"Patrick!" I cried. "You can't ignore me forever. I know you probably want to, but I'm not going to let you. We need to talk about this or something. I'm serious, Patrick. I've already left messages on your cell phone. Just think of the embarrassing things I can say on your family's answering machine, Pat the Bunny. Really. I will track you down. I'm tired of you ignoring me, and—"

The machine beeped.

Gah. All of my messages were too long.

I guess I could kind of see why he was avoiding me. Maybe he thought things would be kind of awkward between us. After all, he had admitted that I was his only one.

That was another thing that bothered me. What did it mean, exactly? I'd meant it jokingly, but he hadn't. Did it mean I was the only one he had really ever liked, or did it mean more…that I was the only one for him, that…he loved me?

I had no idea.

I almost hoped he meant something different from what I thought, because if he had only ever liked me, he would be disappointed. And I didn't want to hurt him.

I'd always kind of figured that his asking me out was kind of a joke he played on me. Or something. Recently, of course, I'd learned differently, but I'd never realized that he liked me that much.

I told as much to Stephie while we ate Chinese on Saturday after my desperate message to Patrick.

"I just don't know what to do," I said. "I mean, I want to be friends still, but what if he doesn't? I've gotten really dependent on him; I don't know what to do if he keeps avoiding me," I sighed. "What do you think?"

"I think—oh my God, this is amazing!" she squealed as she ate an enormous mouthful of lo mein. "Where has this stuff been all my life? I mean, seriously…"

"Steph?"

"Right, sorry. Umm, maybe he just needs time to figure himself out. You know, and he'll come back once he's done that. I just can't believe you didn't know that he liked you that much. Pretty much the whole school knew." She guzzled down more noodles.

"I knew he liked me, at least a little, I guess. I just figured he liked other girls too."

"Well, I would have guessed as much too. I mean, he is a teenaged boy. Aren't they supposed to be really hormonal or something?" She moved onto a fried chicken thing that I'd never had before.

"You tell me. You're the one in Advanced Bio."

"Hmm. Oh, I passed my boxes around during my presentation, and Patrick still prevailed. That's a good-smelling boy you've got there."

"I haven't got him," I muttered, tearing a moody chunk out of a crab Rangoon. "Never did, never will, at least in the way he wants. Or something. We're just friends."

"Which is why you have a date with him next Saturday." She shoved a sugar-covered doughnut in her mouth. "Oohhh my God."

"I'd forgotten that," I sighed. "Well, that's probably cancelled. But that's really just because of the opposite thing."

"Somehow I don't think you would go on a date with someone unless you at least had an inclination toward liking them. And Patrick is a nice guy. Maybe you'll fall madly in love with him."

"If only. He's pretty much the kind of guy every girl wants to fall in love with. But no, I only fall for guys like Matt." I groaned and banged my head on the table.

"Roslin, stop that. I don't want to have to operate on you someday." She reached over and put her hand under my forehead so I would stop beating myself. "You seem awfully upset considering he's just a friend."

"Friends shouldn't ignore friends."

"Well, I always ignored you guys—studying, you know—and you didn't get all mopey and depressed, did you?"

"I guess not. But I mean…he's Pat the Bunny!"

"He must really like you to put up with that nickname," she muttered.

"Don't remind me. I feel bad enough already."

"Right. Sorry. Anyway, I just meant, maybe you do like him and you just haven't realized it because Matt was an idiot and you have no idea what it's like to like anybody besides Matt." She nodded and ate another doughnut.

I said, "Neh."

"Roslin, somebody called while you were out," my dad yelled over the roar of the mixer. I dashed into the kitchen. "Not Patrick," he said.

"Oh," I said.

"His mother, though," Dad said.

"…What?"

"Yeah, she left her cell phone number so you can call her back." He pulled a spoon out of our silverware drawer and dipped a blob of cookie dough onto a pan. "I was bored," he said to my raised eyebrow.

"Did she say why she called?" I asked.

"No." He threw a notepad at me and indicated the number on the front. "Call her."

I shrugged and went to my room. I pulled out my phone, dialed the number slowly, and waited.

"Hello?" a woman's voice said.

"Mrs. Harvey? This is Roslin."

"Oh, hello, Patricia!" she crowed. "Yes, of course I can come to your party!"

"Er, no, this is Roslin."

"Yes, of course. I'm just so excited about your party."

"Mrs. Harvey, I'm not having a party."

"Oh, I know that. Patrick, darling, leave that bread alone, it hasn't set up yet."

"Mom, I'm hungry," I heard him say.

"You aren't supposed to be talking to me, are you?" I asked.

"No, not really. Patrick, really, that bread needs to cool or it'll be all gooey and—fine. See how you like eating bread goo. Anyway, Patricia, I was wondering if I could bring my family to your party."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said.

"Oh. Well, that does make sense." She had probably just figured out that her secret messages were pretty much nonsense. "I told you that you wouldn't like it, Patrick. Honestly."

"Mrs. Harvey, couldn't you just leave the room?" I asked.

"No, I don't think so. Here, Patrick!" There was a pause. "Oops. Could you be a dear and go pick that up? Thanks!"

"Um," I said.

"I'm making lunch, it would be weird if I left the kitchen," she hissed. "He's so depressed, you've got to—thank you, darling! That'll teach me not to throw apples anymore!"

"I don't see how I can do anything about him being depressed. I can't even keep myself happy."

"Oh, I'm sorry about that. Maybe you should come over sometime and we could, er…cook! Or something."

"Who are you talking to?" Patrick asked.

"Patricia, dear. I really think she should come over, wouldn't that be nice?" she tittered.

"I have no idea who Patricia is."

"She's, er…well, we named you after her!"

"…You named me after Grandpa Patrick."

"But also Patricia!"

"Mrs. Harvey, I really don't think me coming over is a good idea. I mean, my dad is baking, and he could burn down the house, and I really doubt Patrick wants to see me," I sighed.

"Of course he does, dear. He missed you, I think. You know, when you're at work."

"Oh, Mom, Kevin wanted you to know that he went to a friend's house or something," Patrick said, sounding very bored.

"What? Why didn't he tell me?"

"Probably because he's twenty-one and therefore a legal adult."

"But he still lives here."

"Mrs. Harvey, I have, uh…homework to do, so—"

"Don't be ridiculous! Of course I don't mind if you come over right now. In fact…Patrick, go get my cookbook."

"What?"

"It's in the upstairs bathroom."

"Why—"

"I don't know, just please get it." She waited a few seconds and then said, "Please come over, I can't take it anymore. He's all mopey and…if you don't come over right now I'll just have your family over for dinner, and you won't have an excuse."

"It wouldn't do any good."

"Yes it would! I'm sure it would."

"He's been avoiding me."

"He's a boy; they do stupid things. But you, as a girl, should know that coming over and smacking him out of his mood is a smart thing."

"Are you suggesting I should beat your son?" I asked incredulously.

"Of course not. Just…hit him a bit if it makes you feel better."

"He didn't do anything," I replied. I hugged a stuffed octopus to my chest.

"He's ignored you," she countered.

"He's probably entitled to that."

"I don't care. Look. Just get over here and put him out of his misery."

"What?"

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded," she said quickly.

"I should hope not."

"You just come over—what, Patrick?"

"It isn't there," he said. I could picture him crossing his arms and frowning a little bit.

"It isn't…there it is! On the stove! Anyway, Patricia, I'll see you in a few minutes, and if I don't, then I'll call you up and invite your family over for dinner!" Then her cheerful tone disappeared, and she said, "I'm serious."

"Right. Bye," I said.

"Bye, Patricia!"

…Definitely the strangest conversation of my life.

So I ended up sitting in front of Patrick's house in my car with a box of chocolate chip cookies on the passenger seat—my dad said my mom would have a fit if she knew I'd gone somewhere without a gift, so he threw some cookies in a box and shoved it at me.

Eventually I got out and knocked on the door.

Almost immediately, the door opened and I was dragged in by Mrs. Harvey.

"If you'd only gotten here a few minutes earlier. He just got in the shower," she said.

"Then I'm not going to go see him. I'll come back later." I started to the door, worried that she would either drag him out of the shower or force me in there. And oh, the terrible awkwardness that would ensue.

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "We'll wait until he's done and then you can go up. Would you like some pie?"

"I brought cookies," I said.

"Oh, thank you." She took the box and then dragged me to the kitchen, where she pushed me into a chair. "Cherry, pumpkin, or gooseberry?" she asked.

"I beg your pardon?" I stuttered.

"Patrick probably wouldn't appreciate it if you ate any of his cherry pie. I recommend the gooseberry. It's very good, if I do say so myself."

I nodded weakly.

It wasn't what I'd expected. I had thought she'd send me right to Patrick, and I hadn't expected to be plied with pie. She dropped a plate with an enormous piece of gooseberry pie on it in front of me. I stared. Pie had never looked so good.

"You made three pies?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I like pie."

I took the fork she offered me and tried the pie. I'd never had gooseberry pie before. But after the first taste, that pie never stood a chance. It was gone much quicker than I'd care to admit.

"Did you like it?" she asked.

"Good," I said. "Can I have the recipe?"

"Sorry, dear, it's a family recipe. The only way I can give it to you is if…" She grinned.

Patrick's mother was a very devious, very conniving woman. In a good way, I hoped. She was also very red-headed. Her red hair made her look a little like the woman in The Quiet Man.

I heard a door open, and I stiffened.

"It's just my husband," she said. "Patrick is still in the shower."

"How do you know?"

"I still hear the water running."

I nodded and tried to pretend that that wasn't creepy at all.

"Colin, come here," she said. A few seconds later, her husband walked into the kitchen. He looked incredibly like Patrick, but with brown eyes. Patrick had clearly gotten his eyes from his mother.

"Yes, dear?" he said. Then he saw me. "Roslin!"

"Hi, Mr. Harvey," I said.

"What are you doing here?"

"Mrs. Harvey threatened me," I replied.

"Eileen," he said reprovingly.

"She wouldn't come otherwise, and you know Patrick needs an intervention."

"You still shouldn't have—"

"Have some pie!" Mrs. Harvey chirped, grinning widely. Her husband paused.

"Okay," he said finally.

Mrs. Harvey was cutting him a piece of pumpkin pie when she froze. She stared at the ceiling and hushed her husband when he asked what she was doing. Then she looked at me. "He's in his room now. Give him a few minutes to get dressed, and then go on up."

"I'm only slightly disturbed," I muttered.

"Of course you are, dear," she said.

We sat there while Mr. Harvey ate his pie. "Go," she said suddenly.

"I've no idea where to go."

She sighed and led me through a hallway to the stairs. She said, "Up and to the left. It's the first door. Just knock."

I sighed heavily and trudge up the stairs. To the left, she'd said. I turned and found his door very easily. Then I stared for a good minute or so before knocking.

"Yeah," I heard Patrick say, "come in."

I put my hand on the door knob and turned.

First, I noticed that his room smelled like a giant peppermint. Second, I noticed that he was shirtless. He turned around and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"Hi," I said.

"Roslin," he murmured.

"Or Patricia. I guess."

"You were…my mother…cook book in the bathroom, no wonder." He dropped onto his bed and then realize that he was half-naked. "Oh God, I'm sorry." He stood up and went over to his closet.

"Your mom is a little strange, Patrick," I said. "I got here and she made me eat pie."

"Not cherry, I hope," he muttered.

"Gooseberry."

He frowned and pulled on a shirt. "Sorry about that," he said. "Wasn't expecting a visitor, just my mother."

"Don't worry about it. It isn't like you're hard to look at."

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Roslin…"

"Sorry. It's just weird, you not talking to me."

"Roslin, it was just Friday—"

"And I couldn't stand it, Patrick," I cried. "We sat next to each other in AP, but you didn't even talk to me. Not the whole day. It's a good thing Stephie's around, or I would have gone crazy."

"Then you don't need me," he murmured.

"Yes I do!" I cried. "As sweet as she is, she isn't all that helpful because she just tasted Chinese food for the first time today and she just couldn't get over how good it was!"

"Are you serious?"

"I am perfectly serious. Stephie is just…she doesn't think like us. I'm getting to see the real Stephie, and she thinks of everything as an opportunity for experimentation." I rubbed tiredly at my eyes under my glasses. "You'll sit on a car with me in the snow, but she'll want to catalog the snowflakes and find out what percent of their mass is water and what isn't."

He blinked. "That's really weird, Roslin," he said.

"I know. She's a very interesting person."

"Yep." He sat down on his bed and ran his fingers through his wet hair. "Come sit if you like," he said. I sat and angled myself to look at him.

"Patrick—"

"I don't know what my mom thought you could help with," he said.

I rubbed at my temple with my knuckles. "Well, I think you should know that both of our families seem to want us together, so unless we want to find ourselves married by next week, we should probably keep them apart," I said.

"My parents?"

"You mother, at least."

"Oh."

I breathed in the strange mintiness of his room and reached over for his hand. I held his hand palm up and traced the lines with my fingernail.

"Are you reading my palm?" he asked.

"You will have three children and never live outside of Illinois except during college," I muttered jokingly.

"You can do better than that."

"Fine. You will accept Roslin's apology, because even though she doesn't like you that way, she does love you as a friend. You will go to college with Roslin, all the while dodging attempts from your parents and hers to get you two married—unless you both decide not to dodge the attempts, in which case you will have two children, crazy in-laws, and will most likely live abroad."

"In Ireland?"

"Maybe."

"My family is very Irish."

"I've noticed."

He closed his hand around mine. "So you love me, huh?"

"As a friend, at least."

"Better than nothing, anyway."

I leaned over and rested my head on his shoulder. He let go of my hand and put his arm around me; I reached up and laced my fingers with his again. "Am I forgiven?" I asked.

"You were never condemned."

"So why did you avoid me?"

"I just needed time to think," he said. "I didn't like admitting to…what I admitted to. I didn't know what you thought about it, if it would scare you away or anything."

"Patrick, what exactly did you mean?" I asked.

"I'm not going to say."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to."

"Okay." I moved closer to his side. He held me tighter, and I looked up at him. He was facing straight ahead, almost no expression on his face. "Are we still on for next Saturday?" I murmured.

"What?" he said. "Oh, your dad and his matchmaking. Um, I guess so. if you still want to."

"I do. Do you?"

"Sure. So I guess I'm picking you up at seven."

"I guess."

He sighed heavily and kissed my forehead. My eyebrows shot up; I'd assumed we were still going to act as before, but if he was going to do that, it might change a few things.

"You know," he said, "you'd have some pretty crazy in-laws too."

A/N: Okay. So. This is the last complete chapter I have written (although I do have some of the next one). Sorry to do this, but I'm going to put this on a bit of a hiatus. I'm back from Iowa, so I have a bunch of free time, but I'm writing a novel this month (since I couldn't motivate myself to start the stupid thing, I decided to do JulNoWriMo...) and...yeah. I'll definitely be finishing this though! I know almost exactly (ish...) what needs to happen in the rest of the story, so at least I don't have to plan things out. Also, I'm probably going to start a massive rewrite/edit of Old Books pretty soon...that's the plan, anyways. Thanks so much for reading!