Shoot. Now they’d have to have the obligatory post-high school conversation about how long it’s been and what they were up to nowadays.
“Is that iced tea?” said Vanessa, hopping off the edge of the pool table. “Can I have some of that?”
Or not. Marianne nodded and gestured that Vanessa was welcome to it. “You wanna sit down?” she offered, standing up.
“OMG, thanks,” said Vanessa. “I’m sooo tired.” She climbed into the chair, putting her back to Marianne. “So, anyway,” said Vanessa to Christian, “there were these ridiculous Goth guys at the store. They were totally staring at us, and it was so gross. As if!”
Marianne could only stare at the back of her head and blink. The level of hatred was such that she couldn’t even feel it; there was only shock. With the notable exception of the Dark Lord, the Goths were ten times nicer and more intelligent than the git now sitting in her chair. Marianne lowered her eyes and tried to decipher the tattoo peeking out on Vanessa’s lower back just for something to do.
Ivan was standing near Marianne, and he leaned in close. “Either you’re a great judge of character, or you know her already,” he whispered.
Whoops. Guess she wasn’t hiding her thoughts as well as she thought. Marianne coughed. “We might have had some classes together last year.”
Vanessa squirmed in her chair, unzipping her surf-style sweater and taking it off with conscious ceremony. Wowzers. If Marianne’s memory was correct, then Vanessa was wearing a pushup. The daddy-issues-ensemble was obviously meant for Pa-trick, and the second he finished racking the last ball, Vanessa was on him. She leaned forward, revealing more of the tramp-stamp above her jeans. “Patrick, why didn’t you show up at the barbecue yesterday? You said you’d be there in the evening, and we were all waiting for you.”
Yesterday evening? Marianne smiled. Patrick was a bit busy yesterday, tending to garage murals and Marianne’s fat lip.
“I planned on going,” said Patrick, wandering closer to the tables. “But there was all this drama going on when I got home.”
“No way,” said Vanessa, obviously comforted that he had a good excuse. “What drama?”
“Well…” Patrick smiled crookedly, indicating how great this story would be.
No. He wouldn’t. That was private! Marianne tried to catch his eye, but he wasn’t looking at her. She was already blushing.
“It was unreal,” he said. “You see, my niece’s friend Lori asked her other friend Heather if she liked her other friend Andy, and—”
Marianne burst out laughing.
Patrick smiled and beckoned to her. “Has everyone met Marianne?”
Marianne went to stand by him, and he put his hand on her shoulder. Then he slid his hand down to rest on her hip.
Oh my. She was tingling all over.
“Hi,” said Vanessa, not quite looking Marianne in the face.
“Hi.” Marianne waved, and all the unfamiliar girls waved back.
“So, Marianne,” said Vanessa, trying but failing to put on a friendlier face. “Are you from around here?”
“Yeah, she is,” said Ivan, before Marianne could speak. “You guys went to high school together.”
“Really?” Vanessa squinted at Marianne. “Oh, yeah,” she said, smiling. “You were that shy Chemistry girl. You used to help me and my friends with our labs.”
“That’s the one,” said Marianne.
“Sorry,” said Vanessa, not sounding sorry at all. “I didn’t recognize you. You used to dress more, well…” She trailed off, letting the silence give the insult for her. And it was a pretty good insult, too. Marianne was a flat out goober in high school, no question.
“She used to dress more what, exactly?” said Ivan, facing Vanessa head on and crossing his arms. “You didn’t finish your sentence.”
Marianne bit her lip to hide her smile. How cute was this? He was defending her.
“I was just telling the truth.” Vanessa put her hands up. “No offense.”
“Well, go ahead then,” said Ivan. “Share with us all your incredible fashion secrets. I’m on pins and needles.”
Patrick tightened his grip on Marianne, and she felt him trying not to laugh.
Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Bite me, Ivan.”
“Don’t mind her,” said Hector, putting a comforting hand on Ivan’s shoulder. “She’s just jealous because she’s looking rather haggish tonight.”
Patrick leaned down to Marianne’s ear. “That was my line,” he whispered, pointing proudly to himself.
“This is bad.” Marianne grimaced, trying to keep herself calm even though his hand still on her hip. “They shouldn’t be doing this for me; I didn’t care about what she said.”
“It’s fine.” Patrick shook his head. “They always treat her like this. She kinda likes it, I think.”
“Yeah?” said Marianne. “So is it cool if I join in, then?”
“Don’t you dare,” he said, pinching her. “She’s a bit sensitive about you, if you haven’t noticed.”
Marianne rolled her eyes. “Nice try, kid. I’m not the one she’s sensitive about.”
“Yeah, well…” Patrick cleared his throat. “You wanna get out of here?”
Marianne nodded.
They were through the arcade and almost to the doors when Patrick remembered that he’d forgotten to pay for their share of the pool table. “Won’t they cover for you?” asked Marianne.
“They would,” he said. “If they ever had any money.”
“I’ll wait here,” said Marianne. “Vanessa started foaming at the mouth when she saw us sneaking off.”
Patrick walked away, and Marianne wandered over to the prize counter. Vanessa’s arrival had ended the snarky game between them, and Marianne was getting nervous for the first time. Was this a real date now?
An employee appeared on the other side of the counter. “Can I help you?”
“No, thanks. Just looking.” Marianne returned her attention to the little plastic prizes. Patrick had put his arm around her, and he didn’t seem to be playing a part then. How was she supposed to act? Should she start teasing him again? Ugh, this was the worst feeling in the world. She really, really wanted this to be a real date, but was she actually supposed to believe that he’d changed his mind about her overnight? And even if he did really like her, the question still remained: Why? Why the heck would he like Marianne of all people? Maybe she should play sick and just go home…
“Are you okay? You look confused.”
Marianne looked up, startled to find that the girl hadn’t left. “Yes, sorry. I was just lost in thought.”
The girl nodded sagely. “What’s his name?”
“No.” laughed Marianne. “I was thinking more about myself, actually.”
“Let’s hear it,” said the girl, leaning her arms on the glass counter. “I’m bored.” Her name tag said Amy.
Marianne fixed her bangs and stared at the girl. Why not? “Amy, do you watch talk shows?”
“Love ‘em,” she said.
“Excellent,” said Marianne. “So, you know how dysfunctional people always end up with other dysfunctional people?”
Amy bit her lip ring and closed her eyes. “I know all about that, yeah,” she nodded.
“So, let’s say there’s a normal, healthy guy.” Marianne cleared her throat. “But this guy chooses a girl who’s not as... as normal as he is. Why would he do that? Does that mean that he’s not actually as perfect as he seems?”
Amy nodded fervently. “Absolutely, yes.”
“What?” whimpered Marianne. Why was she talking about this to a stranger? This was a bad idea.
Amy just kept nodding. “That guy definitely has issues.” Forget selling tokens, this topic was obviously Amy’s specialty. “Could be a narcissist.” She squinted for a moment. “No. Probably codependent.”
Marianne huffed. “Couldn’t it just be that he’s really nice?”
“Sorry, girl.” Amy had no pity.
/> An older woman was lurking nearby to get help with a long string of tickets. The woman looked at Marianne and bobbed her head up and down. “I vote narcissist.” She glanced at Amy with a knowing look. “I was married to a narcissist.”
Marianne blinked at the intruder in shock. Not only was she butting in, but her hair was dyed way too dark for her skin tone. Level three-N with grey roots? She needed some serious touch up.
The woman smiled a little. “Sorry, I just had a question for her.” She nodded toward Amy. “But she’s right, sweetie. If he chose you, it was based on his own problems.”
Marianne just stared. How rude was that? Besides, she thought they were using the third person here.
“He doesn’t know that that’s why he chose you, though,” said Amy. “These things are decided on a subconscious level. I see it all the time. My advice? As soon as he runs out of credits for House of the Dead and stops ignoring you, just end it.”
“He’s not ignoring me,” said Marianne. “We were playing pool with his friends, and he just went to—”
“You don’t need to excuse him,” said the Three-N lady, frowning at Marianne. “You wouldn’t have brought it up unless you sensed something was wrong. I know what I’m talking about. Trust your intuition.” She turned to Amy. “Can I get five of those little whistle straws?”
“Sure.” Amy took the string of tickets from her. “You’ve got to get yourself healthy first, and then you can find a healthy man. They won’t touch you otherwise.”
Marianne looked at each of their smug faces in turn. “I don’t like you guys very much.”
“I know,” they said in unison. Stupid synchronized know-it-alls.
Three-N frowned. “You know what? Give me a little green ring, too.”
Amy nodded and slapped the ring on the counter. “I’m telling you, girl. Get out tonight.”
Marianne spotted Patrick across the arcade. He came over smiling and stopped by the impromptu therapy session. “Hello,” he said sweetly to the group.
Amy looked ready to cry that such a beautiful man was so messed up. “Bummer,” she said.
Marianne resisted the urge to flick Amy in the forehead. She cleared her throat. “All paid up? Are we ready to go?”
“Yeah,” said Patrick. “That twenty was burning a hole in Hector’s pocket, and he decided to treat us.”
“That’s nice of him,” said Three-N, a trace of scolding in her voice. “That’s what nice boys do.”
Patrick looked at Three-N, a little surprised. “Yeah, he’s a good guy.”
Three-N gave him a stern look. “The question is, are you a good guy?”
Oh, no. This was getting way out of hand. “He’s a great guy,” said Marianne, trying to give her the kill sign without Patrick seeing.
Amy leaned over the counter and put her hand firmly on Marianne’s shoulder. She silenced Marianne with her eyes and then glared at Patrick. “Have you ever heard the term codependency?”
Patrick opened and closed his mouth once before speaking. “Yes.”
Marianne laughed in a pitch much higher than normal. She had never been in a more ghastly conversation. “I don’t think we need to go over all this now.” She smiled and waved her hand around. “There are, you know... games to play.”
Three-N shook her head. “Do you realize that this girl is an individual?” she asked Patrick. “She’s a human being with wants and desires of her own. She doesn’t want to follow you around everywhere and hang out with your friends. If you think she’s just an extension of yourself, then this isn’t going to last.”
Marianne had expected Patrick to look seriously confused, but he didn’t. He looked stricken. “You’re right,” he said, nodding. He looked at Marianne. “I shouldn’t have made you come here with these guys. I just—”
WHAT! Marianne tried to look as panicked as she felt. “Hold up!” said Marianne. “These people don’t know what they’re talking about. I wanted to—”
“We’re talking about the underlying issues that we’re sensing here,” interrupted Amy. “I know it probably makes you uncomfortable to talk about yourself, but this stuff has to be said.”
“No,” Marianne said desperately. “I love talking about myself...”
“Honey,” said Three-N. “We’re just trying to get this boy to see how wonderful you are.”
“He knows!” Marianne slapped a hand over her mouth and then dropped it. “I mean, no. I’m not wonderful. He’s just not... you know... This is not the point! He didn’t do anything wrong. He’s not, like, toxic or whatever.”
“No one’s labeling here, honey,” said Three-N.
Marianne gaped at the ceiling. “Oh my word, I cannot believe this is happening right now. I don’t even know you.” She looked at Patrick. “I don’t even know them.”
“It’s okay, Marianne.” Patrick smiled a little. “I’m a grown man. I can handle it.”
Marianne was just plain angry now. He was acting as if she was lying. “There is nothing to handle.”
Patrick frowned. He looked uncomfortably at the other women and then back at Marianne. “Look, I’m really sorry—”
Marianne held up a finger to shush him. “Patrick. This is a misunderstanding.”
He laughed. “You don’t have to say that. I get it.”
“I don’t even get it,” cried Marianne, gesturing wildly to herself.
Patrick smiled at her outburst. “It’s fine. I know I was a jerk to bring you here. You can’t hide that.”
“I’m not hiding anything,” she moaned.
“Well, good.” Patrick tucked a lock of hair behind Marianne’s ear. “Because that’s the last thing I would want.”
All Amy’s protective resentment seemed to drain right out of her. She was mush now. “Geez...” she said slowly.
Three-N tilted her chin down at Marianne. “You do have problems.”
So true! Marianne put both hands on top of her head and whined at the heavens. “I know.”
“Are you ready to eat, Marianne?” asked Patrick.
The strangers spoke in unison again. “She’s ready.”
Ew! It was like the Borg had assimilated a psychoanalyst, or something. Patrick was watching Marianne’s appalled face for her answer. “Resistance is futile,” she whispered.
12
Pestiferous Date
Marianne kept from exploding until they had made it all the way to the doors. Almost. “Dude! I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, but it’s wrong.” She went through the door he was holding open.
“I’m not thinking anything.” Patrick let the door close behind him, and they started heading south. “Are you hungry? What do you like?”
“Liar!” Marianne stopped by a bush and lowered her voice. “You can’t be thinking nothing after that reaming you just got from two strangers.”
Patrick sighed. “Okay. I’m not thinking nothing.”
“What are you thinking?” she begged.
“I’m thinking...” He put his hands in his pockets and thought for a minute. “That I wish you had told me. And not strangers.”
“See?” She pointed her finger at his face. “Wrong. Wrong thoughts. See?”
Patrick’s eyes widened a little like he wanted to laugh at her.
“I didn’t tell them anything.” Marianne spread her hands out helplessly. “I swear! They made all that crap up.”
Patrick raised his eyebrows.
Marianne took a deep breath. “I was having an innocent, pleasant discussion with that employee about talk shows. And then they just... wigged.” She used her hands to imitate an exploding brain.
“Okay.” He sounded as if he was speaking to a two-year-old.
Marianne tried to relax her locked jaw enough to speak. “It. Is. Not. Okay.”
“Then explain it to me,” Patrick demanded. “Over dinner.”
He grinned at her, and she looked away. Fricking, easy-going bastard. “Fine.” She crossed her arms. “But you’re pi
cking where we go.”
He grabbed her hand and towed her to the taco place.
Marianne’s chicken burrito was beginning to taste like... something. What’s something nasty? Bacon. Bacon burrito. She pushed her plate back a quarter inch. “Can I speak now?”
Patrick looked at her suspiciously. “Does the subject fall within the guidelines I set?”
“No.”
He picked up his root beer and leaned back. “Fine. Proceed.”
“Well, since you don’t believe me that I didn’t slander you to those harpies, I’ll just give you the whole story, blow by blow, so you can see how bizarre the whole thing—”
“I thought you had done the girl thing,” he said, looking almost ashamed of himself. “You know, ‘I’ll tell you why I’m standing here crying. Because my jerkface boyfriend let his friends crash our first date.’”
“I made us go with them!” said Marianne. “Me.”
“I know. I’m just paranoid.”
“Okay.” Marianne broke a tortilla chip in half and tossed it to the edge of the plate.
“You still want to give me the blow by blow, huh?”
She snapped her head up. “Yes.”
He stood up with their trash and threw it away. “Lay it on me,” he said, mock-annoyed.
Marianne’s grin was so wide, her molars were probably showing. “Don’t worry, you’re going to like this. It’s funny when you know the whole story...” She clapped her hands together excitedly. “So, I’m just standing there, right? And then—”
“Ice cream?”
“Sure,” she smiled. She’d eat lard for him as long as she got to explain. Patrick pulled her up, and they walked next door. Marianne ordered some chocolate thing with a funny name and then started up her narrative again while Patrick ordered his.
“So, anyway. The old lady is hovering behind me like a vulture, and the young one asks if I need help because I look confused—What, Patrick? Well, then don’t smile at me like that—So, I tell her, ‘No, I’m just thinking.’ Then she asks me what I’m thinking. I tell her it’s nothing, but she just won’t let it drop. She said that she was bored and—Yes, this is the short version. Be quiet—And I tell her that I was thinking about this TV show about jacked-up marriages. Then they both just, like, jump all over me and start preaching as if the conversation was all about me.” She may have lied a bit right there, but everybody edits. She motioned to him with her hands. “And then you walk up with your impeccable timing and Depeche Mode t-shirt and get the codependency speech. The end.”
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