Some of them Witches

Chapter 19

Meet me at the front in 20? Marianne was surprised to see Miller was already there when she arrived. The front was what they called their go to mangonada place. Despite serving the best spicy mango smoothies in Austin, the place was always empty and during high school they could sit in there for hours, talking or studying while the tiny lady that prepared them hung out in the back, watching TV until someone came in. After their first few visits, they realized people rarely if ever did and somehow it stayed open week after week.

She ran to him as he stood from the little table and they hugged so tightly Marianne thought she could hear her bones crack, her feet slightly hovering above the ground for a moment until he held her out at arm's length as if inspecting a child for growth after not seeing them since last Christmas.

"Surprised I haven't changed a bit since our last face time?"

"Don't sass me, I'm still jet-lagged," he warned.

"We were in the same time zone."

"Jet lagged, hungover, whatever."

"You've barely been back a day. How are you hungover?"

"My dad busted out a 20-year-old bottle of Scotch to celebrate the return of the prodigal son."

"Which I'm certain you humbly accepted a lot of."

"He really twisted my arm."

"I'm sure."

"Nate's too." Marianne took this as an opportune time to sip her mangonada. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She wondered how much time keeping the straw in her mouth would buy her. "What did he say?"

"Not much. Just that some guy was a dick to you and that instead of helping you, he might have made things worse."

She thought back on it. "That's not-- he didn't make it worse. It was just the usual entitled bullshit and Nathan just happened to be there for it."

He waited as if expecting her to say more. When she didn't, "He says you talked about what happened in Marfa."

She winced. "I didn't. Not really. I just used arson and murder as general examples."

"Yeah, that sounds really nonspecific and definitely not about you," he said flatly.

"I'm confused. Are you calling me an arsonist or a murderer?"

"Not everyone's accusing you of something."

Marianne sighed. "I know you're not." She took another pensive sip. "But I really don't need to talk about it. I'm over it."

"You're over the safehouse you built with Vee being burned down resulting in two dead innocent people?"

"I thought you said you had a surprise for me."

"You're avoiding the subject."

Who wouldn't? "I'm just trying to figure out if the surprise is an impromptu therapy session."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it."

"I thought psychoanalyzing friends was a conflict of interest."

He held up his hands in defeat. "You win this round," he admitted, "but only because I'm actually excited about the surprise."

"Win! What is it?"

He pulled out his phone and tapped a few things. "According to maps, you'll find out in about 10 minutes."

Marianne narrowed her eyes at him, all suspicion. "The suspense is killing me."

Miller got up and called out to the kitchen, speaking in Spanish to the familiar woman, remarkably unchanged since their high school days. He checked his phone and grabbed his mangonada. "Let's go. She says it's cool to leave our cars here and our uber's pulling up."