Read Lies My Girlfriend Told Me for Free Online Page A

except for Ethan smacking his lips and slapping his high-chair tray.
    I hear every tick of the clock and wish I had the magical power to turn back time. I might’ve persuaded Swanee to forget her run just this once so we could leave earlier; asked if Jewell and Asher would stop in Idaho Springs for breakfast on our way up to Keystone to hit the slopes; somehow convinced her that snowboarding would be plenty of exercise for one day.
    Mom interrupts my thoughts. “You haven’t eaten anything.”
    I look down at my plate and feel nauseated. “I’m not hungry. If you’ll excuse me—”
    “You’re not leaving the table until you eat something.” Mom spoons another glop of rice cereal into Ethan’s mouth.
    I don’t even remember putting food on my plate. Mom must’ve doled it out when I wasn’t looking. Except the peas and mashed potatoes are mixed together, and only I do that.
    “Eat,” she orders me.
    I do as she says because I’m always the obedient daughter. Swanee never understood why I didn’t just tell them to cram it. I could never explain.
    Ethan whimpers, spits out his food, and then lets out a screech that hurts my ears so badly that I plug them. Mom presses the backs of her fingers against his forehead and says, “He feels warm. With that diarrhea, I wonder if he has an intestinal bug, or the flu. Maybe he never really got over his pertussis. I need to take his temperature.” She lifts him out of his high chair to take him into the living room. I get up with her, but her hand pushes down on my shoulder. “Eat,” she says.
    I shovel a forkful of potato into my mouth at the same time Ethan projectile vomits his curdled dinner all over the table and down my front.
    Forcing down a dry heave, I push back my chair and say, “I’m out of here.”
    Dad gets up to wet a washcloth for Mom.
    Upstairs in my bathroom, I strip and take a long shower. Nothing like the odor and texture of baby puke to stimulate the senses. Shuddering, I log on and link to Facebook, and then click on Swanee’s profile. Her picture is a rainbow equality symbol. It’s comforting to see that she says she’s in a relationship with me. I read through the profile I know so well. Activities: running track, snowboarding, being with friends, partying. Interests: texting, chatting, not shaving my legs ha ha, indie music, hard rock, medium rock, rock candy, candy apples, candy corn. She supports all the same animal rights and human rights organizations I do: HRC,GSA, Rainbow Alley, the Trevor Project. Everything about her screams GAY.
    Mom opens the door. “Your brother has a pretty high temp, so your dad and I are going to run him over to the hospital.”
    “Okay.”
    She sets a new plate of food on my desk. “Eat,” she says.
    Like I ever will again now.
    “It’s probably just a virus. But I want him checked out. Would you mind terribly cleaning up the kitchen?”
    Yes, I would mind terribly.
    When I don’t answer, she goes, “Or I’ll do it when we get home.”
    She knows the room will be spotless when she returns.
    “I’ll call you if it’s serious or we’re going to be late getting back. Eat.”
    “I will,” I snap.
    She gives me a steely look before closing the door. I feel sort of bad for raising my voice.
    But why? It should be my choice whether I eat or not.
    Swan’s cell is silent, and so is mine. Tears well in my eyes, but I don’t want to cry. It won’t bring Swanee back. I clomp downstairs and load the dishwasher, glad for something to do, even if it only takes five minutes. Thankfully, someone swabbed up Ethan’s mess. Swan and I used to talk about finding a small studio apartment in Arizona, rather than living in the dorm. A place we could paint, furnish, decorate. Call our own.
    Now I’m afraid I’ll always be alone.
    I need to go, get out of here. Take a drive. Get as far away as possible from silence and death and the thought of what might have been.

Chapter 6
    If I’m distancing myself from