We always want to test our normalcy by someone else's love

That morning, after the scholarship results were announced, he and Marianne were sworn in together. She had been out the night before and looked a bit hungover, which pleased him a bit because the ceremony was so formal, they had to wear robes and recite Latin. After that, they went to a coffee shop near the school to have breakfast. They sat at a table on the street outside the store as passers-by carried paper shopping bags and talked loudly on their phones. Marianne drank a cup of black coffee and ordered a croissant, which she didn't finish. Cornell ordered a large ham and cheese omelet with two slices of buttered toast and milk for tea.

Maryann said she was worried about Paige, the only one of the three who didn't get the scholarship. She said Paige would feel terrible. Cornell took a breath and said nothing. Peggy didn't need tuition aid or free school housing because she lived with her parents, both doctors, in Black Rock, but Marianne was determined to treat the scholarship as a personal matter, not a financial fact.

At any rate, I'm happy for you, said Marianne.

I'm happy for you, too.

But you deserve it more than I do.

He looked up at her. He wiped his mouth with a towel. You mean, financially speaking? He asked.

Oh, she replied, well, I mean you got better grades than me.

She looked down at her croissant. He looked at her.

Of course, you're more deserving financially than I am, she said. I mean, it's funny they give out scholarships without doing a financial check.

We come from two very different backgrounds, I think, in terms of class.

I don't think about it that much, she said. She quickly added: 'I'm sorry, that was rude of me to say. I should probably think about it more.

You don't think I'm your working-class friend?

She smiled, more like a contorted face, and said, I know we met because your mother worked for us. I don't think my mother was a good employer, either. I don't think she pays Lorraine very well.

It's not high. It's almost unpaid.

He cut a thin slice of omelette with a knife. The eggs are fried too hard.

I can't believe we've never talked about this before, she said. I think it makes sense if you hate me.

No, I don't hate you. Why should I hate you?

He put down his knife and fork and looked at her. She looked worried.

I just feel weird, he said. I feel weird speaking Latin in a black tie. You know, at the dinner party last night, the waiters who served us were all students. They worked their way through school, and we just sat there and ate the free food they put in front of us. Isn't it terrible?

Of course it is. The idea of "meritocracy" is evil, and you know I think so. But what can we do? Give the scholarship back? I don't think that's gonna help.

Well, it's always easy to find reasons not to act.

You know you wouldn't do it either, so don't make me feel guilty, she said.

So they continued eating as if they were engaged in an argument in which both sides were equally persuasive and which they had chosen, more or less randomly, to discuss. A large gull landed on the base of a nearby street lamp, its feathers looking surprisingly soft and clean.

If you think people should be able to go to college and get an English degree, you don't have to feel guilty about doing it, because you have the right to do it.

You don't care. You don't feel guilty about anything.

She began to look for something in her handbag. Is this what YOU think of me? She asked casually.

No, he said. He wondered how guilty he thought Marianne would be about anything, and added: I don't know. I should have thought of that when I came to Trinity. I just look at these scholarships and think, My God, what are those people in high school going to think?

Marianne was silent for a second. He had a vague feeling that he was not quite right, but he did not know where. Honestly, she said, you used to care a lot about what the schoolmates would say. Then he remembered how everyone had treated her, how he had treated her, and he felt guilty. He didn't expect the conversation to end like this, but he smiled and said, It hurts. She smiled at him and raised her coffee cup. In that instant, he thought: he had the last word between them in high school, and now she had the last word. But she's more forgiving, he thought. She's kinder than I am.

After Jamie finished telling his story, Marian went inside and came out with another bottle of sparkling wine and a bottle of red wine. As Neal began to remove the wire from the first bottle, Marianne handed Cornell a corkscrew. Peggy began to clear everyone's plates. Cornell is ripping the foil off the top of the bottle, and Jamie leans over and says something to Maryann. He put the screw - opener into the cork and turned it downward. Peggy took his plate and laid it on top of the others. He pushed the handle of the corkscrew down, lifted the cork from the neck and made a smack noise.

The sky darkened to a cooler blue, and silvery clouds hung at the edge of the horizon. Cornell felt his face swell and wondered if he had a sunburn. He sometimes liked to imagine Marianne as she would be when she was older and had children. He imagines them all in Italy, and she's making a salad or something, and she's complaining to him that her husband, who's older than she is, maybe an intellectual, is boring. Why didn't I marry you? She would ask. In this dream, he could see Marianne clearly, see her face, and feel that she had been a journalist for years, perhaps living in Lebanon. He couldn't see himself very well and didn't know what he was doing. But he knew what he would say to her. Because of the money, he would say. Then she laughed and, without looking up, continued to make the salad.

Over the dinner table, they talked about a day trip to Venice, which trains to take and which galleries to visit. Marianne told Cornell that she thought he would like the Guggenheim, and Cornell was glad she said that to herself, glad she thought he was the only person in the room who appreciated modern art.

I don't know why we bother going to Venice, Jamie says. It's all Asian now, taking pictures of everything.

I hope you don't meet any Asians, Neil said.

There was silence on the table. Jamie says: What? It was obvious from his voice and slow reaction speed that he was drunk.

You were being racist when you said that about Asians, Neil said. I'm not making a mountain out of a molehill.

Oh, because it offends all the Asians in this room, right? Jamie said.

Marianne suddenly rose, and said, I'll get the dessert.

Cornell was disappointed at her spineless performance, but said nothing.

Peggy followed Marian back into the house, and everyone at the table remained silent. A giant moth circles in the dim air, and Jamie hits it with a napkin. A minute or two later, Peggy and Marian brought dessert from the kitchen: a large glass bowl filled with sliced slices

Two halves of strawberries, a stack of white China plates and some silver spoons. Two bottles of red wine. They passed the plates round the table and they filled them with fruit.

She's been slicing these little bastards all afternoon, Peggy said.

You spoil me too much, Elaine said.

Where's the cream? Jamie asked.

In the room, said Marianne.

Then why don't you take it out? He asked.

Marianne coldly pushed her chair away from the table, rose, and entered the room. It was almost dark outside. Jamie looks around to see who meets his eye, approves of his request for cream, or agrees that Marianne is overreacting by throwing a tantrum over such an innocent request. But everyone seemed to be avoiding his sight, and with a loud sigh he pushed his chair aside and followed her into the house. His chair fell noiselessly on the grass. He entered through the side door to the kitchen, slamming it behind him. The house also had a back door to the other side of the garden, where there were trees. There's a wall this way. Only the tree canopy is visible.

Cornell turned his attention back to the table and found Neal staring at him. He didn't know what Neil's eyes meant. He narrowed his eyes and tried to tell Neal that he was confused. Neil looked significantly toward the house and back at him. Cornell looked over his shoulder to the right. The kitchen light was on and the garden door was leaking yellow light. He could only look sideways, so he couldn't see what was happening inside. Elaine and Paige are complimenting the taste of strawberries. When they stopped, Cornell heard someone in the room raise a voice that sounded almost like a scream. Everyone was stunned. He got up from the table and walked into the house, feeling his blood pressure drop. He's on the verge of a bottle of wine now, or more.

When he reached the garden door, he saw Jamie and Marian standing by the counter, arguing. They didn't immediately notice Cornell on the other side of the glass. He stopped and put his hand on the doorknob. Marianne was all red, either from too much sun, or from anger. Jamie was unsteadily pouring red wine into his champagne glass. Cornell turned the door handle and went in. All right? He asked. They both looked at him and stopped. He noticed that Marianne was trembling, as if she were cold. Jamie sarcastically raises his glass to Cornell, and the wine shakes, spilling over the rim and onto the floor.

Put the glass down, said Marianne quietly.

I'm sorry, what did you say? Jamie said.

Put the glass down, if you please, said Marianne.

Jamie smiles and nods to himself. You want me to put it down? And he said, okay. No problem. Look, I'm just gonna put it down.

He let go of the glass and it smashed on the floor. Marianne let out a scream, a real scream in her throat, and flung herself at Jamie, her right arm pulling back as if she were going to hit him. Cornell stepped between them, his shoes crunching against the glass, and he grabbed Marianne's upper arm. Jamie laughs behind him. Marianne tried to push Cornell away. She was shaking. Her face was red and white, pale, and she seemed to have been crying. Marianne, come here, he said. She looked at him. He remembered how she had been in high school, so angry and stubborn with everyone. He knows what she used to be like. They watched each other until her body became less rigid and she softened as if she had been shot.

You're a fucking psychopath, you know? Jamie says you should see a doctor.

Cornell turned Maryann's body around and led her toward the back door. She did not resist.

Where are you going? Jamie said.

Cornell did not answer. He opened the door, and Marianne passed out without saying a word. He closed the door behind him. This side of the garden was very dark at the moment, and only the stained glass Windows provided any light. The cherry reflected darkly on the tree. Through the wall, they heard Peggy's voice. He and Marianne descended the steps without speaking. The kitchen light went out behind them. They heard Jamie appear on the other side of the wall and join the others. Marianne wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Cherries hung about them, glittering like so many ghostly planets. A faint fragrance filled the air, as if it were green and full of chlorophyll. Cornell noticed that some places in Europe were selling gum containing chlorophyll. Overhead, the sky was velvet blue. The stars appear and disappear, but do not shine. They walked down a line of trees with their backs to the house, then stopped. Marianne leaned back against a slender silver tree trunk, and Cornell wrapped his arms around her. She is so thin to hold, he thought. Was she ever so thin? She buried her face in the only clean T-shirt he had left. She was still wearing her white dress, now surrounded by a shawl with gold embroidery. He clung to her, adjusting his body to hers as if he were one of those mattresses that have health effects on the human body. She relaxed in his arms. She seemed calmer. Their breathing gradually slows down to the same rhythm. The kitchen lights went on once, then went off again, and voices rose and fell. Cornell was certain of what he had done, but his conviction was blank, as if he were unknowingly performing a task in his memory. He found his fingers in Marianne's hair, and found himself quietly stroking the nape of her neck. He did not know how long he had been doing this. Marianne rubbed her eyes with her wrist.

Cornell released her. From her pocket she fished out a packet of cigarettes and a flattened matchbox. She offered him a cigarette and he took it. She lit a match, and its rays outlined her features in the darkness. Her skin looked dry and inflammatory, and her eyes were swollen. She took a puff from her cigarette, which hissed as it burned. He lit his cigarette, threw the matches into the grass, and crushed them out with the sole of his shoe. They smoked in silence. He walked away from the tree and surveyed the bottom of the garden, but it was too dark to see. He returned to Marianne under the bough, and absently tugged at a broad, smooth leaf. She held her cigarette to her lower lip and lifted her hair into a bun with both hands, securing it with an elastic rubber band on her wrist. When the cigarette finally ran out, they stamped out the butts in the grass.

Can I sleep in your room tonight? She asked. I'll sleep on the floor.

It's a big bed, he said. It's okay.

The house was dark when they returned. They stripped down to their underwear in Cornell's room. Marianne was wearing a white cotton bra, which made her breasts look small and triangular. They lay down side by side under the covers. He knew he could have sex with her now if he wanted to. She won't tell anyone. He found the idea strangely reassuring and allowed himself to imagine what it might be like. Hey, he would say quietly, can you lie on your back? And she would lie obediently on her back. So much happens between people behind closed doors anyway. What kind of person would he be if this happened? A completely different person? Or was he exactly the same as before, still himself, and nothing changed?

After a while, he heard what she said, but he couldn't catch it. I didn't hear you, he said.

I don't know what's wrong with me, Marian said. I don't know why I can't be normal.

Her voice sounded strangely calm and distant, as if it were a recording played after her death or departure.

How is it different? He asked.

I don't know why I can't make people love me. I think I was born with something wrong.

A lot of people love you, Marian. You know what? Your family and friends love you.

She was silent for a few seconds, then said, You don't know what my family is like.

He was barely aware that he had used the word "family"; He's just looking for some comforting crap to say. Now he didn't know what to do.

She continued in her strange, flat voice: They hate me.

He sat up in bed to get a better look at her. I know you fight with them, he said, but that doesn't mean they hate you.

Last time I was home my brother told me to kill myself.

Cornell sat up straighter mechanically, pulling back the covers as if to stand up. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth.

Why would he say that? He asked.

I don't know. He said no one would miss me if I died because I had no friends.

He talks to you like that. Why don't you talk to your mom?

There she is, she said.

Cornell moved his chin. The pulse in his neck was pulsating. He tried to picture the Sheridan family in their own home, Alan telling Marianne to kill herself for some reason, but he could not imagine any family doing what she said.

What did she say? He said, I mean, how did she react?

She was like, oh, don't encourage her.

Cornell breathed in slowly through his nose and exhaled through his lips.

How did this get started? He said, I mean, how did you guys start fighting?

He perceived some change in Marianne's face, or that it fell, but he could not say what it was.

You think I messed with him? She said.

No, of course I don't mean that.

Sometimes I think it must be my fault. Otherwise I don't know why this is happening. But if he's in a bad mood, he follows me around the house. There's nothing I can do about it. He would come straight into my room, whether I was sleeping or something.

Cornell wiped the palms of his hands on the sheets.

Did he ever hit you? He asked.

Ever played. Not so much since I moved away. To be honest, I don't really care. That kind of emotional abuse is actually more demoralizing. I don't know how to explain it, really. I know this must sound...

He touched his forehead. His skin was wet. She did not finish her sentence.

Why have you never told me any of this? He asked. She said nothing. The light was dim, but he could see her open eyes. Marianne, said he, we have been together so long, why did you never tell me?

I don't know. I probably don't want you to think I'm flawed. I guess I was afraid you wouldn't want me.

Finally, he buried his face in his hands. His fingers were cold and damp behind his eyelids, and his eyes were full of tears. The harder he pressed his hand, the faster the tears began to seep into his skin. Good heavens, he said. His voice sounded rough, so he cleared his throat.

Come here, he said. She leaned over. He felt ashamed and confused. They lay face to face and he wrapped his arms around her. He whispered in her ear, I'm sorry, ok? She held him tighter, wrapped her arms around him, and he kissed her forehead.

He always thought she was flawed, and she didn't tell him he felt the same way. He closed his eyes guiltily. Their faces were hot and damp. He thought of her and said, I was afraid you wouldn't want me. Her mouth was so close that her wet breath touched his lips. They started kissing and her mouth tasted like red wine. Her body pressed against him, and he touched her breast. In a few seconds he could get inside her again, but then she said, No, we can't do that. Just like that, she moved away. In the silence, he could hear his own breathing, he could hear himself gasping sadly. He didn't want his voice to break, so he waited for his breath to cool off and said, I'm really sorry. She squeezed his hand. What a sad gesture. He couldn't believe what he had just done. I'm sorry, he said again. But Marianne had turned away.