Making Out (22 page)

 

Heather pulled out a pocket pack of tissues from her evening bag as she strode toward Lisa Marie and Marianna.

“Thank God you're here,” Marianna said, happy to see the one person she trusted enough to totally drop her guard. Heather had always been their rock, and just having her there was a huge relief. Her face was pink, her large gray eyes were clear and bright, and her stockings didn't have any runs. She looked like she knew what to do next—like she could handle whatever needed handling.

“What happened?” Heather asked, giving Lisa Marie a tissue and then taking another chair off the stack so she could sit with them. She pushed the chair close to Lisa Marie, so Lisa Marie was flanked on each side by her two best friends. Then she looked over Lisa Marie's head at Marianna. “I got your message. God, Marianna.”

God, Marianna
. It was a slight rebuke, but okay—probably deserved. Maybe she shouldn't have said that Lisa Marie could get permanently hurt. But hey—you never knew what could happen when things like this spiraled out of control.

“Bradley attacked her.” Marianna explained it as simply as she could. It didn't seem like the time to press Lisa Marie for more details.

Lisa Marie shuddered, and suddenly Marianna was sorry she'd used the word
attacked
.

“Oh, sweetie.” Heather's voice was so comforting. She gave Lisa Marie a hug.

“They
all
did. They're all assholes,” Lisa Marie spat out the explanation they'd been waiting for.

Heather gulped and shot Marianna a questioning glance.
How bad was it?

Marianna shrugged. She didn't know.

“Oh, God.” Heather hugged her again.

Just having her two friends there seemed to give Lisa Marie strength. She dried her eyes, for the first time looking like she wasn't going to cry anymore. Marianna wasn't sure what to do next, but Heather took charge. She got them on their feet and down to the parking garage and into the car. Perfect designated driver form.

Marianna gasped when she saw the clock in Heather's car. It was almost three A.M.

“I should call my dad,” she mumbled from the backseat.

“Maybe you should call him from Lisa Marie's,” Heather said. “Tell him we dropped her off first—and that's why you're going to be late?”

“No, you guys have to spend the night,” Lisa Marie said. “Please? I don't want to be alone.”

“Whatever you need,” Heather said reassuringly.

Actually, that's perfect,
Marianna thought. No way did she want to go home and face her father. She flipped her cell phone open and checked the call log. Yeah—now she'd missed
seven
of his calls. He'd probably left a bunch of furious, threatening, manipulative messages, like “You'll be going to air-conditioning school if you don't get your butt home instantly.”

She could listen to them later. Or never.

The lights were still on in the kitchen when Heather pulled into Lisa Marie's driveway. Lisa Marie's mother came to the back door and peered out when she heard the car.

“I can't take it,” Lisa Marie said wearily, making no move to get out of the car. “I don't want to tell them what happened.”

“Come on,” Heather said, getting out. “I'll tell them. It'll be okay.”

Marianna had to wind her way through stacked-up bags of potting soil, assorted clay pots, and dozens of little plastic containers of pansies on the Santoses' back deck to get into the house. Lisa Marie and Heather were right behind her.

Mrs. Santos held the door open and gazed into each girl's eyes as they walked in.

“I've been so worried,” Mrs. Santos said to Marianna, who came through the door first. “Is everyone all right?”

Before Marianna could answer, Mrs. Santos caught sight of her daughter. In the bright light of the kitchen, Marianna saw for the first time that Lisa Marie's eye makeup was streaked down her face.

“Ay, hija, querida, estás bien? Qué pasa?”
She rushed to hold her daughter in her arms. “Are you okay?”

“I'm okay, don't worry,” Lisa Marie said, letting her mother hug her.
“No te preocupes.”

Mrs. Santos looked from Heather to Marianna, her face worried. Marianna wasn't sure what to say.

“It was a bad night, but she's fine, Mrs. Santos. Really,” Heather explained.

There was a moment of strained silence, but Mrs. Santos finally nodded. “You must be tired after such a long night. And hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

Wow. Marianna wanted to kiss this woman for not prying or demanding all the gory details. It was obvious something bad had happened to her daughter, but here she was, letting Lisa Marie handle it herself, in her own way.

“I'd love a piece of raisin toast,” Lisa Marie said, her voice still small like a tired child.

“With cinnamon?” Her mother gave her a knowing smile.

Lisa Marie's mouth turned slightly upward for the first time in hours. “That would be great,
Mama
. And can Marianna and Heather sleep over?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Santos said. “I've already talked to Marianna's father three or four times, by the way. I'll call him again, now that you're here.”

Marianna's eyes opened wide, shocked. “You've talked to my dad? And he didn't go all ballistic?”

“He was a little upset,” Mrs. Santos said, obviously understating the case, “but Herman and I managed to convince him that if anything was really wrong, you girls would have called us.”

Yeah, Marianna thought. That was probably true. They would have called the Santoses—eventually. Lisa Marie's parents never acted like the world was coming to an end if you did something wrong.

Lisa Marie led the way to her bedroom upstairs. It was a girly room, all ruffles and lace, still decorated the way she'd wanted it when she first moved to the U.S. Marianna liked it, even though it had a major Barbie aesthetic going on. The flounces and white eyelet canopy bed all seemed homey and safe and comforting—like Lisa Marie's parents.

Lisa Marie flopped down on the bed in her gown. It was wrinkled by now, and streaks of beer stains dotted the front.

“So do you want to tell us what happened?” Heather asked, perching on a desk chair.

Lisa Marie shook her head, her hair rubbing the pillow. “I'll tell you in the morning,” she promised. “I'm so exhausted. I just want to sleep.”

“Okay,” Heather said. “But don't sleep in your dress—it'll make you feel like Euro-trash in the morning.”

For half an instant, the word
trash
made Marianna flinch. Would Lisa Marie take offense or think Heather meant something by it? But then she realized how great it was that Heather would go ahead and say it—just say whatever she would have said yesterday—rather than tiptoeing around just because of what had happened.

Heather went to Lisa Marie's closet and rummaged for a nightgown. Eventually she came out holding three—one for each of them. They took turns using the hall bath to get changed, and while Marianna was in there squeezing into a pink flowered nightgown that was six inches too short, Mrs. Santos brought up some extra blankets, sleeping bags, and pillows. Plus cinnamon raisin toast for all.

“I talked to your father,” Mrs. Santos called through the bathroom door. “He's fine with you spending the night.”

“Thank you,” Marianna called back.

It was like junior high. Marianna slept on the floor right next to Lisa Marie's bed, and Heather made a comfy place for herself on the floor near the window seat.

Before she knew it, Marianna was drifting off, half dreaming and half reliving her private time with Luke in the Lincoln Bedroom, over and over in her sleep.

 

Sun streamed in through the shutters, drawing wide bands of light and dark on Marianna's face, and forcing her to wake up whether she was ready or not.

She opened one eye and closed it again immediately. Ugh. Her head still hurt, her eyes felt puffy, and without even looking, she knew they were the size of marshmallows. But not the same color.

“It's about time,” Heather said, startling Marianna into opening both eyes and squinting up from the bedroom floor. “We're hungry! We've been awake for hours. Come on—get dressed!”

Marianna gazed at Heather, who was sitting there looking fresh as the morning dew in a pair of jeans and a cute, albeit outdated, little blue cotton sweater. Lisa Marie, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.

“Where did you get clothes?” Marianna asked. Lisa Marie was so much shorter than they were, those couldn't possibly be her jeans.

“Angela left some stuff in her closet.” Heather nodded down the hall. “Help yourself. We're going out for breakfast.”

Once she was vertical, Marianna's head cleared. She dressed quickly, wishing she'd gotten to the outdated little blue sweater first, because all that was left now were heavy winter sweaters and an oversized Duke University sweatshirt, left over from some old high school boyfriend of Angela's.

Oh, well. At the least the sweatshirt was blue—she looked great in blue.

Outside, she took a deep breath of cool, clear, morning air as they climbed into Heather's Saturn.

“You're both so great,” Lisa Marie said the minute they were out of her house. No one had been talking much until then, not wanting to be overheard by Mr. and Mrs. Santos. They were clearly dying to know what had happened last night but had still somehow managed to restrain themselves from prying. “What am I going to do next year without you two?”

“Unlimited nights and weekends,” Heather said, and all three of them laughed.

“So . . . do you feel like talking?” Marianna broached the subject first.

Lisa Marie nodded. “Definitely. But you go first. How was it in the Lincoln Bedroom?”

How
was
the Lincoln Bedroom? Marianna thought. She'd been thinking about that and dreaming about it all night. Luke had been amazing . . . the prom had been amazing . . . and she couldn't wait to order breakfast this morning, because blueberry pancakes were now her favorite food in the whole wide world. She'd never be able to eat them again without remembering how it felt to be in those hotel corridors and that hotel kitchen with him.

She told Heather and Lisa Marie everything that had happened. All the good, and all the rest. About how she had gotten so carried away in the heat of the moment that she'd whispered “Yes,” and before she knew it, they'd gone all the way.

“Wow.” Lisa Marie was almost speechless. “That's even bigger than my night.”

Heather had a faraway look on her face—which, by the way, happened a lot lately, now that Marianna thought about it. But she quickly snapped into focus. “So are you glad? I mean, was it what you wanted?” Heather asked.

That was the million dollar question, wasn't it? Marianna had been asking herself the same thing all night.

“Honestly? I'm not sure. I mean, I really like him. I just . . . you know . . .”

“Didn't plan to do it?” Lisa Marie finished her sentence.

“Yeah. Not last night, anyway. I don't know—I guess we were both a little drunk. I'm not sure it would have happened otherwise. And yeah, it feels weird to have done it without planning it and deciding in advance and everything. I guess I'll have to think about it for a while to know whether it was a good thing or a mistake.”

“Did you at least use protection?” Lisa Marie asked, not criticizing, just hoping for the best.

Marianna nodded. “Luke was prepared. And by the way, if he hadn't been, I
never
would have let it happen. It's not like I wasn't in control or didn't know what I was doing.”

That was the important part, she suddenly realized. Whether she liked her own choices or not, at least she'd made them herself. She was responsible for what happened to her—she, alone. Not Luke. And certainly not her father.

“You know, the one thing I'm glad about is that I don't think I'm afraid of my dad anymore,” she told them.

“Really?” Lisa Marie said. There was a pause. “
I'm
still afraid of him.”

Funny,
Marianna thought. But then, Lisa Marie hadn't taken charge of her life and made big decisions for herself, the way Marianna had. Oh, sure—some of the big decisions were made under the haze of a lot of alcohol and passionate romance, but so what? She knew what she was doing. Drunk or sober, she was still herself. It was her body and her life. Now that she'd taken the big step that was supposed to make her into a woman, she wasn't going to act like daddy's little girl anymore.