Marianne pulled a shopping cart out of the stall and headed for the bread section. Patrick followed behind. She stopped and turned toward him. “What are we supposed to get first?”
Patrick looked down and checked the list. “Bagels.”
A one-word answer, of course. It wasn’t exactly suspect in this case, but since that’s all she’d been getting from him today, she noticed it. “Blueberry or plain?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she realized that she’d whispered the question. “Blueberry or plain?”
“Whatever,” he said. Apparently, the no-sugar-added cupcakes were very interesting to him, and he didn’t want his thoughts interrupted.
Marianne grabbed the blueberry, set them in the child section of the cart with deliberate care, and then started pushing the cart toward the produce side of the store. She wished she had the courage to ask him what his problem was, but the freaking ton-and-a-half of guilt she was carrying around made her avoid it instead. His problem was pretty much guaranteed to be something caused by her, anyway, so she just let him stay mad. He sure as heck had the right. It was kind of sick, but it actually made her feel a little better.
Patrick caught up with her halfway there. “So, um... did you find your cell phone yet?”
The cell phone that Santa Cop confiscated? Yeah, not yet. “No luck, so far,” she said. “I think I’ll just have to get a new one.” Her alibi for the beach party was that she’d gone over to Sally’s house to eat chips and watch Ab Fab. She’d probably lost her phone there or at Blockbuster.
“Maybe you should wait a little longer,” he said. “It’ll turn up.”
“Yeah, maybe,” she said. “Bananas?”
Patrick looked at her for a second and then checked the list. “Yeah. And grapes.”
She nodded and leaned on the handle of the cart while Patrick picked out the produce. She decided to change the subject by ragging on someone else. Always effective. “Why are we doing this? Did you ever think that maybe if we stopped giving in to Danielle’s every whim, then she might stop?”
Patrick looked up from the broccoli/cauliflower display. “Feeling abused?”
“I’m always on the lookout for an excuse to feel abused,” she said. “But today I’m feeling it for you. She didn’t even really ask; she just shoved the list in your face and pushed you out the door.”
“That’s her way of showing affection,” he said. “I take what I can get.”
Marianne moved the cart closer to him. “I saw your portion of the rent check on the counter before we left.” His portion had been the entire amount.
Patrick was busy putting a twist tie on a bag and didn’t look up.
Marianne took the bag when he finished. “She must love you a lot.”
“As do you,” he mumbled, turning away.
“What?” She had to follow him for about ten feet before he turned around. “What did that mean?”
Patrick stepped up to her, close enough that he had to tilt his head down to see her. “I just don’t think that you’re really in a position to criticize.”
“What are you talking about?”
He shook his head. “Never mind.”
“When did—” She looked around at the other shoppers and then forced her voice down to normal volume. “When did you ever pay my rent or go shopping for me?”
He exhaled and looked away toward the pickles and olives. “You’re right; I’m off the hook there. Your dad takes care of all that.”
“What? I don’t...” Marianne hardly knew what she was defending against. “I’m still going to school—He offered! I’m not going to mooch off him forever. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Obviously.”
She wanted to stand there and stare him down for acting like such a jerk, but she bolted instead. She turned, grabbed the cart, and pushed it around the corner to the next aisle. She moved down the cracker section, throwing in random kid-friendly snacks. How could he say something so mean? When she sensed him behind her again, she turned around. “In what way do I use you, Patrick? How? How?”
He gripped the handle of the shopping cart, holding it in place. “Where’s your cell phone, Marianne?”
Whoa. That was unexpected. “I lost it.” She stared at him like he was crazy. Which he was. The phone had nothing to do with anything they were talking about. “I never asked you to buy me another one. Is that what you thought? You thought I brought up the rent check because I was worried you wouldn’t have any spare money for me? Do you think I lost it on purpose so I could get you to buy me a fancy new one? What the hell, Patrick!”
He stared back at her. “I just want to know where your cell phone is.”
“You’re acting crazy.”
“Answer me,” he said. Marianne started to move away, and Patrick jerked the cart back roughly, smacking her in the hip. “Answer me,” he said.
Marianne stepped away from him, startled. “What the hell was that?” she said, rubbing her side.
“I didn’t mean for it to hit you. I’m sorry.” His face didn’t soften any, though.
“You don’t look sorry,” she said. “What is wrong with you?” She turned around and speed-walked toward the front of the store.
“Marianne.”
She stopped.
Patrick left the cart and walked up to her—it was clear from his face that he’d calmed down. “I really didn’t mean to do that. You were closer than I’d thought.” He apologized again with his expression.
She nodded. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it. I was just really worked up.” She let her shoulders sag. “Can we just stop this now?”
He nodded.
They worked their way across the store, mostly in silence or task-related conversation. Very tense. In the frozen food section, Patrick started glancing at her more often, seeming like he wanted to start things up again; but then he got a call from Christian. Maybe that kid really was psychic, and he was doing Marianne a favor. She took the list from Patrick so he could chat as long as he liked without interruption.
Seriously, what was she supposed to say to half the stuff he’d said? She’d never done anything that would make him think she was using him for money. It was ludicrous. And that stuff about her dad—where did he come off calling her a moocher? The only issue he’d brought up that made any sense was the phone thing. But come on! Lying about the phone’s whereabouts was the most insignificant thing she was hiding from him. If he knew anything else about what’d happened at the beach... well... he’d probably throw the whole shopping cart at her. Marianne put a box of dishwasher detergent in the cart and looked toward Patrick at the other end of the aisle. He ended his call and put his phone back in his pocket.
He walked over to her. “Christian’s having a party this Thursday,” he said. “He’s house-sitting for an uncle in Anaheim Hills till Friday, so he’s going to celebrate his birthday in style.”
“Wow.”
Patrick took charge of the cart, and they headed over to the dairy section. “The house is right on the edge of a cliff, and the view of the fireworks is amazing.”
“Neat.”
“I’m gonna go,” he said as they walked past the orange juice. “What about you?”
“Yeah, of course.” It was an automatic response. Of course, she was going with him; they were an item.
Patrick didn’t even acknowledge her answer.
Marianne put some butter in the cart. Why did he need to ask? And—also!—why did he ask in such a backward way? Now she regretted answering so quickly; she’d lost the opportunity to make him beg. Or to make him ask politely, at least. Frick. She stopped in front of the shelf of egg cartons, but she couldn’t focus enough to remember Danielle’s specific brand and size preferences at the moment. She crossed her arms and just stared. Okay, forget how he’d asked her to the party. She wasn’t going to let this get to her. She wasn’t. They had enough to fight about.
“Get the pricey ones so we can get out of
here,” said Patrick. “She can’t complain about that.”
“Wanna bet?” said Marianne, forcing a normal voice. She lifted a carton of free-range eggs off the metal shelf. “She doesn’t like organic stuff. She thinks it sends a snotty message to anyone who might poke around in her fridge.” She put them in the cart, anyway. She looked up.
Patrick was staring past her in a distracted way, and she followed his gaze. A girl was walking by on the other side of the deli meat. Scratch that. Low rise blue jeans and a g-string were walking by on the other side of the deli meat. And Marianne’s boy just continued to stare.
“I’m right here, you know,” she said quietly.
“What?”
She smiled and batted her eyelashes. “Maybe you could try to be less obvious while I’m standing right next to you. That’d be nice.”
Patrick looked at the g-string, who was halfway to the greeting cards now, then back at Marianne. “I wasn’t...”
She laughed a little, not that it was funny. “It’s all right. I mean, she dresses like that for a reason, right? Who wouldn’t look?”
“That’s not what I—” he fumbled for a second. “I just wasn’t, that’s all.”
“Yeah.” Marianne bit her lip thoughtfully and nodded. “Except that you were.”
Patrick stepped back, throwing his hands up. “I don’t know what to say to you. I wasn’t.”
“Do I look mad?” She thought she was behaving very maturely, actually. “I just want you to wait till later. That’s all.”
“No, you don’t.” Patrick ran his hand through his hair. “You want me to say that I was looking. But I wasn’t.”
Okay, now she was mad. “Hello! I saw you. Just admit it.”
“Gah,” he said between his teeth. He squeezed the back of his neck with his hand. “Only you could find a way to get mad because a guy said he wasn’t looking at chicks.” He dropped his hand and turned away, shaking his head. He picked up a yogurt and stared at it. “I wasn’t,” he repeated in a weary voice.
She wasn’t going to let him turn this back on her. Not this time. “You’re lying to me,” she said.
Patrick looked up at her, slowly, and met her eyes.
She grabbed the handle of the cart. “Milk,” she said. “We need milk.”
Thursday evening, Marianne sat in front of her mirror critiquing her makeup job and her soul. For a girl who had no problems, how was it possible that she had so many problems? At least the Sally problem had disappeared quickly. Turns out, Sally and the gang hadn’t intended to abandon her at all; they hadn’t even seen the cop car. Todd had run back to the Pinto and said that Marianne got a ride with some skater dude. That jackass was a smooth liar; she had to give him that. She stuck her tongue out at her reflection and picked up her lip pencil to fix her lines.
“Sweetheart, are you ready?”
Marianne jumped and spun around. Patrick was standing in her bedroom doorway. “Yeah. Yeah.” She got up and grabbed her bag, totally off kilter because of the tone he’d just used. It seemed like a long time since she’d heard that in his voice.
He grabbed her waist as she walked into the hall. “You look great.”
“Thanks,” she said, barely audible. “I love you, you know.”
Patrick touched her face and laughed a little. “Don’t do that, baby. You’ll mess up your mascara.”
Marianne blinked away the tears that had just sprung up and nodded as he kissed her cheek.
Marianne was not impressed. Everything was obviously very expensive, but luxury isn’t easy to appreciate when it’s butt ugly. The one plus was that she got to drink ice water out of a pretty champagne flute. Christian felt bad for neglecting to buy water bottles, so he’d set her up in style. She and Patrick were leaning against the wall away from the crowd, soaking up all the rose-colored glory of the living room.
“Seriously,” she said. “It’s like one of those packrat houses from TV, except everything’s carefully crammed into curio cabinets.”
Patrick laughed into his soda.
“Heaven forbid that any dust get on the cut crystal unicorns.”
Patrick squeezed her arm. “Just wait till you see the fountain out back.”
She smiled. “Can’t wait. I’m gonna go get more water, kay?”
Marianne watched her feet so she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone as she walked down the hall and through the swinging kitchen door. Halfway across the kitchen, she spotted something on the tile and jumped back automatically.
“What is it?” said someone behind her.
Marianne spun around. That someone was gorgeous, stylish, and tall, with the most badass fro Marianne had ever seen. The girl stepped into the room, letting the door swing closed behind her. “What is it?”
“A newt,” said Marianne.
The girl screamed, “A what?” and then bounded forward across the kitchen in her awesome, spike-heeled boots and leapt onto the island. She scrambled up on hands and knees, knocking over an ugly iridescent vase.
“Wha—No!” Marianne ran forward, but it fell to the floor and smashed into a million rainbow pieces at her feet. Right along with her champagne flute.
The girl stared straight at Marianne’s face. “Is it gone?” she whispered.
“No, you overreacting person,” said Marianne. “It wasn’t actually a newt.”
“But you said it was a newt.”
“So what?” Marianne glanced over at the thing and then back at the fro-girl. “Who would ever see a newt? It just looked like a newt.”
Fro-girl was still on her hands and knees. “Do you even know what a newt looks like?”
“I’m the one who saw the thing.” Just then, there were some loud voices outside the kitchen door and they both turned to look.
“Crap,” said Fro-girl. She slid across the island, used Marianne’s shoulder to hop down, and then dragged Marianne across the kitchen. “In the pantry!”
Hiding seemed like a strange choice, but what the hell. Marianne climbed into the little closet after Fro-girl and sat down in the cramped space. “Is it Christian?”
Fro-girl smacked her on the ear to shut her up and closed the door on them. They waited there in silence and darkness for a full minute, but the kitchen stayed empty. Right then, it started to dawn on Marianne how much worse being found in the pantry would be than being found with the broken glass. “Hey psycho,” whispered Marianne. “I think we should go clean up now.”
“Agreed,” said Fro-girl. “I think I’m sitting on a dustpan.”
“How convenient.”
“We’ll need a broom.”
“I’ve got some of those,” said Marianne, feeling the wall behind her.
“What? More than one?”
Marianne twisted around to reach farther down the handles. “I don’t know. Maybe the others are mops.”
“More than one mop?”
Marianne twisted again, a cardboard box cutting into her back. “No, no... one broom, two dust mops, one—What the hell does it matter?”
“I don’t know. Don’t you think it’s fun to poke around in people’s stuff? Two dust mops is a real score.”
Oh geez. “You keep a list or something?”
“Just in my head. I once found a peanut butter jar of fingernail clippings.”
Marianne turned her head toward the girl in the blackness. “Whoa. You get fifty buttinsky points for that one. Only three for the mops, though.”
“Sweet! Nobody ever wants to play with me. My boyfriend always yells at me for snooping.”
“What a jerk,” said Marianne. “You should leave him.”
“Oh, I did. Last month. But not because of that. He was just being kind of shifty, you know? I mean, I wasn’t going to stick around for that kind of thing, especially because—”
Too much information. Marianne coughed. “Can we go now?”
“You’re a bit rude. Did you know that?”
Marianne exhaled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to... Ahh! Some
thing slimy just touched my foot!”
Wow. The girl was like a gazelle. She sprang from the pantry and back onto the kitchen island before Marianne could even snicker to herself. Marianne grabbed the broom and dustpan on her way out. “Okay, now I’m actually sorry. That one was rude.”
Fro-girl sat down Indian-style on the counter and tapped her fingers on the granite. “I think I like you, little girl.”
Marianne swept up the glass and stuffed the now-homeless wad of silk sunflowers into a drawer. “We should put some money in the drawer, too. I’ve got a twenty in my pocket.”
“I’ll put in another twenty, and then you’re going to show me the newt.”
Marianne shut the drawer on the money and then walked over to the water dispenser. She pointed to the thing. “I’m pretty sure it’s just a piece of dead grass.”
Fro-girl walked over very cautiously and stared at the newt-shaped weed. And then she started hyperventilating. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, wheezing in and out, in and out.
“Are you okay?” asked Marianne, before she realized that Fro-girl was laughing, not having a panic attack. “Yes... I get it,” said Marianne. “This makes me majorly lame.”
Fro-girl started cackling and sunk down onto the floor between the island and the stove, leaning against the back of the cabinets. “It—It’s a newt.”
Marianne nodded. “I know, right?”
Fro-girl pointed at Marianne and managed to speak through her hysteria. “No! No, it looks nothing like a newt!”
Marianne snorted and then composed her face so she could defend herself. “I came upon it unawares. It looks like a newt when you sneak up on it. I swear.”
“You are so lame!”
Marianne sat down on the floor across from her, facing the door. “I’m sorry, but I only jumped a little in slight confusion.” She pointed behind Fro-girl to the kitchen island. “Look what you did.”
“Hello?” she said. “I thought there was a newt in the kitchen.”
Marianne laughed once and rolled her eyes. “I hope you don’t have kids. You’re the kind of mom who’d put the stroller between herself and an attacking pit bull. And besides, a newt wouldn’t hurt—Ow!”
Marianne Page 31
