Marianne Elizabeth Hammer (top young adult novels TXT) 📖

“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?”

“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.”

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