Marianne

by Elizabeth Hammer

  She was deluded, but Marianne didn’t want to tweak her any further. “Okay,” she said.

  “What do you mean, okay?”

  “Nothing,” she said, fiddling with her ice cream.

  “Seriously?” said Danielle. Her violent tone made Marianne look up. “You can’t just okay me, little girl. Give it to me; whatever you’ve got. Give it.”

  “N-nothing,” sputtered Marianne. “I just don’t see... I just didn’t know that about you guys, is all.”

  “I love my husband,” said Danielle. “No matter what you think.”

  “I didn’t say that!”

  Danielle glared at her for a second, and then her face crumpled. She stood up, tripping a little on her robe, and started crying over the sink. “You’re right.” she gulped. “I’m a bad wife.”

  Marianne sat up on her knees. “What happened?”

  “We had a fight about the mayo.” Danielle sniffed and wiped her nose on a paper towel. “He wanted me to force Mickey to eat better. I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, turning around. “I was just talking to him about it, but he flipped out and twisted everything I was saying. I mean, I let him be as much of a father to Mickey as to the other kids, don’t I?”

  “Of course,” said Marianne. “Where did that come from?”

  “You know.” Danielle waved into space. “From the thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “You know—how he’s not really Mickey’s dad and junk,” she said. “I told you this.”

  “What the? No, you didn’t!” Marianne’s eyes were bugging out of her head. Good grief, these Devlin’s were making babies with all sorts of people. No, no. Horrible thought. Erase. “I think I would remember something like that.”

  “I never told you?”

  “No! Who’s the...” Marianne stopped and squinted at her. “You’re lying. You’re telling me he and Michael just happen to have the same name? And that all your kids just happen to look identical?”

  Danielle bit her lip. “I got together with Michael after his dumbass brother knocked me up and then got himself thrown in jail for armed robbery.”

  Marianne mouthed, “Wow.”

  “Yeah,” said Danielle, rolling her eyes and sitting down in a kitchen chair. “Stevie was a really neat guy. So anyway, I don’t do that to Michael, right? I don’t even think about it anymore. Michael’s the dad. That’s it.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Marianne absently, making a weird pyramid with three fingers. “Mickey’s father is Wolverine’s uncle… but they’re siblings.” She still couldn’t get over it.

  “The fight came out of nowhere,” said Danielle. “Something else is going on here. You don’t think he’s cheating on me, do you?”

  Marianne looked up, but she didn’t want to give her dead-honest answer to that question, which was “how should I know,” so she ignored it altogether. “How do you calculate those genetics?” she said. “Is it like three-quarters shared genes? Brother-cousins...”

  “You’re right, I’m being lame,” said Danielle. “He’s not cheating. I’m just... Gah! The way he looked at me tonight. Do you know how scummy you have to be to deserve that kind of look? I don’t... I don’t like it.” She looked down. Then she sat bolt upright and clenched her fists in front of her. “I just want him to be glad, you know? Glad he’s with me.”

  Those were high hopes—ones she could feel in her bones. Marianne knew exactly how she felt, but continued to feign distraction. “Some sort of mutant brother-cousins...”

  “Shut up, you idiot.”

  Marianne sighed and tried to channel her inner Dr. Phil. “Maybe you should just go tell him all that.”

  “He doesn’t want to hear it,” said Danielle.

  “He didn’t?”

  “No, I mean that it wouldn’t matter if I did tell him,” said Danielle. “This can’t really be about Mickey; it’s too bizarre. He’s upset about something else. Something way bigger.”

  “Like what?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Danielle scowled at the ground and rubbed her finger between her eyes. “I don’t even want to know. I just want him to forget about it and... forget about it.”

  Something was off about the way Danielle was acting. “Are you, like... lying, right now?” said Marianne. “Do you know the real reason he’s mad?”

  Danielle laughed and closed her eyes. “No. And I don’t want to know. I don’t like fights.”

  Marianne clucked her tongue.

  Danielle glared at her.

  Whatever. She’s the one that’d forced Marianne into the conversation. “Oh, I see,” said Marianne. “You just don’t like being on the wrong side of a fight.”

  “Shut up,” said Danielle. And she was dead serious, so Marianne did. “That isn’t what this is about. Besides, no one likes being on the wrong side of a fight.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry,” said Marianne.

  “Never mind.” Danielle blew her bangs out of her face and then smiled down at Marianne. “Nana didn’t need me tonight, you know. She was sleeping fine. I came over here and woke her up so I’d have someone to play with.”

  Marianne laughed and chucked her spoon over her head into the sink. “You are so messed up.”

  “I know.” Danielle traced out the design on the linoleum with her toe. “I usually blame it on my mom, but that’s getting old. Especially when I’ve got my perfect brother showing me up all the time. He’s not all jacked up like me.”

  That was true. “But he had you around to protect him, right? You could just say that you raised him and take all the credit.”

  “I’ll do that,” mumbled Danielle. “He was so fricking cute when he was little,” she said, looking up and smiling. “You’d just die. He loved Godzilla. He used to watch it in Japanese if we couldn’t find another version. Over and over again. And he lived on Pudding Pops.”

  “What’s a Pudding Pop?”

  “What the? How old are you again?” Danielle made a disgusted noise and shook her head. “Anyway, when he was in kindergarten, we got him a suit and tie from the Goodwill for our grandpa’s funeral. Oh man, he loved it. He thought he looked so slick. We couldn’t get him out of it, not even if it was a hundred degrees. It was way too small, and he was so fricking dirty all the time...” She shook her head. “Little high waters.”

  Marianne stuck out her bottom lip. Too much cuteness. “Did he get in trouble a lot?”

  Danielle shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. But it was usually just because he didn’t know any better.” She studied her hands for a moment, probably blaming her mom for not taking better care of him. “He never talked back. Well, except for this one time... He was real little. He knew not to go in the street, but he did it anyway to go see his friends in the apartment building across from ours. And, of course, it was me who had to go over and haul him back inside. I put him on my bed and told him he had to stay there.” She held up her hand and pointed to her wrist. “He bit me.”

  “Heh.”

  “Oh, he was so convinced that he knew better than me,” said Danielle. “I got mad and said that he’d have to stay there for an hour. He jumped to his feet and balled up his fat little fists. His face got all red, and he screeched, ‘You monster!’”

  Marianne leaned her head back on the cabinet. “You are a monster, what’d you expect?”

  “I just laughed and ran out so he wouldn’t see.” Danielle stared off into space and nodded for no reason. “He used to call me ‘Danny’ when he was a baby. He’d say, ‘You’rn mine Danny.’ Just like that.”

  “Oof, don’t say stuff like that,” said Marianne. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

  Danielle looked over at her. “You need to be good to him. I’ve been meaning to tell you that. He’s not like me, you know.”

  Marianne scratched her head behind the ear and cleared her throat softly. “I’ve noticed.”

  Danielle gave her a nasty stare. “I’m serious, kid. I’m not saying that he won’t be a fool no
w and then, but you need to forgive him. For everything. He...” She paused, her eyes darting around the ceiling for the right words.

  “He deserves it,” said Marianne.

  “Exactly.” Danielle nodded. “He even puts up with our mom, for heaven’s sake. He’s not like me. I’m a runner.”

  All of a sudden, Marianne caught on to the strangeness of the new topic. “Why did you want to tell me that? To be good to him?”

  Danielle shrugged. “Good to know.”

  “Yeah, but it’s obvious. Why’d you feel the need to say it?” said Marianne. “Are you saying I’m going to hurt him? Are you saying that I’m a runner?”

  “No,” said Danielle. “Geez, calm down.”

  “I’m calm,” said Marianne, wondering why she’d come off so intense. She was calm.

  “I know you’re a good girl,” said Danielle. “I just know how easy it is to hurt somebody without meaning to. And not to be rude, but you remind me of myself sometimes.”

  Marianne smiled and looked down, tightening her hold on her knees. She sighed. “Look, I know I’m not the most sane creature on the planet, but... I get what you’re saying about running away from things.” She tried not to think of herself puking in the bushes at Disneyland and failed. She shook her head. “It’s just that... that was a stupid way to be. I see that now, and I’m not going to go there again.”

  “Aww,” said Danielle in her patronizing mom tone. “That’s cute.”

  Marianne looked up quickly. She had to push back the paranoia that Danielle might know about her secret life. “I’m not going to jack up things with your brother. I’m not.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m serious, Dan.”

  Danielle nodded. “I’m serious, too. Don’t mess it up. If you can’t make it work with him, then you’re hopeless.”

  “I’m not going to mess up,” said Marianne.

  Danielle looked down at her hands and started picking at her manicure. “What about when you do?” she said softly. She looked ready to cry again.

  What, indeed? “Hell, I don’t know,” said Marianne. “He’d be free to leave, I guess.”

  Danielle nodded. “He’d be free to leave, then.” Then she looked up at Marianne and smiled sideways. “Well... let’s just hope he doesn’t.”

  “Yeah.”

  22

  Propaganda Machine

  Friday came, and then another Friday… but the sex book remained. Marianne dipped her fingertips in the bowl of water and ran them along the edge of the egg roll she was wrapping. Maybe a little Chinese food would get Mom off her back for a while.

  Dad walked in while Marianne was frying her chicken egg rolls over the stove. He kissed her on the top of her head. “Well, this is nice.”

  “I hope they’re good.” She flipped a few over. “If they are, then I think you should clean up.”

  “I always clean up,” he said.

  “Right, right.” Marianne turned and pointed the tongs at him like she’d just remembered something. “Except that’s me you’re thinking of.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Maybe we should make your mother do it.”

  “It’s your house,” said Marianne, shaking her head.

  “Mary, I’ve told you—it is not possible to burn down a house with a dishwasher.” He broke off a piece of a finished egg roll and tried it. “Your mother’s not a complete idiot.”

  Marianne snapped her head up. “Ooooo… you are so busted. I’m gonna tell her you said that.”

  He was undisturbed by her threats. “And then I’ll tell her what you said about the dishwasher. Who’s going to be busted then?”

  “Me,” she mumbled. Marianne finished cooking and put everything on the table. She’d way overdone it. There was enough for three days' worth of dinners. She washed dishes while her parents ate.

  “Sally called for you,” said Mom.

  Marianne clenched her teeth. “I know.”

  “Did you call her back?”

  “I will.” Not. There was a big Goth party at the beach tomorrow. Sally had hounded Marianne about it all week. Marianne was avoiding her calls but knew that it was probably useless. No doubt Sally would just show up at the house and muscle her into the car.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” asked Mom.

  “Maybe later.” Marianne dried her hands on a dishtowel. “I’m not hungry yet.”

  “Well, what are we going to do with all of this?” said Mom. “It won’t keep—it’ll get all soggy.”

  Marianne frowned at the table. “I’ll just take it over to Dan and Nana.”

  “Okay,” said Mom, getting up. She separated the leftovers onto two plates and handed Marianne the small one. “Go take that to Nana. I’m not up to dealing with her today.”

  Marianne took the plate and headed out of the room. She stopped at the doorway, though. Since when did Mom not want to see Nana? She was up to something. “Gimme that other plate,” said Marianne. “I’ll take it.”

  “No. I’ve got it.”

  “Mom,” said Marianne slowly through her teeth.

  “What?” she said innocently.

  She knew it. Mom was going to Danielle’s herself so she could talk to Patrick. “You’d better behave yourself.”

  “Excuse me?” Mom didn’t like Marianne’s tone at all.

  “Sorry.” Marianne looked down at the ground. Mouthing off to Mom was only okay when Mom was in the right mood. This obviously wasn’t the right mood.

  “You’d better watch it, Marianne.”

  “Mom, you’re going to embarrass me,” she whined. “I’m a grownup. This isn’t fair.” Nice. She sounded so very grown-up right then.

  “I’m not going to embarrass you,” said Mom. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  Marianne saw Dad snicker at his rice. “No,” said Marianne.

  “Good.” Mom crossed her arms. “Then stop being a brat and take that plate to Nana.”

  “Fine,” snapped Marianne. She reached over by the coffeemaker and snatched up Changing Bodies, Changing Lives. “But I’m taking this with me.”

  Marianne stormed next door and gave the food to Nana. She stayed with Nana while she ate and tidied up the house. Marianne and Mom got back to the front porch at the same time. Mom grabbed the book out of Marianne’s hands. “Oh, stop looking at me like that, Mary.”

  “Well, what did you say?”

  “What do you think?” snapped Mom. “I told him to keep it in his pants.”

  “Mom!” she cried.

  Mom stomped into the house and slammed the door behind her. Nasty, meddling, temperamental meddling meddler. Marianne ran flat out over to Patrick’s house. She stuck her head in the door and knocked loudly. “Hello?”

  Patrick came into the living room. “Hey. Nice job—even Michael’s eating it.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Marianne came in and shut the screen behind her.

  “Come eat with us,” said Patrick, walking toward the kitchen.

  “No, I already had dinner. I just came to apologize for my mom.”

  Patrick stopped abruptly and turned around. “Your mom said that you didn’t eat yet.”

  “Oh.” Marianne bit her lip and scrambled for something to say. “I… I guess you’re right. I forgot.”

  Patrick stared at her.

  “Um…” Marianne touched her forehead. “I’m just distracted. I got in a fight with my mom.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” she laughed. “It was stupid. I’ll tell you about it while we eat.” She followed Patrick into the kitchen and saw the weirdest fricking thing ever. The kids were all perfectly silent, positioned like statues all around the room. But like bizarre, distorted statues. Reaching this way and that way, stretched out in uncomfortable looking positions. The baby was blowing raspberries and laughing at them from the computer chair.

  “What next?” huffed Mickey. He had one foot on the side of the trashcan, one hand on the microwave, and one hand on the knob of the ca
binet. He looked like he was in pain.

  “Left foot on the counter,” said Patrick.

  Mickey took his toe off the trashcan and bent around awkwardly to get it up to counter height. Patrick grinned at the look on Marianne’s face. “Kitchen twister. These kids need more toys; they were driving me nuts. Wanna play?”

  “Yeah,” said Beth. “Wanna play? It’s fun.” Beth’s face was beet red, and her neck was all splotchy from the effort of keeping herself up in midair between the kitchen table and the freezer door.

  “Maybe next time,” said Marianne. “Where are your parents?”

  “Outside,” said Patrick. “Eating in peace.” He turned around and started getting food for Marianne.

  “I think you need to move Adam,” said Marianne, pointing toward the little boy. “He looks like he’s going to pass out.”

  “All right,” said Patrick. “You guys are done.”

  Wah! They all screamed at him, but Patrick ignored them. “Go eat. We’ll play again tomorrow.”

  The kids did stop whining, but they just scattered around the house and didn’t go back to their dinner. Marianne went and stood by Patrick. “How hungry do you think I am?” she asked. He’d stacked her plate three inches high.

  “Do you want to sit in here or in the living room?” Patrick smiled and handed her the plate and fork. There was something funny in the way he looked at her. Like he was watching her too closely.

  “Living room.”

  Patrick sat on the couch and Marianne on the floor at the coffee table facing him. She ate, but she didn’t like it. It wasn’t the food that bothered her; it was the situation. Like Patrick was prodding her with a stick to see if she’d react. Marianne flicked a piece of rice at him when she caught his eyes on her one too many times. She played it off like teasing, but she was really venting. She could almost see him calculating the calories as she ate them.

  “So what did you fight about with your mom?” asked Patrick.

  “What do you think?”

  He just shrugged.

  “You don’t have to pretend.” Marianne took another bite when she was sure he was watching. No reason to waste it; she was only doing it for his benefit. “I know she had a you-know-what talk with you.”