Thanks for accepting my friend request
It reminds me that I need to send her my class schedule.
I text:
School night. You better get your dulces sueños in
LOL. U 2
A few more texts and we hang up.
I grab my laptop to send Liana my schedule. I want hers, too, including work and extracurricular. I notice my relationship status still says In a Relationship, but Swanee’s name is gone. When I look for her in my friends, she’s disappeared. Someone took down her page. Which is just as well. I change my relationship status to Single.
Then I have this wild idea. She’ll probably say no, or ignore it, but I send a request to Liana asking her to confirm that she and I are in a relationship. A second later, a response comes in. I give a little squeal of joy. She accepted.
When I hand in my critical analysis outline to Mrs. Burke, she seems impressed. It’s so much more than a single paragraph. Of course, if she doesn’t approve of the topic, I’m back to square one. A smile curls the corners of her mouth and she says, “I love this movie.”
Score!
The paper isn’t due for a while, but I bet if I hunker down I can finish it in two or three nights. I know the grade on my persuasive paper is on my permanent record, but an A on this one might boost my average to a C+ or B-.
Liana spends practically every day cheering at baseball games or track meets. We still talk or text during the day or at night, but I miss being with her. Physically. Long-distance relationships suck.
At dinner on Thursday Dad says, “Earth to Alix.”
Who says that anymore?
“Does that sound okay to you?”
“What?” I say.
He turns to Mom, “Do you think we should get her hearing checked?”
Mom holds up three fingers and raises her voice at me. “How many fingers do you see?”
“Eleven,” I say. “My hearing, and vision, are fine.”
Dad says, “I was asking how you would feel about spending spring break up in Vail. One of my clients has a time-share condo he won’t be using and he asked if we’d like to rent it.”
Visions of snowboarding for a week perk me up. “That’d be awesome. All of us?” I ask.
Mom answers, “Of course.”
“What are you guys going to do?” Neither of them skis anymore, and Ethan’s too little. Unless they expect me to babysit while they rent snowmobiles, in which case we might as well stay home.
“We’ll stay busy,” Dad says. “We can go tubing or sledding. I think there are horse-drawn carriages. Ethan will like that. You and your mom can go shopping.”
When was the last time Mom and I shopped together? In elementary school, shopping for new clothes.
Mom adds, “We could take a side trip to Glenwood Springs for the day. Soak in the hot pool. That sounds idyllic to me.”
It sounds like heaven.
I didn’t even realize spring break was next week. It snuck up on me.
“Well?” Dad says.
“Well… yeeeeah.”
“I’m on call Saturday, so we’ll leave Sunday,” Mom says. The phone rings and she gets up to answer it.
I hear Mom say, “It’s for you, Alix.”
Who’d be calling me on our home phone? I answer and it’s Joss. “Stay the fuck out of my life!” she screams. “You have no idea what’s going on, and anyway it’s none of your fucking business!”
I cringe. Mom must’ve talked to Jewell.
“For your information, Swan took me to Planned Parenthood for birth control months ago. I’m not a moron.”
“I never said you were.”
“Swan’s the only one who got me,” Joss says in this croaky voice.
That may be true, but I care. I want to ask her if she’s in counseling yet, if Jewell is doing anything to help.
Joss snarls, “The fucking bitch stole Swanee’s iPad from my room.”
Why do you need it? You have memories, I want to say, but that would only set off another rant.
“Do you have any pictures?” Joss asks. “I want all the pictures of her that everybody has. She was my sister, and they belong to me.”
Pictures. I do have the pictures from Swan’s cell that I uploaded to my PC. I could transfer them to a flash drive and delete them from my machine. That would remove every trace of her from my life. Except the cell.
Is that what I want? I know it’s what I need.
“I know you have pictures on your cell,” Joss says.
I blink back to the moment. “Yeah, I do. I could put them on a flash drive, and you could get prints.”
Joss stalls. “I can’t afford to make prints. Could you do it?”
Still forcing me to pay. I should say no, but I can’t find it in my heart. “Sure.”
“Okay.” She lets out a calming breath. “Okay. Then I could forgive you.”
I don’t know why that makes me feel both irritated and exonerated.
She adds, “Oh, and for your information, he dumped me.” She disconnects.
Chapter 20
When I tell Liana we’re going to Vail over spring break, she says, “The whole time?” I can hear the disappointment in her voice.
“But we can still talk. And I promise we’ll get together as soon as I’m back.”
“When you get back, it’s my spring break. My dad always takes a group of students to archeological sites or on digs, and I go with him. Last year we went to Machu Picchu, and this year we’re doing a dig at the field school in North Park, near Walden.”
“Pond?”
She snorts. “No, silly. Walden, Colorado. Population five. It’s close to Steamboat Springs.”
“Will you have a chance to ski?”
“I wish. Mostly I help lug equipment and record Dad’s lectures.”
“Woot,” I say unenthusiastically.
“It’s cool. I really like going.”
“Are you thinking about becoming an archaeologist?” I ask.
“No,” she replies. “I plan a double major in Mexican-American studies and poli sci.”
If only her ambition would rub off on me.
She sighs. “I wish I was coming to Vail with you.”
“That’d be a blast. Sext me, okay?”
“Ha! Only if you sext me first.”
I can’t imagine either one of us sexting.
“I wish we could see each other at least one more time before you leave. You know how you asked if I like being a cheerleader? Sometimes it sucks.”
Totally. “Break a leg,” I tell her.
“Don’t say that! I fell off the pyramid my sophomore year and broke my wrist.”
Yikes. “Don’t break anything. I want you whole.”
“I want you whole, too,” she says softly.
This trickle of warmth seeps through my bones.
On Saturday, Dad asks if I’d mind going to the store to pick up diapers and formula. Since Walmart is on the way, I grab the flash drive to make prints for Joss. Naturally, today of all days, their photo machine is down. I ask if I can leave the flash drive so that they’ll have the prints ready when I get home.
Liana calls me while I’m upstairs packing. “Do you think we could Skype while you’re gone?”
Duh. “Why weren’t we Skyping all this time?”
“Because it’d make me want to be with you even more than I already do. I hate being apart.”
“Me too.”
“But let’s do it anyway.”
We exchange Skype names and talk for a while. Before we end the call, Liana says, “You’re getting under my skin, Alix Van Pelt. I can see why she-who-shall-not-be-named fell so hard and fast for you.”
“Ditto, Liana Torres.”
We talk for another hour or two or three and I forget all about packing.
The people who don’t go to Mexico for fun in the sun on spring break swarm to the Colorado ski resorts. The slopes are overrun with skiers and snowboarders. As I’m ridin
g up the lift with two college students—a guy with his arm looped around a girl’s shoulder—I wish so badly that Liana were here with me.
It’s awesome having a condo right in the heart of Vail. I can actually walk from the building to the ski lift. There’s a balcony on every unit, and as I’m nearing the bottom of the hill I think I glimpse Mom and Dad, searching for me. I wave, and then do a face plant. That should impress them.
Around lunchtime I get hungry, so I trek back to make a sandwich and see if Mom and Dad are there. They aren’t, so I check in the fridge for something, anything, to eat.
People must be using the time-share, because there’s a fairly fresh loaf of bread, along with peanut butter and blackberry jam. I make a sandwich and then go out on the deck to eat and to watch the skiers. The weather is sunny—a cloudless, sapphire sky. Sitting with my feet up on the railing, I call Liana, figuring she should be home from church.
She answers on the first ring. “I hope you’re on the lift. Because I think it’s a felony to snowboard while using a cell phone.”
Maybe she should major in law. “I’m taking a break. Laying—or is it lying?—in the lap of luxury,” I tell her.
She says, “I hate you.” I know she’s kidding. “I wish I was laying—or is it lying?—with you.”
“It’s kind of lonely,” I tell her the truth. “Do we have time to Skype?”
“Sadly, no. I have to leave for work in five minutes.”
“No fair peeking in the dressing rooms,” I say.
She goes, “You’re such a buzzkill.”
I smile. We talk until she says, “Eek. I’m late. And my cell is almost dead.” Mine’s drained, too, so I head inside to recharge it. Mom’s coming in the door with armloads of groceries, and I relieve her of the bags. “Where are Dad and Ethan?” I ask.
“Schlepping around town,” she says.
I help her unload the groceries and put them away.
“I bought all this food, and now I don’t feel like cooking,” Mom says. “Want to go out or have something delivered?”
The sandwich only whetted my appetite. “Definitely,” I say. “Let’s go out.”
She sits at the condo’s dinette and opens a folder with a bunch of menus in it for all the restaurants in town. “It’s nice to see you happy again,” Mom says. “We’ve been worried about you, you know.”
I don’t meet her eyes. “What did you expect?”
“I’m not talking about Swanee dying. Of course you’d be upset about that, but every day you were with her, you were… drifting.”
Drifting. What does she mean? I guess I know. How Swanee was trying to make me into someone I wasn’t. Manipulating me. Making me feel inadequate, the way Liana said. Not only that, but pulling me away from my parents.
They do need to realize that at some point they’ll have to let me go, and vice versa.
“Haven’t you ever felt like you’ve made sacrifices for Dad?” I ask. “Done things you didn’t really want to do?”
Mom seems to consider the question. “I suppose I’ve adapted. We both have. But we’ve never asked each other to sacrifice who we are as individuals. And if we really had a moral objection to something the other wanted, we would’ve talked it out and compromised. We’ve given, not taken away. We’ve grown stronger together.”
The same way I’m beginning to feel about Liana. When she’s not with me, a part of me is missing.
“What about Chipotle?” Mom says. “There’s one right down the street.”
Chipotle. I have to smile. “Mucho bueno.”
After lunch and two more hours of boarding, I’m totally wiped. We all go out for a nice meal at an Italian bistro and I almost fall asleep at the table. When we get back to the condo, I tell Mom and Dad I’m going to bed.
Snuggling under the covers, I fluff up two pillows and log on to my laptop. Before I Skype Liana, I should text her to see if this is a good time. My cell’s in the kitchen, still charging, so I have to get out of bed to retrieve it. Mom, Dad, and Ethan are in the living room with the lights off and soft music playing.
“Sorry.” I unplug my cell. “Forgot this.”
“Who are you calling?” Mom asks.
“Um, a friend.”
“Do you have to?”
“I’ll be quiet. Promise.” I don’t wait for Mom’s response.
In my room I text Liana:
Can you Skype now?
She doesn’t text back. I sit with my laptop until the screensaver kicks in. I must doze off because the Skype sound on my computer jolts me awake.
It’s her, Skyping. I press Accept.
“Are you there, Alix?” she asks. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah. Let me just…” Her face comes into view and my heart jumps.
“I can’t see you,” she says. “Let me check my video.…” After a second, my face appears on the monitor.
“There.” She smiles. “We’re connected.”
We are, I think. In more ways than one.
“Tell me about your day,” she says. “Minute by minute.”
“The snow was perfect, and it was warm. Lots of people, though.”
It’s almost as if she’s here with me. Except I can’t touch her, or smell her, or feel her body heat.
A knock sounds on the door. Mom sticks her head in and says, “We’re going to bed.”
“Okay.”
Liana says, “Who’s that?”
Shit. “My mom.”
Mom glances at the computer. “Who are you talking to?”
“Liana,” I tell her.
“Let me say hello to your mom,” Liana says. I make a face at her, and she reciprocates.
I turn the laptop toward Mom. She perches on the bed and I adjust the monitor until Mom’s face is in the video section.
“Hi,” Liana says. “I just wanted to tell you I think Ethan is the cutest baby in the world. Aside from my nephew, because I can’t be prejudiced.” She grins.
“Thank you.” Mom blinks at me, and then looks back to Liana. “When did you see Ethan?”
“That time you and your husband were out of town—” Liana stops. She must realize I never told Mom I had company, or she sees something in Mom’s face, because she adds hastily, “I just stopped by for a little while to visit Alix. I didn’t even know Ethan would be there.”
Mom’s lips draw taut.
Liana says, “I better get to my homework. I’ll talk to you later, Alix.” By the time I swivel the laptop back around, Liana’s hung up the Skype phone.
I expect Mom to lay into me for letting strangers in the house, especially when she and Dad aren’t there and it’s only Ethan and me, but all she does is say, “Your dad was right. She’s pretty. Does she go to Arvada?”
“No.” That’s as much as I’m willing to give up for now.
“Invite her over when we get back—”
“Her break starts that day, and she’s leaving for a dig with her dad and some archeology students.” I shut the lid on my laptop. “But I will.”
A gleam infuses Mom’s eyes.
“What?” I say.
“Nothing.” She bends down and kisses my forehead. “See you in the morning.”
Chapter 21
The day I get home Liana doesn’t text or Skype, so I figure she’s on her way to Walden. I leave her a voice mail to call or text as soon as she can.
On Tuesday morning she texts me right after my alarm goes off.
Can you Skype? I only have a few minutes until Dad comes back to get me
God, I have bed head and my teeth feel fuzzy. We link up and, naturally, she looks like she just stepped off the pages of Elle. “Where’s your dad?” I ask.
“Scouting the location. It’s pretty desolate here. Nothing like Peru. But on the way up, we saw three moose. Hang on. I’ll send you a picture.”
When it arrives, I marvel at how enormous they are. I’ve seen lots of elk, but never a moose.
“Dad splurged on the lodging, s
o we’re staying at the Hoover Roundup Motel. Yee-haw. I have to share a room, so there’s not much privacy.”
All I can do is look at her and project myself across the miles.
She says, “Wish you were here,” at the same time I say, “Wish I was there.” We laugh.
We talk for a while until Mom calls up the stairs, “Alix, you’re going to be late.”
Liana says, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to Skype every day, but I’ll try to get some time away from the group in the morning or at night to call you. Okay?”
I’ll take every precious moment.
We linger, like we want to say something else to each other. Liana puts two fingers to her lips and sends me a cyber kiss before the Skype call ends.
On my way out the door, Mom hands me a bunch of brochures. “For Joss,” she says. “Of course, you can read them, too. I hope you know your dad and I are always here to talk to.”
I glance at the titles: “The Five Stages of Grief,” “How to Handle the Death of a Family Member,” “Dealing with the Loss of a Loved One.” I think I’ve dealt pretty well, thanks to Liana.
Joss is waiting for me at my locker before lunch. Shit. I forgot to pick up the pictures. Liana’s on the phone, saying, “The week I come back I either have to cheer or work every day, but I have an invitational in Denver on Saturday. It should be over by five.”
I hold up a finger to Joss. “I’m coming for sure,” I tell Liana. “Where is it?”
“Jeffco. We could go to dinner afterward. Then maybe get a room?”
My heart thumps in my chest. Is she…?
“Kidding.”
I don’t know if I feel relieved or bummed. If she was serious, there wouldn’t be anything holding me back.
While I’m twisting my combination lock, Liana says, “I’m counting down the days.”
I say, “I’m counting down the seconds. Tick, tick, tick…”
She laughs.
I love how her laugh stimulates all my senses.
Joss is staring daggers at me, so I say, “Can I call you back?”
“I need to get out to the dig, anyway. Talk to you soon.”
We disconnect.
Joss says, “Who was that?”
“Just a friend. Your prints should be ready. I’ll stop by after school and pick them up. Okay?”