Lies My Girlfriend Told Me
Page 15

“So anyway, one day I was at the shelter cleaning, and a friend of Yasmin’s brought her in. She’d been beaten severely, and by the time we called the ambulance, she was going into labor. Before the EMTs arrived, the baby started coming. The EMTs were trying to save Yasmin and the twins were acting up and the staff was trying to calm them. I guess I was in the right place at the right time because I was the one who caught the baby. It was like a miracle, Alix. This little life in my hands. Yasmin couldn’t speak, and I’m not even sure she heard me tell her, ‘It’s a girl.’ She died on the way to the hospital.”
“Oh my God,” I gasp.
“But her baby lived. It’s the one you save, the one you can, that gives the work meaning and purpose.” Mom meets my eyes. “I hope you find that in your life.”
I stand and head for the door.
“Alix?”
I stop and turn.
“You’re not responsible for Joss.”
So why do I feel I am? I may have lost a girlfriend, but I can’t even imagine how it must feel to lose your sister and best friend.
Chapter 17
As I’m Googling all the parts of a critical analysis paper, my cell rings. It’s Liana.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Looking online for a critical analysis paper to plagiarize.”
When she doesn’t laugh, I say, “Kidding.”
“I knew that.”
I think we’re still kind of feeling each other out, knowing when we’re serious and when we’re joking around. Liana says, “She never made one payment on the ring.”
It takes me a moment to process the remark.
“I don’t know when, but she took it off layaway and got her money back. Obviously, she never intended to give the ring to me.”
Was that the cash under her mattress? If so, it was a lot. “How much did she put down? Do you know?”
“A hundred, that I saw. She said she was making payments every week.”
More lies.
Liana adds, “I found out when I went to return my ring and saw that the matching one was back on display.”
Oh, God. That had to hurt. I can’t think of anything to say except, “I’m sorry.”
Liana goes, “Whatever. I just want to get past it all.”
Me too, I think. I’m getting rid of that cell, the sooner the better.
“So what are you doing?” Liana asks. “Besides committing a felony?”
“Is it?”
“I don’t know. Plagiarism may only be a misdemeanor. Either way, you’re going to do hard time, girl. I was wondering…” Her voice trails off.
“What?”
“If. Maybe. We could meet again?”
My heart pounds in my chest. “Sure. When? Where?” Do I sound too eager? “Our regular spot?”
“Yeah. Friday our game’s in Broomfield, at four. It should be over by five thirty.”
I’ll have to get permission from Mom and Dad to miss dinner. “I’ll try,” I tell her.
She says, “If it’s a problem…”
“No. No problem. My mom and dad just think we should all eat dinner together.”
“Yeah, we have that tradition, too. It’s hard, though, when everyone has work and sports. But I like it when we can all be together.”
Maybe I should appreciate our family traditions, too. Except in this case. “I’ll be there,” I say.
The next morning, just as I’m going to ask about Friday night, Mom says, “I wasn’t going to go to the annual obstetrics conference in Dallas this weekend, but there’s a special session devoted to new developments in prenatal care, and I’d like to attend. Your dad’s college roommate lives in Fort Worth, and he hasn’t seen him in years, so he’d like to go with me.”
What? No, please, no. “You can’t leave me alone with Ethan.”
“It’ll only be Friday and Saturday nights.”
“I can’t. I have plans on Friday.”
“Cancel them,” Dad says from his spot at the stove.
Odds are everything will be fine, but I can still feel the terror of Ethan almost choking to death the last time I babysat. And why Friday?
“We’ll leave after you get home from school and be back by Sunday afternoon,” Mom says.
She must see the panic on my face because she adds, “It’s only two nights.”
Forty-eight hours of impending doom for Ethan. And eardrum damage for me.
“Can’t you ask Jennifer?” I say.
“We’re asking you,” Dad replies. “It’s time you took more responsibility for Ethan. He is your brother.”
“I feed him, don’t I?” And I’ve changed about a gazillion diapers.
Dad sets a plate of buttermilk pancakes with blueberries and whipped cream on top in front of me. Sheer bribery.
“You’ll be fine,” Mom says. “And I’m sorry about your plans. You’ll just have to reschedule.”
Dad adds, “No wild parties while we’re gone.”
Like I have enough friends to invite to a party.
On my way to school, I text Liana:
Friday’s out. My parents are going to Texas and I have to babysit
She texts back a few minutes later:
what’s in Texas?
Cattle?
Moo
And BBQ
She texts:
Yum
We carry on silly convos for the rest of the week. She’s crazy fun to talk to. She makes me laugh. She makes me wish I was meeting her Friday night.
I ask Mrs. Burke if I can have an extension on my critical analysis paragraph, since I have nothing to turn in on Thursday. “I have a subject in mind”—a minor fib—“but I want to make sure there’s enough there for a thesis, evidence, and conclusion.” Hopefully that’ll show her I’ve been thinking about it, at least.
She narrows her eyes, and then says, “Okay. But Monday at the latest.”
By Monday I may be incarcerated for plagiarism, child abuse, or both.
Friday I take the long route home, thinking, If I’m late maybe Mom and Dad will cancel their trip. Yeah, right. The long route means passing Swanee’s cul-de-sac, and I see that the Smart car is gone. I know I should feel something—like the final link to Swanee has been broken. I don’t feel anything, though. Except maybe sad for Joss.
Awesome idea to walk the long way. It’s starting to rain, or sleet, and I’m soaked by the time I get home. Mom’s standing in the hallway with her rolling luggage, and Dad’s behind her holding Ethan in his carrier. Mom says, “I’ve left you Jennifer’s number, in case you need anything. But please try not to bother her. Our hotel info and itinerary are on the fridge. Ethan has a bit of a runny nose, so I’ve written down his pediatrician’s number, too. You have my cell, and your dad’s.”
And 911.
Dad hands Ethan off to me and immediately a bolt of anxiety shoots through me. Two whole days? Ethan must sense my fear because he lets out a whimper. Dad smooths his hair and says, “You’ll be fine, buddy. Your big sissy has thought of all kinds of ways to entertain you. Right?” He looks to me for confirmation.
Like leaving choking hazards around, I don’t say.
“Have a good time.” I trudge after them to the door and into the garage.
Dad shoves his and Mom’s suitcases in the back of the car and says to me, “Alix, I don’t know if I feel comfortable with you driving Ethan around. But if you have to…”
“I won’t,” I say. I’ll be watching his every move.
We stand there as if in suspended animation until Dad says, “We better hit the road, Jack.”
Mom gives me a brief hug. Dad looks like he might hug me, but then changes his mind. They both get in the SUV and back out of the driveway.
Ethan starts to cry. Inside, I unstrap him, pick him up, and try to quiet him. He screams louder. “Ethan, please.” He’s screeching and fighting me so hard I’m afraid I’ll drop him. I cross to the living room and try to sit him in his swing. He kicks and kicks. What’s wrong? It’s like he associates me with danger, the way he should.
“Ethan, come on. You like to swing. See?” I push his swing back and forth.
He screeches like a crow. Tears spring to my eyes because I don’t know what to do. I set Ethan in his playpen and find one of his toys, the plastic keys on the key ring. Could he swallow those? I toss them away and find a stuffed koala. He slaps it away. There’s a pacifier on the coffee table, but I’d have to take my eyes off him to reach it.
I lift him again and he arches his back away from me. He’s strong and struggling.
“Please, Ethan. Give me a break.”
Maybe a bottle. I take him with me to warm a bottle. It feels like I have a death grip on him, hard enough to squeeze the air right out of his lungs. What if I drop him, though? What if he breaks a bone or dies from head trauma?
I set the bottle in the warmer and turn it on.
Ethan is bawling and kicking, clenching his fists, and I don’t know what to do. Just as I’m about to call Mom or Dad and admit I’m a total failure as a sister, the doorbell rings.
“Ethan, chill,” I say to him, but he pounds on me all the way to the door. I don’t even check the peephole; I just fling it open.
It’s Liana.
“Hi.” She smiles. All I can do is stare at her.
“Our game was rained out.” Her smile fades. “Is that your brother?” She has to raise her voice to be heard.
“Yeah. Ethan.”
“What’s the matter with him?” He stops wriggling enough for me to open the screen door and let her in.
“He hates me.”
She makes a face. “Babies can’t hate. Can I help?”
“I’d kiss you if you could.”
She presses her arm into mine. “Promise?”
A tingle prickles my skin.
She takes off her wet parka, hangs it on the doorknob, and takes Ethan from me. “No llores bebé, todo va a estar bien,” she says. Rubbing his back, she coos, “Ya ya ya.” It’s like a miracle. He instantly stops crying. She nuzzles her face into his neck and I see all his muscles relax.
“How did you do that?” I ask. “What did you say to him? Whatever it was, teach me.”
She moves around the living room, stroking Ethan’s head and murmuring in his ear in Spanish. “He feels hot.”
“He has a runny nose. And he had a cold not too long ago. Do you think he’s sick? Should we call the doctor?”
She feels his armpit. “How long has he been crying?”
I glance at the clock on the microwave. “About twenty minutes.” Is that all? “Time flies when you’re going deaf.”
Liana smiles at me. “It could be he’s just upset. Could you bring me a cool washcloth?”
While I’m in the kitchen wetting a washcloth, she calls from the living room, “He’s adorable. He has your nose.”
When did she notice my nose?
“And your gorgeous green eyes.”
My cheeks are burning as I hand her the washcloth. She’s the one with the gorgeous eyes. She sets Ethan on the sofa and bends forward, tickling his belly. He grins.
He does have my eye color. I always thought my eyes were this unremarkable hazel, but on Ethan, they glow like jade.
I sit on the sofa arm, watching her gently dab his cheeks and forehead. She starts to make a game of it, dangling the washcloth and making him reach for it.
He giggles.
She’s good with him. A natural. No wonder she loves babies. “God, I’m glad you came. He might’ve screamed for hours with me. Then the neighbors would’ve called Child Protective Services to remove him from an abusive situation.”
She says, “Don’t be silly. He would’ve calmed down.”
“You don’t know him. He really does hate me. Plus, he’s afraid I’ll hurt him.”
She casts me an odd look. I tell her about the button incident, and she says, “It was an accident. Babies stick everything in their mouth. Caleb swallowed a penny once, and it took him two weeks to poop it out.”
“Ew. Who had to look for it?”
“There are some things only a mother can do.”
I look at her and we both laugh. She grows serious and says, “About what I told you before. El que diran? I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Family always comes first, and we all embrace and care about one another.” Liana stands up and hands the washcloth to me. “You play with him now.”
Reluctantly, I take the washcloth. “He’ll start screaming.” We trade places and I get a whiff of Liana’s hair or body gel. Whatever it is, I can’t stop inhaling. She’s wearing her uniform, and I see goose bumps on her legs. “If you’re cold, you can turn on the fireplace,” I say. “The remote’s on the coffee table.”
She presses the On button while I bop the washcloth up and down. Every few bops I let Ethan grab it. But as soon as he puts it in his mouth, I pull up. Still, he’s grinning.
Liana moves to the fireplace and rubs her arms. Her skin is so smooth and brown, and there’s more than heat from the flames warming up the room. I ask, “Do you want a sweatshirt or something?”
“No, I’ll be good in a minute.”
“Thank you,” I say to her.
She turns around and gazes into my eyes. “For what?”
“Saving my life. And Ethan’s.”
Liana’s gaze stretches on and on. It’s like neither of us wants to be the first to break it off. At last, Liana returns to the sofa, bends down, and presses her palm against Ethan’s forehead. She says, “He’s much cooler. I think he’s fine.”