Marianne by Elizabeth Hammer (best books to read in life TXT) 📕

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 picking 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.”

Patrick looked down at his clothes. “What’s my t-shirt got to do with it?”

“I was just adding in scenic details to make the story more interesting.”

He smiled. “Mmm, yeah. It totally helped.” He handed Marianne her ice cream off the glass counter. “Should we walk around?”

“Sounds good.” Marianne followed him outside, ready to have fun again now that she’d washed off all her guilt. “But I’d rather not run into any more of your girlfriends.”

“Aaahh...” He messed up his black hair with his free hand. “Could I have been a worse date tonight?”

Marianne stepped aside to let a group of gangstas strut between them and then stopped altogether. “Well, that’s kind of what I’ve been wondering about.” She took a bite of ice cream.

Patrick just stared.

“What? No!” Marianne crossed the distance between them, so they stood on the side of the walkway by a bench. “I wasn’t talking about you being a bad date. I was only wondering about…” Deep breath. “… whether this is a date at all.”

This time he blinked. And then he just stared.

“Well?” she said.

“Are… are you serious?” He ran a hand through his hair, looking as if he’d been transported to an alien planet.

“Yes. I am.” Marianne pointed at him. “And you need to stop treating me like a crazy person just because—”

“You’re acting like a crazy person,” said Patrick, seeming upset at her for the first time. He put his ice cream down on the bench. “I like you, Marianne,” he said, gesturing toward her with both hands. “I like you, and I want to date you. I really don’t know how I could be clearer.”

“You say that, but—”

“But what?” he said, throwing his hands up.

“If you would stop interrupting,” she snapped, “I could tell you.”

“Oh.” He seemed to calm down. “Go ahead.”

“Okay.” Marianne put her cup down by his and