Chapter Text
It’s taking Mary a bit too long to process it all; apparently her mouth is hanging slightly open, because Natasha is laughing at her. She’s saying things, but it’s all blurry. It’s all just so blurry. Natasha in the parking lot of the ice cream shop where they first talked, under the light of the sky when it’s in that transition period between evening and night. The moon is out and the sky is gray and orange and apparently Mary is a poet now, because she’s finding words and metaphors in her speechlessness to describe how Natasha looks. How the moment feels.
Yeah, so she’s not a very good poet. It’s the thought that counts.
“Um,” she says, finally, “what’s… going on?”
“What’s your favorite kind of ice cream?” is all that Natasha says. “Mine’s – hm. I like them all. I promise you won’t see me surrounded by ice cream this time, though. At least, I hope.” She laughs, and her laugh makes Mary feel like her terrible mind poetry could become a masterpiece. You know, something that’d go down in history. Natasha’s laugh could make Mary the best poet in the world.
“Mine’s… c – c – cookies. And cream. Cookies and cream.”
“My second favorite,” Natasha says. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” Mary says, and for a moment her body stops trembling. “I’m great, and fine, and… let’s go.”
Natasha practically forces chocolate sauce over her very good and pure cookies-and-cream cone. If it were any other person—
If it were any other person, she wouldn’t be eating ice cream with them. Oh. Oh man. This is bad news. If Mary takes one more bite, she will be the one crying on the bathroom floor.
Why. Why has God cursed her with dairy allergies.
She places her ice cream skillfully on a napkin. Natasha is too busy piling fruit and sprinkles into her bowl to notice. The ratio of toppings-to-ice-cream is probably very off, but it’s getting harder and harder for Mary to think.
“Hey,” Natasha says when she’s finished and her bowl is nearly overflowing (how much did it cost, anyway), “you’re not eating. Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m good, just, uh, remembered that I sort of have this… disagreement… with dairy, so. You know.”
This is the most humiliating thing that has ever happened to Mary. The most humiliating thing in her entire sixteen years of existence.
“Oh, gosh,” Natasha says, because Natasha is, of course, the kind of person who says gosh and they’re perfect for each other, “I didn’t even think of that! I’m so, so sorry. I guess I should’ve told you instead of trying to surprise you. This probably wasn’t a very good surprise, was it?”
“It’s great! Please don’t be sorry. I love it here. My best friend takes me here all the time. Everyone’s so nice – the food, not so nice, but… Please don’t feel bad. I’m just confused. Y’know. About why you wanted to leave with me… or pay attention to me in general.”
Natasha stares at her. “Because I never really got a chance to talk to you. You know, you’re Andrey’s sister… and we’ve never even talked. I hope you don’t mind, though, what with Andrey and the break-up. He didn’t tell you horrible things about me, right?”
Mary smiles. “No, no. Not at all. I’m still confused about that, actually. I mean, he seemed like he was so in love with you, and then he just called it off like it was nothing? Just because of boarding school? I don’t understand how someone could just… give up… on someone as great as you.”
Natasha’s face flickers from sad to back to her normal, happy, beautiful expression. “Thank you. Yeah, it’s... um. Andrey was – is – the love of my life, but I guess I’ll have to move on, right?”
Andrey. Mary loves her brother dearly, and she misses her brother dearly, which means what she’s feeling right now is bad and wrong and just horrible. Mary is never supposed to feel anything like this. She loves her brother. Right. She loves Natasha. Right.
Right.
“Yeah,” Mary says. “It’s – it’s okay. You can always talk to me, if you want. I know how hard moving on is... I’m here.”
“I know,” Natasha says. “I can imagine… it must be pretty hard. I – you know, I saw the way he was looking at Anatole. And… the way Anatole was looking at him.”
“Wait, what?”
“I’m here if you want to talk, too.”
Wait. Shit. Shit.
Does Natasha think—
“I don’t have any feelings for him. He’s my best friend. And very gay. Trust me, I have never felt anything except platonic love for Dolokhov.”
“Oh,” Natasha says. “I feel so stupid now. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Mary tells her. “We do get it a lot. But trust me – trust me – we’re just friends. And, um… what was that about Anatole looking at him?”
“Everyone at the entire party could see it. The way he turned into a completely different person when he saw your friend come in, the way he completely dropped your conversation and jumped off of the counter when they saw each other. It was beautiful.”
“Yes,” Mary says, and she’s filled with a sudden sense of dread. Natasha’s never going to like her back. There’s Andrey, and there will always be Andrey. “Beautiful.”
Oh. And more dread. Her curfew is soon. If she doesn’t get home in time, her father will…
“I have to go.”
She stands up and – and her ice cream cone falls with her. All over her dress.
“Wait,” Natasha says. “Did I do something wrong? I – I don’t want to hurt you.”
“No,” Mary says, completely ignoring the fact that her favorite dress is soaked and her father is going to murder her. “No. You didn’t hurt me. I just have to get home, because my dad is very strict with rules, and…”
“I’ll drive you.”
“No, I—“
Her mind is clouding and she can’t think and her father is going to kill her and she’s breathing hard and she can’t breathe and—
“Hey, it’s okay,” Natasha says. “It’s okay. If you can, tell me what I can do to help.”
“My dress,” Mary breathes, “is ruined. I made a huge mistake, I—“
“You can have my jacket. Everything will be fine, okay? I’m going to drive you home, and I’ll text your friend for you if you need me to.”
“I don’t want to ruin your jacket,” Mary says, and starts shaking again.
“I never wear it.”
“He can’t get texts.”
“Then I’ll text Sonya and tell her to give him a message. It’s all going to be okay.”
“Okay,” Mary sighs, and if she wasn’t freaking out, her heart would be fluttering. “Let’s – let’s go.”