Tell Me Lies

by Carola Lovering

  Rod taught Vivian, Luke, and me how to surf out in Westhampton eight years ago—my grandfather has a place near the ocean, where we grew up going in the summers. It’s a simple beach house, the kind of place where there are never enough beds, where aunts and uncles and cousins and friends are all packed in together, and someone always ends up sleeping on the couch or an air mattress and sometimes there’s even a tent or two pitched out back. I was thirteen the first summer Rod came out to the beach with Viv. I remembered him standing next to me in the water while I lay on the surfboard, holding it steady while slices of ocean washed over its smooth, fiberglass surface. If a surfable wave would come along he’d say, “Okay, this is the one. Ready to paddle, Stephen?” and push me into the wave seconds before it broke, yelling, “Paddle, paddle, paddle!” after me. We’d do that until I’d finally catch one, long after Luke and Viv had caught many.

  The thought that my cousin had been with the same guy for more than eight years made the jittery feeling stirring in the base of my stomach intensify. They kept their hands interlaced on the table while Vivian chatted with my aunt Barbara to her right, and Rod talked to Christina—his soon to be sister-in-law—across from him. It was a default position, so clearly instinctual, the way their fingers just rested on each other’s, and I thought, This must be what people talk about when they talk about intimacy.

  I really did not feel too well then. The nerves had spread from my stomach up to my head, and in addition to feeling anxious I sensed my mind slipping into a dark space. A languid tunnel. The room around me was growing hazy and distant. I wished all these people would just leave.

  The worst of it came next, the image of the glossy red hair sliding its way into the center of my mind, the way it does. The hair, so red, burnished, vivid as anything, matted against the black leather seat of the Jeep. Her car. My pants unzipped. The blood around her mouth. The pearly white tooth lying on her lap, buried among the shards of glass. “Zombie” by the Cranberries lingering on the radio. The mechanical chewing inside my mouth. The sweet, Bubblicious bubblegum smell. I don’t like thinking about the accident, but once the memory takes hold of my mind, it won’t let go.

  I needed some air. I took a long sip of cold water and hoped the funny gloomy feeling would leave sooner rather than later. It always left eventually, but sometimes there would be hours of this, like someone knocking repeatedly on a door inside my head, asking a question I will never be able to answer because I don’t know what the question is.

  For a moment I thought about going upstairs and calling Diana, thought maybe that would make me feel better. She was finally my girlfriend again. But I knew calling Diana wouldn’t make me feel anything at all.

  Then my eyes settled on my father, the birthday boy seated at the head of the long, lively table. A million conversations bubbled around him, laughs breaking loose, dishes passing, forks clinking. He wore a badly wrinkled shirt, his dusty gray hair thinning near the crown of his head. A sad, sole red balloon was tied to the back of his chair. The piece of cake in front of him remained uneaten. He pretended to listen to a conversation but spoke to no one, his mouth a tight line, his eyes vacant and lost. I breathed relief. For some reason, the sight of him made me feel a little bit better.

  19

  LUCY

  JULY 2011

  CJ was waiting for me in the parking lot of the Cold Spring Harbor train station, perched in her giant black Lexus, wearing giant black sunglasses, drinking a giant black iced coffee. I’d just spent a night in the city with Lydia and Helen and the rest of our Tory Burch–clad friends from high school for Kelsey Nelson’s birthday party at Dorrian’s. I can’t really stand Dorrian’s, but everyone always wants to go there.

  “Dad and I used to go to Dorrian’s!” CJ exclaimed on the car ride home.

  Of course they did. Dorrian’s is the preppiest bar on the Upper East Side. I grunted a response, too hungover to fathom my dad and CJ gallivanting around Manhattan in their twenties.

  “Was it fun, Luce?”

  “Meh.”

  “Was Parker there?”

  “Yep.”

  “And how was that?”

  “Pretty sure he still hates me.”

  “Well, you didn’t exactly handle that situation well, Lucy. He was very upset. I talked to his mother all about it.”

  “Well, he brought his new girlfriend to the party, so I think he’s doing fine.” I leaned my head against the window.

  “New girlfriend? From Bowdoin? I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “Oh, honey. That must’ve been awkward.”

  “Not really, CJ. I don’t care who Parker dates.”

  “Well, you must care, kind of.”

  “I don’t.”

  “What was she like?”

  “I dunno. Blond. Short. Very CK Bradley.”

  Parker’s new girlfriend couldn’t have been more typical, with shoulder-length highlighted blond hair, clearly flat-ironed, and rosacea that she tried to conceal with too much foundation. She’d been wearing big fake pearls and a bright pink Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress. Everything about her was unoriginal and preppy and posed. She glared at me while she discussed boring people from Trinity with Helen, clinging to Parker’s arm like a Seeing Eye dog. The only thing Parker said to me all night was that I looked like I’d lost too much weight, and Lydia and Helen nodded in agreement.

  “So it wasn’t a fun night? You didn’t have fun at all?” CJ rapped her fingernails on the steering wheel.

  “It was fine, CJ. I dunno.” The night had been boring. The whole summer had been boring, actually. I should’ve listened to my parents and gotten an internship instead of manning the front desk at CJ’s Pilates studio and thinking about Stephen, and wondering about Stephen and how he was and why he hadn’t called and if he was sorry.

  “Well,” CJ placed her empty plastic cup in the center console. “Georgia is home! And she’s brought her boyfriend.”

  “I know.”

  “His name is Elliot and he rows crew at Yale.”

  “I know that, too. I read the family group texts.”

  “Well, you don’t need to be snide, Lucy. He’s great. Aren’t you excited to meet him?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why are you in a bad mood?” She glanced over at me. “I know I keep saying it but you look so thin.” She squeezed the top of my arm. “Did you eat anything last night?”

  “Yes. Lydia and I got pizza before the party.”

  “Did you eat the pizza?” CJ sounded exactly like Jackie.

  “Yes, CJ. Can we just listen to the radio?”

  I cranked up the volume and stared out the window at the familiar East Coast landscape; the hilly mounds framing the highway, the huge trees lush with green leafy branches that made the Lexus feel encapsulated. On the West Coast everything seemed to stretch farther; there was space and sky and room to actually breathe. I closed my eyes until I heard the familiar sound of CJ’s tires crunching over the gravel.

  Outside, the Long Island air was hot and humid; I could almost feel the moisture seeping into my lungs. CJ slid her hand into the loose waistband of my jean shorts as we walked inside.

  “See? Your clothes don’t even fit. How much weight have you lost?”

  “Just a few pounds. These shorts were big to begin with.” I wriggled out of her grip. I knew she didn’t believe me, but I went inside before she could say anything else. My dad was rinsing dishes in the kitchen.

  “Daddy!” I wrapped my arms around his neck, and the familiar smell of his Noxzema made tears sting the corners of my eyes as he gave me his signature butterfly kiss.

  Georgia sat at the kitchen table playing cards with Elliot. She grinned her easy, wide Georgia smile. As always, she looked beautiful in that effortless way. Her shoulder-length blond hair fell in a curtain around her heart-shaped face. A few tiny freckles sprinkled her enviable nose, which sloped at the end, the way I’d always wished mine would.
She looked more and more like CJ’s doppelgänger.

  Georgia stood and her eyes met mine, inches from my face. The sight of them punctured my insides—the same cerulean-blue Georgia eyes I’d known all my life. I thought back to six years ago, when we were thirteen and fourteen, having sleepovers at the Montgomerys’ and making Fluffernutter sandwiches in the middle of the night. It was hard to believe we were the same set of sisters.

  We hugged, which didn’t come naturally anymore, at least not for me.

  “Your hair is getting so long.” She picked up the ends.

  “I know. I should cut it.”

  “How was the city?”

  “Fun,” I lied.

  “This is Elliot,” Georgia said, a rosy flush spreading over her collarbone. “Elliot, this is my sister, Lucy.”

  Elliot gave me a firm handshake and an obnoxious Ivy League grin. “Lucy, it’s wonderful to meet you. Georgia has great things to say about you.”

  I forced a smile and scanned him. He wasn’t tall—maybe five ten on a good day—with a sandy-blond crew cut and a boyish face. He had on a salmon-colored polo shirt and khaki pants, and I noticed he wore one of those gold rings that are from those exclusive societies they have at the Ivies.

  “I like your ring,” I lied. The way Elliot looked at me, I knew he knew I was being sarcastic.

  “Thank you. It’s our crew team’s ring.”

  “Oh, right. CJ mentioned you do crew.”

  He squinted, perplexed. Georgia jumped in. “Mom, she means. Lucy calls Mom CJ. It’s a thing.” She shrugged and gazed at me innocently.

  “I row crew,” Elliot corrected.

  “I’m going to take a shower.” I already wanted to punch both of them. I knew I was being kind of rude. Normally I hated being rude—it made me feel small and weedy—but the spite felt good. I wanted Georgia to know I thought her boyfriend was lame without having to say it.

  “Nice to meet you, Lucy.” When Elliot smiled, his oversize front teeth made him look like a chipmunk.

  “Make it quick!” CJ called after me as I ran upstairs. “Dad’s making your favorite—soft-shells.”

  I almost got excited before I remembered I wasn’t eating fried food. I was only eating vegetables and protein until I got down to 110. I had just eight more pounds to go, but the smaller you get, the harder it is to lose weight. I could do it, though. Come sophomore year I would be skinnier than ever and tan from August beach days at my grandparents’ house on Cape Cod. And Stephen would be forced to look at me.

  I turned on the shower and let the hot water rinse my shoulders, washing off the grime of the city. I put on a pair of leggings and a baggy sweater, so CJ couldn’t comment on the size of my arms again. My weight was none of her business.

  Everyone was already sitting at the dining room table when I came back downstairs.

  My dad spotted me in the doorway and grinned. “Guess what’s for dinner, Sass? I made soft-shells for you and Georgia Peach.”

  “They’re amazing,” Georgia said, already digging into her second one. Georgia was thin—she would always be thin—but thin wasn’t thin enough anymore. I knew I weighed less than her now. Georgia ate whatever she wanted, like we both used to. We used to make peanut butter and honey sandwiches after school—two each—and eat them in front of episodes of Seventh Heaven before dinner. Our metabolisms were like sharks’.

  “You know what?” I said, the lie forming in my twisted brain. “This is the worst news, but I found out this semester I’m allergic to shellfish. They were doing free allergy testing at the health center. Apparently it makes me lethargic.” I served some salad onto one of the familiar blue china plates, along with a few roasted potatoes that I’d be sure not to touch. Potatoes are full of starch—empty carbs.

  “That’s terrible.” My dad frowned. “You live for seafood.”

  “I can have some seafood, just not shellfish.”

  CJ peered at me, two slits of aqua between black mascara. “That doesn’t sound right. I’ll make you an appointment with Dr. Williamson. Those school nurses don’t know shit.”

  Georgia flinched. Elliot widened his dopey eyes.

  “Well, I’ve stopped eating shellfish and I have much more energy, so maybe they do know shit.”

  Sometimes I can’t help acting like the worst daughter ever. Even my dad looked at me with disappointment written all over his face. If only I could tell them, I thought for the billionth time.

  But I couldn’t. I’d played it out in my head endlessly, how I would do it, what I would say. I’d tell CJ first. I’d sit her down, maybe in the living room, and I’d say the words. Tell her what I saw her doing that day. Who I saw her screwing in my father’s bed. But after the part where I tell her, the hypothetical scene stops rolling. Mentally, I cannot make it continue. I cannot see CJ’s response. Like death, it’s an incomprehensible outcome. Human nature does not allow me to go there.

  I picked at the salad, chewing each spinach leaf individually. My stomach growled and my hangover stabbed at my brain. Elliot started talking about his beloved crew team and explained how he and Georgia had met at one of his races. She had been running a Habitat for Humanity bake sale on the riverbank. The story was so cliché it made me want to puke. I twirled my fork around and was barely paying attention until I heard Elliot address me.

  “Are you dating anyone, Lucy?”

  “Why?” I asked. “I mean, not at the moment.”

  “Lucy used to date Parker Lines in high school,” Georgia said. “Don’t you know the Lineses from Maine, Ell? Luce, doesn’t Parker’s family go to Northeast Harbor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve definitely heard the name,” Elliot chirped brightly. “All boys in the family, right?”

  “Four brothers.”

  “Lucy saw Parker last night,” CJ commented knowingly, clutching her goblet of chardonnay. “He has a new girlfriend.”

  “Already?” My dad looked up from his plate.

  “It’s been more than a year,” I said. “I don’t care.”

  “You know, I really think you two can find a way to be friendly. Maybe we should all do lunch at Cove Club. I’ll call Patricia.”

  “Please don’t call Patricia.” I sighed. CJ loves the Lineses because Mr. Lines is a VP at Morgan Stanley. They donated the new turf playing field at Friends Academy.

  “Any new love interests out in California?” Elliot asked out of nowhere, his buck teeth sticking out like a beaver’s. “Mountain-men, explorer types? I’m sure it’s a very different dating pool out there.”

  “Not really,” I replied tartly. I felt CJ’s eyes on me like a hawk.

  “There was some guy who kept calling her over Christmas break,” CJ told Elliot. “And spring break, come to think of it. But maybe that fizzled. I receive limited information. Luce?”

  My stomach dropped at the insinuation of Stephen, erasing my appetite, though I would’ve rather been hungry than sad.

  “Well,” Elliot started, turning toward me. “I have tons of single friends interning in Manhattan this summer. If you’re interested.” He smiled a chipmunk grin.

  “Lucy will meet someone,” Georgia said. “It’s only her freshman year.” She gave me a look that told me she was sorry for Elliot’s nosiness. I didn’t know why she was still so nice to me when I acted the way I did. It was what I loved about Georgia even when I tried my hardest to dislike her—her incontestable goodness. There weren’t a lot of people in the world who were that purely good, without pride or expectation or even awareness of their goodness. I used to be more like that. Not Georgia good, but better than I’d become.

  The fact that I still loved Georgia for her goodness made me think that there might be hope for me, that I wasn’t lost to cynicism, that maybe one day, in a different situation, I’d be able to emulate the same selfless grace. Just not in this house, not with CJ across from me, the three-carat diamond on her ring finger burning my corneas.

  That was why Georgia should’ve
been the one to see what I saw that afternoon. Not because I wished that pain on her—I didn’t, I never could—but because she would’ve handled it the right way. She has more compassion than I do; she’s more levelheaded. She wouldn’t have let it ruin everything.

  * * *

  Six weeks later, the morning before I flew back to California, CJ made me step on the scale in her bathroom. I pressed my bare feet into the cold plastic and the little red line ticked up, teetering a couple notches above the 115 mark. 117. Ugh. How?

  CJ sat down on the side of the porcelain tub. Her face scrunched like it did when she was about to cry.

  “Lucy—” Her voice wavered. “You’ve got to gain some weight back. Promise me.”

  “I’ve gained four pounds since the beginning of the summer. You’ve been force-feeding me carbs.”

  “Four pounds isn’t enough. You still look unhealthy. I think you should see a nutritionist when you get back to Baird.”

  “That’s absurd. You’re overreacting.”

  “Overreacting? You’ve lost twenty pounds since last September! And you were tiny to begin with.”

  “I was not tiny,” I said accidentally, and I could see the concern intensifying on my mother’s face. “I’ll gain some more weight back,” I added quickly.

  “Do you still have your period?”

  “Of course.” A fresh lie.

  “I’m worried you have an eating disorder.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “You’re five foot seven, which with your weight means your BMI is eighteen. Eighteen is a disturbingly low BMI.”

  “How would you even know that?”

  “I’m in the health industry.”

  “You teach Pilates.”

  “Lucy!” CJ’s blue eyes were watery and fixed, suddenly scary with rage. She stood. “I am so fucking sick of your attitude. All summer long you’ve been acting like an entitled brat. Is this how you act around your friends?”

  CJ rambled on about my behavior, and I stared at the smooth white tiles on my parents’ bathroom floor. I looked at them for so long that my vision blurred. I wished they would suck me right into their sea of muddled whiteness.