.”
“Joss…”
“Never mind. I’ll find it myself. I forgot to add that I want Swan’s car keys. I get my permit this summer, and it’s only fair that I get her car.”
“I didn’t see the keys, either,” I tell her.
“Jewell or Asher must have them,” she says. “Did you look around the house?”
I did, but not for Swanee’s car keys. “No.” A half-truth.
“Look in Jewell’s purses.”
“Joss, I’m not about to go through Jewell’s belongings. Or Asher’s.”
The pout on her face carries long-distance.
“Well, that car is mine, and so is everything else of hers. She was my sister. Mine.” Joss’s voice cracks and she ends the call.
Damn. I didn’t call to upset her. I just needed to ask more questions about Liana.
My cell chirps. Same number. I answer and Joss says, “Check Jewell’s red leather hobo bag for the cell and keys. She had it with her at the hospital.”
Joss’s voice is steady and demanding. I don’t want to get into it with her again, but I’m not going to scrounge through Jewell’s purses.
“Can I ask you a couple more questions about Liana?”
Joss goes, “God. Can’t you just drop it?”
“How long did they go together?”
Joss says, “I suck at math.”
I grit my teeth. “I don’t. Tell me when they met and I’ll do the math.”
“I don’t know the exact date.”
“Approximately.”
She expels an exasperated breath. “Approximately August fifteenth.”
“Of this year?”
“No. Nineteen eighty-four.”
I ignore that. “How do you know?”
“I was there. It was during freshman orientation, and Swan volunteered to be my senior escort. We had this overnight camping trip in Estes Park, and Greeley West was having a cheerleading camp there at the same time. I guess their gaydars crossed.”
August fifteenth was two weeks before school started. “Wasn’t Swanee going with Rachel the first month of school or so?”
“Swan dumped her in October,” Joss says.
I hate that expression. “So Swanee and Liana didn’t start going out until after?”
Joss lets out a short laugh.
“What?”
“You might be good at math, but you suck at logic. Why do you think Swan gave Liana a fake name?”
I’m… stunned.
“Does that answer all your questions?” Joss says. “Aren’t you glad you asked?” She ends the call.
Mom opens my door and says, “What are your plans for the day?”
Sleep. I didn’t sleep all night, processing what Joss had told me. If Liana was the reason Swanee broke up with Rachel, does that make me “the other woman,” too? Joss said Swan and Liana were over, but were they? Liana’s text messages suggest otherwise.
“Alix?”
I’m still speechless.
“Your dad and I would like to go to a movie and were wondering if you’d mind babysitting.”
That word jolts me back to reality. “I can’t. Betheny asked me to help her with this… um… project.”
Mom looks at me—through me—and smiles. “Tell Betheny she’s welcome to come over and work on it here. I miss her. I’ve been wondering what happened between the two of you.”
“Nothing happened.” Swanee happened. I add, “We have to do it at her house because it’s on her desktop.” Where do I come up with this crap? Who uses a desktop anymore?
“Do you think Betheny would mind if you took Ethan with you?”
“Mom, we wouldn’t get anything done. He’s a total distraction.”
Her smile dissipates. “Fine. We won’t go.”
A knot of guilt forms in my stomach because they never go out together. “Can’t you call Jennifer?” She’s the owner of the day care where Ethan goes.
“I did. She’s busy. We’ll just go to the children’s museum. Again.”
Guilt-trip overload.
I can’t babysit. The last time I did, I almost killed my baby brother. It was that day Mom and Dad left me and Swanee alone with Ethan. Swan was watching Pirates of the Caribbean for, like, the fifth time, and I was bored, so I had all my jewelry makings spread all over the floor.
It seems Swanee wasn’t as into the movie as I thought because as soon as Mom and Dad left, she pushed me over and started kissing me. She had her hand up my shirt, tracing the outline of my bra and sticking fingers inside, and it felt so good, and I was losing control and just about to push her off when Ethan started choking.
His lips were turning blue and he was gasping for air and I freaked. I dug in his mouth but couldn’t feel anything, so I bent him forward over my arm and began to pound his back. Hard enough to crack a rib, but I was panicking.
“Call 911,” I told Swanee.
She just sat there.
All at once an object flew out of Ethan’s mouth and he drew a deep breath. As if in reflex, he began to wail. I lifted him up and carried him around the room, trying to calm him. I’d never seen him cry so hard.
I warmed a bottle and he finally settled back in my lap, but I couldn’t stop shaking.
“What did he swallow?” I asked Swanee.
She got up and found a slimy button on the carpet. All I could think was, I’m so irresponsible, I’m so irresponsible.
And Swanee… She wanted to pick up where we left off.
