Chapter Eight

Strong arms cradled her against a firm chest. "Tony, I can walk, really." Angela heard herself say. But as slurred and unsteady as her voice was, she didn't expect him to believe it. She wasn't sure she did, but she was worried about him. He was almost as bad off as she was, after that long train ride. "Bleh. How can we still be motion sick when we got off the train three hours ago?"

"That conductor couldn't drive for beans," she heard Tony's voice rumble directly from his throat, which her ear was pressed against. "And he was a real jerk, too! Hmph, like he never made out with a hot babe in public! I say we file a complaint with Amtrak when we get home. Are ya with me, Mrs. Micelli?"

They both giggled mindlessly at the sound of her new name. "Aren't I always, Mr. Micelli? Except when we're playing tug-of-war, of course." That set off another fit of giggles that was completely disproportionate to how funny the remark had been.

"Here we are, Mr. and Mrs. Micelli, Suite 3B," a distant voice interrupted. "Enjoy your stay, and congratulations again."

"Thanks, buddy." Tony sounded vaguely dismayed. "I know this is where I should give you a tip, but my hands are full of gorgeous wife. If you don't mind reaching into my back pocket, there's a billfold in there someplace."

"I object!" Angela spoke up. "Nobody grabs your butt but me from now on, Tony Micelli. Here, I've got this." She dug into her purse and came up with a bill of some sort, but her vision was blurry from all the dizziness that came with the motion sickness. Hopefully it would be enough. "Here, kid. Keep the change."

"Wow, fifty bucks! Thanks, Mrs. Micelli!" The young bellhop gave Tony a friendly punch in the shoulder. "I think you picked a winner, buddy."

"You bet your life I did." He sat her on her feet just inside the door and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"You call that a kiss?" she protested, giving him a playful shove.

He reeled, stumbling back into the wall. "Give me more credit than that, my little baked potato! I was aiming for your lips, but I'm kinda dizzy. Guess I'm still feeling that train ride myself. "

Aw. He was so sweet, carrying her upstairs when he was in such bad shape. "Come here and let me make you feel better." She grabbed him by the collar and hauled him down for a kiss. His lips tasted like Hawaiian punch and a hint of something bitter, probably that beer he'd drunk at the party. He tilted his head to give her better access, and she could feel the adorably bent nose that she'd spent so many years admiring bump up against her cheek, hot steam tickling her skin. His arms slid around her waist, and she could feel something else entirely bumping up against her hip. "What, already? Man, you're easy," she taunted, gently massaging him through the front of his pants.

"Ay-oh, oh-ay, who're you calling easy, baby?" Tony drew back, looking genuinely offended. "It took you four years to crack this nut you married, and don't you forget it."

"I guess that makes me the Nutcracker," said Angela, and they both started cracking up again.

As their laughter died down, Tony's face turned serious. "The most beautiful nutcracker in the whole Land of Sweets. I can't believe you're all mine."

"And you're all mine. And don't you forget it, Micelli." She took his left hand in both of hers. "I've got to get you a ring so the other babes out there know you're taken."

He raised their hands to his lips and began kissing each of her fingers, one by one, though he lost count a few times and got some of them twice. "I've gotta get one for you, too. I can't wait to rub it in the whole neighborhood's faces and tell 'em they'll have to find something else to gossip about for a change!" Tony sniggered. "But this'll have to do till I have a chance to crack open my piggy bank and swing by a jewelry store." With a mischievous grin, he deliberately sank his teeth into her sensitive neck and sucked, long and hard.

Angela's knees started to wobble again, but in a much more pleasant way this time. She clutched the front of his shirt, trying to keep her balance. "Bed. Now." He'd reduced her to one-word, three-letter sentences. As he complied with her request, laying her on the bed and sliding a work-roughened hand under her skirt, she found one more for him. "Yes!"

As Angela came to, it took her a moment to get her bearings. She was in her room—she immediately recognized the clean, lemony scent of Tony's favorite detergent on the sheets under her, and the familiar softness of her favorite down pillow. What threw her off balance was the fact that Tony was still lying next to her, one arm draped across her middle and the other tucked snugly under her head. Thoroughly convinced she simply hadn't fully awakened yet, she closed her eyes for a few seconds, expecting him to be gone when she opened them again. But no, he was still there when she blinked them open again. If anything, his grasp on her had tightened.

Before she could decide whether to try and puzzle out what was going on or go back to sleep and leave it for when her head quit hurting, her bedroom door flew open. "Tony, can I have one of the cupcakes in the freezer?" her son asked.

"Mmph. Those are for the bake sale, pal-o'-mine," Tony answered without opening his eyes.

"Aw, come on!" Jonathan whined. "You can't spare one for me? I'm family!"

"All right, all right." Tony yawned widely. "But drink a glass of milk with it so your snack will have a little nutritional value."

"Thanks, Tony." And without comment on the fact that the two of them were in bed together, Jonathan shut the door.

Angela blinked her eyes one last time, but nothing changed. The play of shadows on the drapes indicated it was late afternoon. The heavy metal music blaring from downstairs indicated her mother was home. Tony had fallen back to sleep and was snoring like a rusty chainsaw. Nothing was out of place except for the arms around her. Yet somehow even those felt weirdly normal. For a moment, she wondered which of her memories had been a dream, and which had been reality. The dream had felt so real. Could it have been a memory, too?

A tentative knock came at the door before she had time to ponder that question any further. "Dad? Angela?" came Samantha's muffled voice. "Jonathan said you guys were awake in there. How seriously should I take this necktie Mona hung on the doorknob?"

And with that remark, Angela finally got her bearings. "You can ignore the tie, Sam."

"Thought so. Just making sure," Sam replied cheerfully, opening the door. "You know, Angela, this is really hypocritical of Dad. He never lets me have boys in my room."

"Nothing happened!" Angela hastily shoved Tony's arm off of her. He snorted abruptly, then rolled over and resumed snoring.

Sam rolled her eyes. "Relax, Angela." She held up her father's necktie, which she'd retrieved from the door. "As entertaining as Mona is, I don't think even she really suspects you're up to anything in here. After four years of managing to avoid it, why the heck would you two decide to hook up when you're this miserable?" The girl looked at them with pity in their eyes. "I mean, as pretty as you are, a green face isn't exactly sexy." Tony's mouth fell open and a particularly loud snore rang out, followed by a trickle of drool. His daughter wrinkled her nose. "Neither is that."

That was a fair observation. Angela relaxed. "Did you need something, sweetie?"

"Is it okay if I invite Bonnie over for dinner? Mona ordered three pizzas—"

"And charged them to my credit card, no doubt?" Angela guessed.

"Bingo. Anyway, we couldn't agree on a topping, so there's more pizza than will fit in the fridge, plus wings and breadsticks."

"Oh, tell me Jonathan didn't order anchovies again?" He'd been going through a phase lately. She would have tolerated the horrible smell and greasy mess if the anchovies were something her son truly liked, but she was pretty sure he had only taken to asking for them because he knew they disgusted Samantha.

Sam made a face and nodded queasily. "Yeah. If this morning's bacon made you hurl, it's probably best you don't come downstairs tonight. Mona's making up a tray of applesauce and crackers and stuff to bring up to you."

"Thanks for the warning. Is your homework done?"

"Yeah."

"Then of course you can have Bonnie over. Just don't stay up too late. It's a school night."

"Thanks, Angela!" Taking her word as law, the girl took off without bothering to close the door.

Left alone with her temporary husband, Angela allowed herself to fall back onto her pillow. Her head was spinning, both metaphorically and literally. All these years, she'd lived in fear of getting caught in an intimate moment with Tony and having to explain herself to the kids. Now it had happened. Sort of. And the kids hadn't demanded, requested, or even appeared to expect an explanation. They'd acted as if finding their parents in bed together was completely natural. What in the world was she supposed to make of that?

A slender finger tipped with a very sharp acrylic nail poked Tony in the eye. "Wake up, Casanova."

"Five more minutes," he groaned sleepily.

"Is that all it's gonna take you? Tony, I'm disappointed."

"Go away." He rolled over and snuggled into the soft, warm pillow under his cheek. Impossibly soft. Then he noticed it was making noise. What was that? A drumbeat? It was nice. Soothing. And was that silk lining the pillow? He rubbed his cheek against it, enjoying the sensation. The pillow moved under his face, and he heard a gasp.

Fully awake now, he lifted his head from its cozy home in Angela's bosom, his face burning with embarrassment. Angela was glaring him. Or…no, wait. Her eyes were focused on something past him. "Mona?" Oh great, just when I thought I couldn't be any more humiliated.

The redhead sat down the tea tray she was holding and gave him a wink. "Tony, as proud as we all are of your storied accomplishments playing second base, do you think you could give it a rest long enough to eat some dinner and take your pills?"

"Oh, God," Tony muttered. "Mona, it isn't what it looks like."

Mona looked bored. "It looks like innocent snuggling, fully-clothed and on top of the covers, but you were starting to show some real promise there, for a minute." She handed each of the invalids a cup of tea. "Here. Build up your strength and maybe your stamina will improve."

"Mother, please," Angela grumbled, wriggling into a semi-seated position. "Your smutty wisecracks are even less funny than usual right now. I couldn't make love to Mel Gibson, feeling like this."

And yet, you managed it with me in Niagara Falls, very enthusiastically by the look of us the next morning. Tony stopped just short of saying it aloud, but the smug smirk on his face must have revealed his thoughts. Angela gritted her teeth and shook her head, warning him this wasn't the time to get cocky.

"Too bad, it's great for what ails you. Mother knows best, dear," said Mona sagely, placing a prescription bottle on the nightstands at each of their sides. "And will you both take another Dramamine before I bring up your dinner? Vomit is a real turn-off, and also, I have no idea how to run a carpet shampooer." And with that, she flounced out of the room, placing the necktie back on the doorknob as she left. "Here, just in case. Don't want the children seeing anything that might traumatize them."

Angela glanced at their surroundings in confusion. "How did I get up here?"

"I carried you," he confessed.

She seemed upset. "And I slept through that?"

"Angela, you've been popping Dramamine like candy. Is it really such a surprise?" Then he realized why being drugged into a state of unconsciousness might have upset her. "Relax, nothing happened this time."

"Oh, no, I didn't think you…I just wish I'd kept it together so you didn't have to do that. You're no better off than I am."

"Well, the dean helped. That's what I'm doing in your bed, in case you were wondering." He was only now realizing how strange it was that she hadn't asked. Maybe she was still in that muzzy place between dreaming and wakefulness, like he had been while face-deep in her breasts just now. Though that would imply she had been dreaming of him, which was a very interesting line of though indeed. "Brown insisted on helping me lug you up to bed, and since he thinks we're married…"

"We are married," she pointed out, sounding a little defensive. "I wasn't lying."

"Right." Accusing her had been the last thing on his mind. "Thanks for your help with the old man, by the way."

Angela shrugged modestly. "It was no big deal."

Maybe not to her. "No big deal? You saved my neck! You had that guy eating out of your hand. I think you've found yet another admirer at Ridgemont." God help us all. Tony looked at the pills on the nightstand and then back at Angela. "I guess I'd better go back to my own bed before I take that. It's probably going to knock me cold again the moment it hits my bloodstream."

"Do you need help?"

Tony waved her off. "I'm still sick, but I don't need to be carried around on a gurney anymore. I can make it across the hall on my own."

The next several days past in a hazy pattern of sleep, fluids, medicine, repeat. By Sunday, they were both feeling well enough to be bored out of their minds. Angela had made her way down the stairs three times, hoping to get caught up on some of the work that had been piling up on her desk. Each time, one of her paranoid family members alerted the others, and they converged to shoo her back to bed before she could make it to her office. It was starting to frustrate her.

Tony seemed to be sharing both her ordeal and her complete lack of patience with it. Mid-afternoon, she heard a shout of "Mona, give me my feather duster!" from downstairs. This was followed by a squeal of "monkey in the middle!" followed by a scuffle of young feet.

As she descended the stairs a fourth time, she found Tony standing between Sam and Mona, holding Jonathan over his head, who was holding the feather duster over his with a guilty, boyish grin. "Still think I'm an invalid?"

"Yep. You're sneezing, see?" He reached down and tickled Tony's nose with the feather duster.

Tony sneezed. "Oh, just for that…" He began to twirl the boy overhead like a pro wrestler showing off for the camera.

"Dad's back!" Sam clapped her hands and breathed a sigh of relief. "We've missed you."

"All right, Conan, we get the message." Mona swatted one of his muscular arms. "You can put my grandson down now."

As Tony pivoted to set Jonathan back on his feet, he caught a glimpse of Angela. "Hey, looks like I'm not the only one doing better."

Angela dearly wished she were capable of such a demonstration to prove her physical condition, but hefting a twelve-year-old over her head had never been in her wheelhouse. She was going to have to try a different tactic. "All right, people. Tony's back in fighting form, and he works for me. I think you know where this is going. I'm going to my office to get caught up on some of the paperwork that's been piling up over this past week, and I'm siccing him on the first person who gets in my way."

"Mom's back," said Jonathan, pumping a fist happily.

"And not a moment too soon." Mona saluted Tony and Angela sarcastically. "I happily relinquish command of this fort to its stalwart commander and her handsome executive officer. After all this, I think I'm due for an indefinite psychiatric furlough." With that, she shoved past them and headed for her apartment.

The kids spent the next hour or so checking on them with irritating frequency. Once satisfied the parents were not going to spontaneously combust, Sam headed out back to shoot hoops, Jonathan headed out front to gather bugs for his lizards, leaving Tony and Angela alone and coherent for the first time in days. Angela spent twenty minutes debating whether to go and talk to Tony. He's been through an emotional roller coaster, and he could probably use some space.

Could he, though? I've been through an emotional roller coaster, too, and I don't want space. I want a hug.

Come off it, Angela. You want more than a hug from Tony.

Shut up.

Things need to get back to normal around here. Isn't that what this whole family has been waiting for?

Normally, if I was feeling scared, unsure, or lonely, talking to Tony would be the most normal thing in the world. And I wouldn't have some nasty little voice in my head trying to make the fact that I need a hug from my best friend into something dirty and wrong.

Then he rendered her increasingly bitter one-woman quarrel irrelevant by appearing in her office's doorway, dragging his trusty vacuum behind him. He was wearing his usual happy-go-lucky smile, but his broad shoulders were hunched and his neck bowed. "Hey Ange. Just thought I'd check on you now that our wardens have eased up."

There was something weirdly soothing about simply being in the same room with him. Even when he wasn't doing or saying anything of substance, he was the one person who fully knew and understood what she had been through, this past week and a half. She supposed it was fitting. He knew everything else about her. If she had to have a crazy secret like this, she could think of no one better to share it with.

"Well, mostly," Tony replied off-handedly. "I'm still sleeping a lot more than I should be, and I've been having queasy spells here and there."

That was a relief. So had she. Hearing that he was still not at a hundred percent made her feel like less of a lightweight. After all, Tony was far and away the most healthy, physically-fit person she had ever met. She thought of all the time he spent working out, which inevitably led to thoughts of his naked body, and she found her eyes roving over him in an unseemly fashion. She stubbornly ripped them away from his waistline, fixing them on his face. "Yeah, I'm still having the occasional queasy spell myself, but they seem to pass pretty quickly.

"You heading back to work tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I think I'm up to it. If I don't get back to my normal routine soon, I think I'm in very real danger of literally, physically dying of boredom."

Tony's smile turned affectionate. "Chi dorme non piglia pesci, huh?"

Angela frowned. "What was that?"

"My mom and dad used to say it all the time," Tony reminisced, leaning against her desk. "So did Grandpa Micelli, when he showed up. It means 'who sleeps does not catch fish.' I could never understand what they were getting at, back then. He was a garbageman, she was a housewife, and neither one of 'em had fished a day in their lives." He chuckled.

"I think I get it. It's sort of the Italian version of 'diligence is the mother of good luck,' huh?"

He tapped his nose. "See? I knew you'd get it right off the bat." He regarded her thoughtfully. "I guess it's only right that you're spending some time as a Micelli. You've got the same overblown immigrant work ethic going on that they did."

She supposed that made sense. Immigrants pushing themselves to succeed in a strange world of native-born Americans. A woman pushing herself to succeed in a strange world full of men. It was natural, perhaps, that they would share that trait. Still, the comparison warmed her heart. "Is that your way of saying you think our marriage has your parents' blessing?"

Tony shrugged awkwardly. "I hadn't exactly thought about it along those lines, but I do think my folks would have loved you if they'd had a chance to meet you. My mom was a tough babe just like you. Tough as nails. And Dad adored her for it."

"Tough how?" Phrased that way, Angela wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted. "She didn't mistreat you, did she?" Tony had never talked much about his late mother, but she had always assumed that was because he had been so young when he'd lost her.

"No!" The flicker of outrage she saw in his dark eyes on his mother's behalf immediately quashed her fears. "It was a compliment, to her and to you. I just meant that she was a real strong woman."

"Didn't let you get away with anything, huh?" Angela smiled. She could only imagine what a handful Tony had been as a kid. Clever, energetic, and full of charm. In a man, those qualities were difficult to resist. In a toddler, they would have driven her to homicide, suicide, or both.

"Didn't let anybody get away with anything," he remembered fondly. "She and Dad were married in July of 1943. It was an arranged marriage, they were basically strangers, but they figured they had their whole lives to get to know each other. Then, a week later, Operation Husky happened."

"Oh my God!" Angela gasped.

Tony nodded wryly. "Two artillery battalions camped out in the hills, a column of British naval infantry marching up the road, and American paratroopers raining down from above, with the family vineyard caught in the middle. Mom didn't let it get to her, though. She rounded up some of the field hands to help her carry the wounded back to the cottage she and Dad still hadn't finished moving into, started boiling water and tearing up linens to make bandages, and set up a makeshift field hospital. Dad tried to stop her. He stood in the doorway and told her he wouldn't have his wife endangering herself like that. She just told him he could come along and protect her if it would make him feel better, then crawled out between his legs and got back to work."

Angela laughed and clapped her hands. "Nice comeback! What did he do?"

Tony spread his hands helplessly. "What could he do? He followed her suggestion. Went along and helped, and took his axe and his picking knife with him in case there was trouble."

"Aw. What a good sport."

"You ain't heard the best part. This snot-nosed American lieutenant, who looked like he was maybe three days out of West Point, comes around the next day and tells her he's taking over the premises. She tells him this is her home and she ain't gonna have any fighting in it, so he'd better leave his gun at the door and tell his guys to do the same. The lieutenant tells my mom she'd do well not to talk back to a man with a gun."

"I'll bet that went over well." Angela could only imagine what she'd have said in that situation. "What did she say?"

"Not much." Tony sniggered. "She just whacked him with her broom and said if he was going to act like a twelve year old boy, she'd treat him like one."

Angela wasn't sure whether to be enthused or terrified for Lina Micelli, though the fact that the young bride's son was recounting the story obviously meant she'd survived the ordeal. "What happened next?"

"He called her an unfortunate name. Dad would never say exactly what, which tells me it was probably pretty bad. The lieutenant had some enlisted goons with him, and they pointed their guns at her. Dad was worried it would be the end of her, so he jumped between her and the guns."

"Oh no!"

"Don't worry, it all turned out okay. He started out by telling them their mothers would be ashamed to see them bullying an unarmed woman, then moved on to making fun of them for being so scared of a housewife with a broom that they'd resort to deadly force. 'Better watch out, my granny's next door and she's got an honest-to-goodness mop in her mighty arsenal.' That sort of stuff." Tony shrugged good-naturedly. "A few minutes later, he had them all laughing it off and apologizing to Mom."

It sounded like Tony took after his father quite a bit. "What a story! Okay, I feel suitably complimented by the comparison now."

"Thank you, though it would have saved a lot of time if you'd just trusted me not to insult you." He let his head fall back, looking exhausted. "You know, it's funny. When Dad told me the story, he said that was the moment that he fell in love with Mom. When Mom told it to me, she said that was the moment that she'd fallen in love with Dad. I wonder if they ever told each other?" he mused thoughtfully. "Ah well. Enough yammering. I've got a week of your mother's unique brand of housekeeping to repair, and you've got paperwork stacked halfway to the ceiling." He eyed the pile on her desk, sympathy in his eyes. "I'm gonna go make you some coffee."

"Thanks, Tony." As he walked away, Angela searched her own memories, trying to pinpoint the moment she had fallen in love with him. Thankfully, none of the obstacles they'd faced together had been life-threatening. Most of the moments that came to mind as candidates were simple, quiet ones. Tony playfully cracking an egg into her palms as they cooked dinner together, catching her eye across the altar at the Fergusons' wedding, proudly watching her open Christmas gift he'd sold his most prized possession for. Sleeping in a tent in the yard to help her son through his first heartache. Choking down a sandwich she'd made and chivalrously pretending not to be revolted. Shooting hoops with her in his jacket and tie to take her mind off of being stood up.

In the end, she couldn't bring herself to pick out a single moment. Tony had snuck up on her as slowly and surely as a thief in the night. Wow. Neil Sadaka was right. Love really does keep getting stronger every day. Ugh, of all the stupid songs in the world for us to have to identify with…

Monday morning was blissfully normal. Tony was in the kitchen making scrambled eggs and sausage, and when he snuck himself a covert bite as he dished up plates for the kids, it remained where he'd put it. Angela walked in, looked at the food on offer without interest, but also without revulsion, then headed straight for the coffeepot. Then Mona came in wearing the same clothes she'd had on at dinner the previous evening, let Angela know she would be late for work, and demanded two slices of toast, "with real butter, not that heart-healthy crap you're always trying to foist on me."

When the phone rang, Samantha nearly stepped on Jonathan in her rush to answer it.
"Out of my way, worm! That could be Jake!"

"Ow! I'm telling!" the boy whined, mopping up a puddle of orange juice from the glass she'd knocked into his plate.

"Jonathan, stop whining," Angela scolded halfheartedly. Her eyes met Tony's over the breakfast table, and they shared a quick, conspiratorial smile. She was clearly as relieved as he was to see their kids acting as such again.

"Here, buddy, take this." Tony handed Jonathan the plate he'd just finished assembling for himself. "I'll make up another. I've got time before my next class." He went to the phone and put a finger on the switch hook while his daughter was still in mid-sentence. "Sam, the Law of Solid Mass applies to everyone, and I've told you kids a million times not to run in the house."

Jonathan wrinkled his nose. "There's something wrong with these eggs. They're all pale and wiggly."

"That's cause mine are just whites. They're healthier that way, and I'm trying to get my strength built up again."

"They look like snot." Jonathan took a bite and gagged on it. "They taste like snot."

"Jonathan, the bus is going to be here in…" Angela glanced at the clock. "A minute and a half ago. You can either eat them or go hungry, but Tony doesn't have enough time to make more."

Meanwhile, Sam had placed the phone's handset back on the cradle, looking far too pleased about her father's interruption. "What's so funny, missy?" he demanded warily.

"That call wasn't for me," she replied smugly. "It was Dean Brown checking to see if you and Angela could meet with him around nine."

"Oh, Madonna mia!" Tony groaned, picking up the phone and hastily punching *69.

"Called into the principal's office again, Tony?" Jonathan teased.

"We're all very disappointed in you, young man," said Sam. "If they're telling Angela on you, it you must have done something really, really horrible."

"Besides these eggs, that is," said Jonathan rudely.

"Or was she your partner in crime?" Mona tutted at her daughter. "What is this, dear? Another belated teen rebellion?"

"All right, I confess. I'm the one who helped him spell out the F word in carrot seeds on the football pitch," Angela replied sarcastically.

Tony laughed. "Hey, that's actually pretty clever, Angela." Then he gave their three kids a stern look. "But shameful, and don't you monsters get any ideas." As the dean's secretary picked up, he stook up straighter and smoothed down his hair, plastering a polite smile on his face.

"Tony, you know that's not a video phone, right?" said Angela gently.

He gave her a withering glare, but relaxed his stance. "Heya Val. Yeah, this is Tony Micelli. Sorry we got disconnected. Yeah, I'm not sure what happened, either." His daughter giggled, and he shot her a warning look. Yeah? That's great. Yeah, let me check with my—uh, Angela." He held the receiver away from his face. "Good news, they think they've found the chumps who poisoned us. Wanna come watch me beat the crap out of them?"

"Yes. Yes, I do," said Angela with a straight face. The children looked mildly unnerved by her bloodlust, and seemed relieved when the school bus honked for them.

Mona, for her part, seemed more proud of her daughter's quiet fury than anything. "Atta girl. You pop them once for your mother, you hear me?"

Tony cleared his throat nervously. One angry Robinson woman was scary enough, but two could be lethal. Especially when they were united in fury against a common target. He decided to make himself scarce, lest he somehow become that target. "Well, I've got one last round of sentence diagrams to finish up before speech class today," he lied shamelessly. "If we're going to make that nine o'clock meeting, I'd better get hopping."

"I'm serious," said Mona, grabbing her daughter's arm insistently. "If you haven't got the stomach for bloodshed, hire a team of shark lawyers to take the punks for all they've got. Those two days you disappeared were the scariest I've lived through since your father died."

It took Angela a few seconds to determine that this wasn't the setup for a punchline. It was true maternal rage. Her mother's serious moments being rare treasures indeed, she decided to take advantage of this one while it lasted. "Mother, can I ask you a question?"

"I think I know what it is. The wait time for a firearm is three days, dear. But that's okay. You'll just have to use an improvised weapon to brutally slaughter the creeps. May I suggest a butcher knife?" Mona indicated the wooden block on the counter. "Tony hasn't sharpened them all week, so they'll be nice and dull." She laughed evilly.

Uh oh, her mother was quickly returning to normal, Angela realized. I'd better hurry. "No, I actually wanted to know why you married Daddy."

"Because your grandmother didn't approve of James Earl Jones."

"Mother, I'm serious!"

"So am I!" Mona's voice had a bitter edge to it. "You want to know the saddest part? It wasn't even racism! As evil a reason as that would have been, at least it would have followed some sort of coherent, if shameful, thought process. The forties weren't an easy time for interracial couples, after all. But Nana chased Jimmy off because she didn't like the way he stuttered, of all things!"

"Mother, we're getting distracted from…" Angela paused. "Wait. Darth Vader had a speech impediment?"

"He was such a bashful young thing," Mona sighed adoringly. "It was so cute!"

Angela wasn't sure how much credence to put in her mother's story. Mona seemed to be in earnest, but she often did when telling bold-faced lies. "We can…and will…get back to this later. What I meant to ask is, how did you know that Daddy was the one?" Angela had chosen Michael through careful planning. She had started by making lists of his flaws and virtues, her own and comparing the two. Then she had evaluated their relationship as a whole, going over the positive and negative effects it had had on both their lives. Then she had polled their various loved ones in an effort to both get objective views on their prospective marriage, and determine what kind of support and opposition they could expect to meet with from their friends and family. The process had taken days.

She had eloped with Tony on a drug-addled whim and they still hadn't notified her own mother or their own children, much less sought anyone's guidance or opinion. It was far from ideal. But from the sound of his story, his parents' situation had been even worse. Strangers forced into marriage by their families starting their life together in the middle of a warzone? She'd have given the couple six months at best, if she'd been at that wedding. Everything she knew about romance seemed to be turning on its head, of late.

"He had a hot bod and knew exactly what to do with it," said Mona matter-of-factly.

"Mother!" Angela balked. "For God's sake, that's my father you're talking about!"

Mona raised her eyebrows. "And how did you think he became your father, dear? By stealing an egg from a stork's nest?"

"No, but I don't need to hear the gory details! I just want to know what made you decide to spend the rest of your life with him!" It was a fair question, after all. Settling down with just one man wasn't really her mother's style. Yet somehow, she had decided Rob Robinson was worth the trouble. "It's a big leap to make."

Mona studied her daughter's face in thoughtful silence, taking a long moment to seriously consider the question. "All right. Besides the hot bod, I liked the way he looked at me."

"How?"

Mona tilted her head thoughtfully. "Well, he'd ogle my neckline just like all the others, of course. I mean, he was still a guy." She laughed. "But then there were times he'd stare at me the same way a geek in a museum stares at a piece of Renaissance art. Like they could spend a dozen lifetimes trying to search for all the hidden details and underlying meanings in it, or just reflecting on how unique and beautiful it is, without ever getting bored." She shot her daughter a smile. "You know the look I mean. It's the same one you and Tony are always giving each other."

Angela started in her seat. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, you heard me!" Mona picked up her half-finished plate and headed for the back door. "If you're going to play dumb with me, this conversation is over. I'm taking my breakfast to go."