The Absolutely True Story of Us by Melanie Marchande Read Free Book Online Page B

"But it is pretty exciting. I've got twenty accounts now, but that's all boring work stuff." He waves his hand dismissively. "What about you, Tabby - Lissy said you just went to Syria for Doctors Without Borders?"
    Damn it, how did he get so good at talking to people? Was he born like that, or did he somehow teach himself to be so engaging and captivating? It seems simple, the way things always do when you watch an expert do them. But when I'm in the middle of a conversation, especially with one of my family members, it's like the part of my brain in charge of reacting to things just shuts down. And I know you're supposed to ask questions to demonstrate your interest in somebody's life, but it always feels so awkward. Like I'm quizzing them.  
    For Dean, it's just easy. Effortless. He has no anxiety about it, because he never thinks anything's going to go wrong.  
    And why would he? Nothing ever does, for him. I'm pretty sure I'm the only bad thing that's ever happened to him, and that was certainly only a hiccup.
    ***
    Lunch is...loud. I somehow manage to actually sit next to my supposed boyfriend, and while Tabby sits on his left, she soon gets pulled into an argument involving Nick, Arthur, and something about cavemen and astronauts.  
    "Man, are you serious with that Pride and Prejudice shit?" I mutter, staring at my salad. "You know my sister has a thing for Mr. Darcy."
    "All bookish women do," says Dean, glancing at me. "Are you trying to claim you don't ?"
    "Yeah, well, I'm immune to you now. How on earth does it still work on everyone else, though?"
    "Second rule of marketing," he says, gesturing to the server. "Play to your market."
    "What's the first rule?" I have a feeling I'm going to regret asking.
    He grins. "Don't make them think."
    "Of course." I roll my eyes.
    "Hey, I'm not saying people are stupid." Dean shrugs. "I'm just saying, there's a million things vying for their time and attention. We've all been conditioned to respond to certain triggers, certain signals, and that's the most important thing to keep in mind when you're trying to reach people. Anything they have to analyze for too long, you risk your message getting lost in translation." He picks up his drink. "Also, a lot of people are stupid."
    "There it is. That's the man I fell in love with." I pick up my fork and examine a slice of radish. I'm pretty sure I specifically asked for no radishes, but if I bring it up, Nick's going to make a big deal out of it, and we'll probably all get free meals. Free desserts, at least. I can't handle sitting through another meal where I know the entire restaurant management hates us.  
    "You hate salad," Dean observes. "I remember that about you."
    "I don't...hate it," I insist. "It's just that a lot of the common salad ingredients are not exactly my favorite."
    "You know you have to eat like that more than once a month for it to make an actual difference," he says. "And I'm only bringing this up because I know you're torturing yourself for appearance's sake. Trust me. Nobody here would judge you if you ordered the steak that you really wanted."
    I give him an irritated look. "Was it that obvious?"
    "You kept flipping back to it," he says. "And then you went for the Greek salad after all. It was quite the emotional roller coaster."
    Really, there's nothing left to do but laugh. "Not much gets past you, does it?"
    "Absolutely not," he says. "For instance, what's the deal with Arthur?"
    Eyes widening, I glance around the table, but everyone is so absorbed in their conversations that I'm pretty sure they've forgotten I'm here.
    "What do you mean?" I ask, a little too quickly.
    "I mean, he hardly talks," says Dean. "I understand why you're the way you are. Middle children always have trouble finding their place."
    "Thanks a lot."
    "But the youngest kids..." he goes on, ignoring me. "Usually they're good at getting attention. Stephanie's got it. Arthur doesn't. So what is it about him that's different?"
    I fold my