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 do 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?”

“No. It’s only a hobby. I’m not that good.”

She makes a face at me. “You underestimate yourself. I bet you could make a living at your art.”

No one’s ever called it art. We head back to my car and Liana asks, “What are you planning to do after you graduate?”

I’ve been avoiding thinking about it. “I don’t know. Be a nanny?” At that moment, my cell rings. The sound of my parents reminding me I’m nowhere near old enough to make my own life decisions.

It’s Dad. “Where are you?” he asks.

“In Boulder.”

“Boulder! Doing what?”

I almost say, Practicing free love. “Taking this tour of artists’ studios.”

“Are you alone?”

I gesture to Liana, like, Poke a stick in my eye.

She laughs.

“No,” I tell him.

“Are you with Betheny?”

“No.”

“Is it okay to ask who you are with?”

Why does it matter to him? “I’m with my friend Liana.” Becoming more than a friend.

Dad asks, “Will you be home for dinner?”

I have to be, don’t I? I check my watch and it’s after three. That should be plenty of time. “Yeah.”

“You can ask your friend to come, too, if you want.”

I don’t think I’m ready to thrust Liana into the Van Pelt pit.

Liana and I continue to the car and I unlock the doors with the key fob. I expect her to get in, but instead she snakes her arms around my waist, pulls me to her, and kisses me. I feel my bag clunk to the ground and my knees go weak. We might’ve stayed like that for hours if someone hadn’t driven up next to us and honked.

We both climb into the Prius, look at each other, and laugh.

A crazy, out-of-nowhere laugh.

That night Liana texts me:

Best. Day. Ever

I text back:

What’s better than best?

We text for a while, until I hear Mom’s beeper go off. It’s after midnight and I know she must be exhausted.

Liana texts:

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 and then adds, “For your information, my boyfriend—the only guy who ever liked me for myself—dumped me.” She disconnects.