MACARONS, a marc and cassie story;
Today was the day of Cassieās favorite party at the library: Lewis Carollās Unbirthday Party, and she was still grinning even as she scraped crumbs off tables toweled spilled tea from the carpet. All afternoon thereād been laughter and wonderland-themed snacks and games and every fifteen minutes they had all moved down a place at their tables for fresh cups. It was all wonderful, but the real highlight was always Marcās performance as the Mad Hatter. Though it was probably a shock to precisely no one that he was able to play a comically crazy person with such ease and authenticity.
Just like after any of their parties, Marc disappeared immediately into the stacks somewhere, but Cassie was so swept up in the afterglow she wasnāt even grumbling. A few minutes later, after scrubbing Susie Ackermanās jelly disaster off one of the chairs, she turned to find Marc staring down at a plate of leftover pastries. His hat was gone, left behind somewhere along with his coat, leaving him standing over the serving tray looking utterly baffled in frilly shirt and velour waistcoat.
āWhat is that thing? Is that a cookie?ā he asked after a long silence, finger pointed accusingly at a brightly colored pastry.
His frown deepened. āCookies shouldnāt be blue.ā
āItās not a cookie.ā
āCassie, Iām looking right at it, I know what cookies look liāā
āItās French and they come in lots of colors. And flavors.ā
āNope. I donāt like it.ā
With the sigh of someone who was used to this sort of behavior, she picked up the macaron and held it out to him. āTry it.ā
āItās blue. Food isnāt blue. Thatās like, a rule.ā
He stared at her, intention to refuse a second time evident in his eyes, and she smiled victoriously as it slowly melted in the face of her determination. Silently he stuck out his hand and she set the macaron on the center of his palm.
Marc made sure she knew exactly how little he wanted to be doing this and took a bite. His eyebrows shot up immediately in surprised delight.
āThaaaatās what I thought,ā she said, turning her back on him and continuing to clear up.
Maybe she shouldnāt have been surprised when she found him in the French history section the next day surrounded by empty boxes of macarons and one between his fingers, half-finished.
āOh, hey Cass,ā he said, not really looking up from the book spine he was inspecting. āPistachio,ā he said, wiggling the half-eaten macaron at her. āDelicious.ā
Maybe she shouldnāt have been surprised, but she was, with her mouth hanging slightly open and everything. āMarc, how many of those have you eaten?ā
āDunno,ā he said with an apathetic shrug. āLost count around 30. This is the last one, or Iād offer you some, but thereās more coming tomorrow. Unless you want the rest of this one?ā Finally he looked at her, eyebrows up in question, boyish expression on his face.
She looked at him, then the pastry, then turned heel with her arms in the air.
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