Marianne

by Elizabeth Hammer

  He just nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

  She grabbed his fingers.

  He squeezed her hand, but it was a wimpy effort.

  “Don’t be a jerk now,” she whispered.

  He looked offended. “Marianne, we’ve been over this. I’m never a jerk.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Sorry.” She tilted her head to the side. “But let me tell you something, anyway. You said that Brook was open and bubbly, not like me, right?”

  He looked scared to answer.

  She laughed. “It’s okay,” she said. “I know what I am. And I need your answer to make my point.”

  He smiled and touched her face. “Not like you.” He ran his fingers along her jaw. “What she felt was out in the open. I have to use a pickax to get at your thoughts.”

  “And that freaks you out,” she said.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “You’re so much more vulnerable, so untouchable.” He brushed her mouth with his fingertips. “You’re not like Brook. You were born ready to be broken.”

  Marianne closed her eyes. He knew everything.

  “You don’t like to hear that.”

  Marianne opened her eyes and smiled sideways at him. “I guess you don’t know everything, after all.”

  “Rude.”

  Marianne winked at him and cleared her throat. “Okay, back to my point. Just because I’m not very demonstrative about it—demonstrative? Is that a word?”

  “It is.”

  “Sweet. So just because I’m not very demonstrative about it, doesn’t mean that I don’t see how much you’re worth. I’ve never said I love you to a guy before. If you could see inside my head, you wouldn’t be afraid anymore.”

  Patrick squinted at her. “Is that so?”

  “Yes. It is so.”

  He smiled a little. “How come I believe you?”

  “Cause I’m a really good liar.”

  21

  Blue Screen of Death

  “You expect me to believe that?!”

  That’s what Dad had cried the next morning after Marianne came home. He’d seen Patrick’s truck on the street and freaked. She’d told him that Patrick came home in the middle of the night—which was true—and that nothing had happened—which was not true. Oh, well. Two days had gone by, and he was over it now. Mom, however, was still hysterical. She’d followed Marianne around all weekend with a book called Changing Bodies, Changing Lives.

  Marianne was stoked when Monday came so she could breathe the free air again. The embarrassing sex book aside, it sucked to be around them after she’d lied flat out like that. It was a creepy feeling, like the rules of the universe had shifted. Logically, she’d always known that she could deceive her parents about something big, but actually experiencing it was surreal. Mom and Dad weren’t omniscient, after all. What??

  Marianne stood in the middle of her room and brought her thoughts back to her task—cleaning up her bedroom. She got the idea to do it when she was drinking her coffee that morning. By five-thirty that afternoon, she was ready to start.

  Tap, tap.

  Ooh, a distraction. She crawled up onto her bed, slid open the glass, and leaned into the dusty screen. Patrick was wearing her favorite outfit on him—blue jeans, white t-shirt, and a short-sleeved plaid shirt open at the front. “Hey there,” she said. “How was work?”

  “Peachy,” said Patrick. “What are you doing in there?”

  Marianne looked back for a second. “Cleaning my room.”

  “With your mind?”

  Marianne tried to look offended. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I was taking out the trash and spotted you there.” He pointed behind her. “You haven’t moved for two minutes. I’ve been standing here just laughing at you.”

  “Come in and help me, then,” she whined. “This is really hard.”

  Patrick smiled and walked away. She heard him open the front door a minute later. “Did you get in trouble or something?” he asked as he walked down the hall. “Since when do you clean your room?”

  Marianne ran to the bedroom door and slammed it in his face. “Hold on! You can’t come in yet.”

  “Wha... You are so weird,” he said through the door.

  “I’m protecting you.” Marianne scrambled around on her hands and knees, shoving certain articles of clothing under the bed—namely bras, underwear, and anything with a Goth connotation. “And no, I’m not in trouble, exactly. My dad’s just been giving me the evil eye all weekend, so I figured I’d do something to get on his good side.” Marianne hoped he’d forget to ask why she was getting the evil eye. No way was she going to tell him why Dad was mad. She stood up and opened the door. “Sorry,” she said. “Had to hide the liquor.”

  “Marianne,” he said, looking shocked. “I don’t even know her.”

  “What? Who?”

  “That’s all right,” he said, patting her on the head and walking in. “It didn’t really make sense anyway.” He sat down on the edge of her vanity. “What’s got your dad upset? He seemed tense at church yesterday, and you guys left pretty quick.”

  Marianne turned around and picked up a stack of books so he couldn’t see her face. “He just wanted to get home because I’d been gone all week, blah, blah, blah. I think he just wanted family time,” she said. “Was he rude to you or something?”

  “No.” Patrick sounded surprised by her question. “He just seemed preoccupied.”

  “Oh.” Marianne faked a laugh. “I’m sure it was nothing.” Smooth, girl. That kind of line never aroused suspicion. Luckily, the doorbell rang just then and Patrick went to answer it.

  A moment later, Danielle charged into Marianne’s bedroom. “What happened?”

  Marianne dropped the trash bag she was holding and pointed at herself. “Me? What?”

  “Nana,” said Danielle. “I just went over with her dinner; she was starving. Why didn’t you give her lunch?”

  “Oh, shoot!” Marianne put her hands on her head. “I forgot.”

  “You forgot?” said Danielle. “This isn’t something you’re allowed to forget. You only have to do Mondays. It’s easy.”

  “I know.” Marianne glanced back and forth between Danielle and Patrick. “I’m sorry. Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know,” said Danielle. “That depends on how many times you forgot last week while I was gone.”

  “I didn’t forget last week; I even went when I was sick.”

  “So you figured that you were good to skip it today, huh?”

  “No,” said Marianne. “I didn’t say that.”

  “She’s a person,” said Danielle. “You have to do it every time. I can’t just usually remember to feed my kids. A social worker wouldn’t be very impressed with that story.”

  “Danielle,” said Patrick from behind her. “She just forgot.”

  “Oh, shut up.” Danielle turned and glared at him. “Are you gonna have the same attitude when she forgets to feed your kids? You gonna just blow that off, too?”

  “Dan...”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down!” Danielle turned back to Marianne. “Why didn’t you just take half your lunch to her when you ate? You didn’t even think of her then?”

  “No, I...” Marianne blinked a few times; the stress was fuzzing up her vision. “I didn’t eat today; I didn’t even think. I’m sorry, Dan. I’m an idiot.”

  Danielle stared at her for a moment. “Okay then.”

  “Okay then?” said Marianne.

  “Yeah.” Danielle wrinkled her nose. “I wasn’t really that mad, anyway. I just wanted to see you squirm.” With that, she flopped backwards onto Marianne’s bed and sighed.

  Marianne clucked her tongue. “You weren’t even mad?”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  Marianne rolled her eyes and lay down on the bed by Danielle. “I thought you were gonna rip my throat out.”

  Danielle shrugged. “Scaring people is my one talent. I need to use it.”

  “Huh?” said Marianne. “I t
hought getting pregnant was your one talent.”

  “Ooh! Speaking of food and kids. I didn’t tell you guys about the call from the school yet.” Danielle rolled onto her side and propped her head up in her hand. She waited for Patrick to go sit by the vanity and then started telling them about how the school principal had called about Mickey a few weeks ago. He’d offered to enroll both the kids in the free lunch program. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “Why would he do that?” asked Patrick, though he didn’t really look like he cared. He seemed annoyed by the story.

  “Wait for it,” said Danielle. “He was so pushy that I agreed. They gave the kids these little green cards to take to school every day, and it seemed like everything was going great. Until today.” She paused and raised her eyebrows for effect. “The principal just called. He took it all back. He said he’s so sorry, and that he finally believes that we don’t need help. You know why? You know why? It’s because my darling son Mickey has been refusing all the food they offer. They sat him down and discovered what I’ve known all along—Mickey Padilla only eats two things. Chicken nuggets in the shape of T-Rexes…” She gestured toward Marianne to finish her sentence. “And...?”

  “Oh crap,” said Marianne. “Mayonnaise sandwiches.”

  “Bingo,” laughed Danielle. “They thought I was starving the kid of nutrients.”

  “Those idiots,” said Marianne. “Why didn’t they just ask you?”

  “I don’t even care.” Danielle rolled onto her back and smiled. “It was all worth it just to get that call today.” She sighed and stretched her arms out. “It feels so good.”

  “Yeah, but now you have to make lunches again,” said Marianne.

  “Gladly,” said Danielle, sitting up. “Who knows best, Marianne? Who knows best?”

  “You do.”

  “Yes!” She gave Marianne a high-five and stood up. “All righty, gotta go.” She walked out of the room and shouted, “Don’t forget again!” before she closed the front door.

  Marianne turned to Patrick and laughed. “I thought she was going to punch me.”

  Patrick was staring down at the carpet with that same annoyed vibe coming off of him as before.

  “Hello?”

  He looked up at her. “How come you didn’t eat today?”

  Marianne’s breath caught. She could feel the guilt all over her face. But the guilt was for the past times she’d lied to him, not for today. She hadn’t meant to starve herself today. “I, um...” She stuttered over how to best explain herself. “I just wasn’t hungry in the morning. And then when I was, I decided to wait for dinner. I thought, you know... maybe we could go out or something, so I was waiting for you.”

  He still looked irritated. “Are you lying to me?”

  Marianne blinked. He’d never called her out like that. And besides, she’d told the truth! She was just deciding to get offended when Patrick spoke again.

  “Sorry,” he said. “That was rude.”

  Marianne looked down at the ground. No need for him to feel bad; she usually was lying. “No. It’s okay.”

  Patrick stood up. “It’s not okay. You shouldn’t have to—”

  Marianne cut him off by shaking her head and laughing. “Don’t worry about it. I totally looked like I was lying; I know that. It’s just that... we’ve talked about this before, so it made me uncomfortable when you asked.”

  “Oh, no.” Patrick grimaced. “I’m a nag.”

  “You are not.” Marianne crossed over to him and put her arms around his waist. “It made me nervous because I don’t like you worrying for me. I don’t like you thinking I’m doing stupid stuff.”

  “Okay.” Patrick sighed. “But you know, it would be a lot easier for me to relax if you’d stop forgetting to eat. It’s weird, Marianne.”

  “Agreed,” she said. “But I didn’t forget today. I was waiting for you—only you haven’t asked me out yet.”

  “Marianne York,” he said in a formal voice. “Will you have dinner with me?”

  “I will.”

  Patrick smiled, slapped her on the rear, and towed her out of the room.

  Marianne couldn’t fall asleep that night. She tried mashing her face into the pillow, putting on socks, closing the curtains... nothing made her comfortable. Why couldn’t she hold it together for even three days in a row? Seducing her boyfriend. Skipping breakfast and lunch. Forgetting Nana. She’d even gone off on Mom tonight when the book had reappeared. She’d done it with righteous, deceitful style, too.

  Cringe.

  When Marianne had called Patrick on Halloween, she’d looked at it as a kind of reboot on her life. A clean install that would make everything function better from that point on. Try again, loser.

  Round and round it went in her head. She just couldn’t get off the topic, and that had to say something about how self-absorbed she was. About two AM, the old fantasies started to show up in her thoughts. Composing a list of The Ten Most Melodramatic Ways Things Could Go Tragically Wrong was tons of fun, but definitely unhealthy, so she decided to get up.

  Marianne picked her way through the dark house and into the den. She was just flipping on the computer, crossing her fingers it wouldn’t crash again, when she noticed a light on next door at Nana’s house. She crossed over to the window and saw Danielle and Nana standing on the pavement beneath her. She shoved the window open. “What the hell?”

  “Good morning to you, too,” said Danielle.

  Marianne looked through the screen toward the sky to see if it was actually much later than she’d thought. It wasn’t. “What the hell?” she repeated.

  Danielle shivered in her robe. “Come hang out with us.”

  Come what? Why were they together? Why now, in the middle of the night? Why...

  “Okay,” said Marianne. “I’m in.” She turned her back on the garbled computer screen and went out through the back door. She met them on the side yard and followed them on tiptoes through the wet grass in Nana’s backyard and into the house. Danielle closed the door and followed Marianne into the den. Marianne blinked at the bright lights in the house and asked, “Why are you hanging out at three in the morning?”

  Danielle shoved her from behind. “Mad that we didn’t invite you earlier?”

  “Maybe.”

  “She couldn’t sleep,” said Danielle, flopping down on the couch by Nana. “It’s pathetic, but keeping her company is more fun than staying home.”

  Nana sat forward and changed the channel to the Home Shopping Network with the remote. “A-N-N… wait,” she said, looking back at Danielle. “Does annoying have two N’s?”

  Danielle rolled her eyes and looked at Marianne. “You were right. She does it to get at me. It’s personal.”

  Nana winked at Marianne and gestured toward the other couch. Marianne sat down, smiling. “Do you guys want me to make something to eat?”

  Danielle sat bolt upright. “What? Like a party?” she said. “Yeah! And let’s play games, too.”

  Marianne leaned away from her ridiculous enthusiasm. “You can calm down.”

  “Eff off, Marianne,” said Danielle. She started to sit back, but got slapped up the back of the head by Nana. “What?”

  Nana tried to look as if she hadn’t done anything. “Watch it,” she mumbled.

  “Whoa,” said Marianne. “Maybe a party’s a good idea. What do you guys want on your ice cream?”

  “Corn flakes,” said Danielle, getting up. “I’ll help you.”

  “Don’t put any of that on mine,” said Nana.

  Danielle got the cereal while Marianne pulled the vanilla ice cream out of the freezer. Danielle poked her head around the pantry door and said, “Marianne, do you think I’m pretty?”

  Marianne turned around slowly. Danielle was the last woman in the world to ask a juvenile question like that. “Are you high?” she said.

  “No.” She walked over and started helping Marianne scoop ice cream. “I mean, pot doesn’t count, right?”r />
  “Yes,” cried Marianne. “Pot counts!”

  Danielle snickered. “So judgmental,” she mumbled. She sighed and stopped working mid-scoop, letting the spoon clatter to the counter. “I don’t have the energy for this.” She sank down and lay back on the linoleum floor, putting her hands behind her head.

  Marianne just stared. Was this normal pot-induced behavior? Should she call Michael? Was that snitching?

  “You didn’t answer my question,” said Danielle. She looked seriously depressed.

  “What question?” said Marianne, still not moving.

  “Stop looking at me like that, stupid,” she snapped. “I didn’t smoke pot. And I’m not drunk, either.” She smiled. “No matter how empty the wine bottle is.”

  “Okay good,” said Marianne. She could handle drunk. She turned back to the ice cream and crushed a handful of cereal over the first bowl. “I was about to turn you in, you know.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Well, not to the cops. Just to Michael,” said Marianne. “But you can’t be mad about that because it’s not like you’d get in any trouble from him.”

  Danielle laughed. “You think he’d be cool with it?”

  “No.” Marianne bent down and placed Danielle’s bowl on her stomach. “But since when does his opinion matter?”

  Danielle looked shocked. “Since always.”

  “Yeah right,” laughed Marianne. She walked into the living room to give Nana her bowl, but she was already asleep on the couch. She went back into the kitchen and sat down on the floor by Danielle.

  Danielle reached up on the counter for Marianne’s ice cream and handed it to her. “You really think that?” she asked.

  Marianne nodded.

  Danielle stiffened and looked away. “Well, that’s not true.”

  Marianne gnawed on the end of her plastic spoon and tried to figure out what was so offensive about what she’d said. Danielle couldn’t be that blind about how her marriage worked. “I wasn’t trying to be mean,” said Marianne. “It’s just that, you know... you’re the boss.”

  “Just because he lets me act however I want most of the time doesn’t mean I’m the boss.”