Chapter Twelve

"So Angela, now that we finally ditched Dean Killjoy and that stalker Mike, whatcha wanna do?" Tony was tired and out of breath from their mad dash across campus, but the night was still young. If they came home from a frat party at this early hour, Mona would never let them hear the end of it.

"Besides you, handsome?" Angela giggled, giving him an appreciative once-over.

"Ay-oh, oh-ay, that's sexual harassment, boss!" he teased.

But the joke didn't earn him any more of her beautiful laughter. Instead, she burst into tears. "You mean you don't want to?" she sobbed pitifully, plopping down on the curb and burying her face in her hands. "Then why did you lead me on all these years? Rubbing my feet when they're aching and baking me brownies when I'm sad and supporting me in the darkest hours of my life?" He sat down next to her, and she gave his chest an angry shove. "I know how you men are, buster! You don't do stuff like that if you're not looking to score!"

"That ain't it! I wanna score with you, baby, I promise!" he tried to reassure her, wrapping his arms around her and mashing a clumsy kiss on her cheek. "It's just that I always promised myself I'd wait until we were married." Tony moaned and released her, clutching his head in a panic. "Aw no, I said it out loud!"

Angela brightened. "Was that a proposal, my hunk of filet mignon?"

"That depends. If it was, what would your answer be?"

She slugged him feebly. "Yes, of course!"

Tony narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I don't buy it. Is this a prank?" He clambered to his feet and looked up and down the street, peering into some hedges and then a dumpster. "Did the guys put you up to this? Are they hazing me?"

She stood up and tried to follow him, but couldn't quite keep up in her high heels. She was forced to grab him by the belt and yank him to a stop. "No, dummy! I said yes 'cause I love you!" Then her face took on a horrified look and she slumped against the dumpster, in tears once more.

Feeling awful, Tony drew her into his arms, rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Aw, come on Angela, being in love with me ain't that bad, is it? I mean, I know I'm broke and kinda dumb, but at least I'm hot, right?"

She nodded against his shoulder. "The hottest, and I also love your confidence, your good heart, and your brownie recipe. But I've put off telling you so all these years because I wanted you to say the L-word first!"

"But I did say it first, Angela!" he reminded her. "Remember when I got my appendix out?"

"Oh yeah." She leaned back in his arms to wave a stern finger in his face. "I knew you remembered, you dirty, rotten liar!"

He stuck out his lower lip, looking like a guilty little puppy who had been caught with a chewed-up shoe in his mouth. "Do you forgive me, my little baked potato with extra butter?"

She shook her head stubbornly. "Not until you say it again."

"I love you, Angela." The words spilled out of his mouth as if propelled by a rocket. They'd been dying to get out of there for years. He was surprised they hadn't broken any of his teeth on their way out.

Angela giggled happily. "Louder."

"I love you, Angela!"

"Louder! I want all the jerks on our block who have been gossiping behind our backs all these years to hear you!"

Tony frowned. "This isn't our block, Angela."

"It's not?" She glanced around briefly, then shrugged. "Then I guess you'll just have to yell extra loud, won't you, honey?"

"Fine, jeez." He released her, cupping his hands around his mouth in a makeshift megaphone. "Attention, citizens of Fairfield! Let it be known all over town that I, Anthony Morton Micelli—"

"Hehehe, Morton," Angela snickered.

"Shut up. Am hopelessly and forever in love with Angela Katherine Bower, even when she bullies me about my unfortunate middle name!"

Giddy with excitement, Angela clapped her hands. "Ooh, that was good. Now tell them about all the times we made out!"

"Nah, I don't wanna make 'em jealous," he demurred. "And quit changing the subject. You said you'd marry me!"

She frowned. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't we already get married?"

"No, I'm pretty sure I'd remember that."

"No, I'm positive! You were in a black tux, and we were holding hands in front of an altar, and the Fergusons were there…oh, wait. You're right. That was their wedding. Damn." She leaned against him wearily. "I don't wanna have another wedding. What if you change your mind and try to fix me up with some other guy at the reception again?"

Tony shrugged helplessly. "It ain't my fault I'm not good enough for you. It's just how God made me."

Angela slapped him. "Quit talking trash about my fiancé! He's a sweet, considerate, hard-working man. With a great brownie recipe. And he doesn't deserve that kind of shabby treatment."

Tony looked hurt. "You forgot to mention how sexy he is."

"Oh, right. He's a total fox. How dare you malign him?" She slapped him again.

Tony awoke on the living room couch with fuzzy vision and a stinging cheek. "Ow! Quit hitting me!"

Angela's face came into focus, her mouth pressed into a hard line. "Then quit drinking yourself into a coma."

The details of how he'd come to be asleep on the couch at almost midnight, wearing nothing but his undershirt and boxers, with a half-empty mason jar in his hand were coming back to him. "Then quit worrying me like this! Do you know what time it is, missy?"

Angela rolled her eyes and got sarcastic with him. "Sorry I missed curfew, Dad." Then she gasped, putting a hand to her mouth as if she'd said something she shouldn't. "I mean, I left a message on the machine, didn't you think to check it?"

"I got your message. I got it loud and clear!" He took another swig of the fruity vodka. "Did you really expect me to believe you were at work until…" He checked the clock on the mantel. "11:30 at night?!"

"Well, yes." Angela blinked, clearly taken aback. "I've done it before."

Tony dropped the accusing finger he'd had pointed at her, his righteous indignation briefly subsiding. "That's true." But then he noticed the way she was restlessly playing with her fingers. She only did that when she was hiding something, or trying not to scratch a mosquito bite. And mosquito season was long gone. "But that ain't what kept you out so late, is it?"

"No," she admitted, her eyes meeting his, wide and pleading. He and Angela had gotten pretty good at communicating without words over the years, and he knew exactly what that look meant. Please tell me you understand, because I can't bring myself to say this out loud. It was the same look she'd given him when she'd criticized his accent a few months ago, and that caused his already-raging insecurities to boil over.

He held her gaze and shook his head almost imperceptibly. No, you're not getting off that easy. She was his wife, damn it—for a few more days, at least—and if she was going to cheat on him, she could at least do him the courtesy of admitting it to his face. "Is that all you have to say? No?" He took a fortifying gulp of the vodka, as it was plain he was going to need it to get through this conversation. "Angela, I know everything. Joanne Parker told me what she caught you buying this morning."

Angela sighed. "I was afraid of that. I guess it didn't take a genius to figure out my little secret after that, huh?"

Tony winced. He had been hoping she would think enough of him to tell him the truth about her affair, but now that it was out, he was rethinking that position. Maybe ignorance really was bliss. Or at least, a lesser degree of misery. "So you admit it?"

"Well, there's no point in trying to deny it, is there?" she snapped. "I mean, you were bound to find out eventually!"

She had a point. He was pretty nosy, especially where the people he loved were concerned. "I'm afraid so. These things do have a way of coming out, in the end."

She laughed as if he'd made a hilarious joke. "And when you heard the news, you decided to celebrate, is that it?" Her eyes flicked to the half-empty jar of vodka in his hand.

"Are you being sarcastic? How could you do this to me?" he yelled indignantly. Some soggy part of his brain realized he was probably going to wake the children, but he was past caring.

"How could I do this to you?" Angela gaped at him incredulously. "Whatever happened to sharing blame?"

"It went out the window when I found out what you've been up to!"

"What I've been up to?" she repeated. "Are you accusing me of doing this on purpose?"

"Well, you sure as hell haven't put a stop to it on purpose!"

She slapped him again. "How dare you?!"

The slap brought him at least partway back to his senses. She was right. He was making a fool of himself. She hadn't been in her right mind when she'd married him, and he had no business trying to hold her to anything she'd said or done while she was that bad off. "You're right. This conversation's going off the rails. A shouting match ain't gonna help anything, and we're gonna wake Sam and Jonathan if we keep it up. I'm sorry."

Angela breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. For what it's worth, I'm not trying to put you off. It was wrong of me to keep something like this a secret. Why don't we sit down and talk about it like adults?"

"I'd like that." They needed to smooth things over before the rest of the family picked up on their hostilities. He held out the jar he'd been drinking from. "Here, care to join me in a nightcap? Ambassador Kaminski ain't wrong about Polish vodka."

Rage flickered in her dark eyes once more. "You're offering me hard liquor? At a time like this?!"

He grinned. "Especially at a time like this." His joke must have stunk, because she slapped him again. "Ow," he mumbled. "If you're gonna keep hitting me, could you aim for the right side of my face next time? The left is starting to go numb."

That joke didn't work, either. She didn't crack a smile. Quite the opposite in fact. Her eyes were welling up with tears. "I don't care how drunk you are, Tony Micelli! I won't be spoken to this way—least of all by my husband!"

That was a low blow. Demanding he honor their marriage vows when she had no intention of doing so? "Ay-oh, oh-ay! So now I'm your husband, am I? It'd be nice if you'd remembered that before you cheated on me!"

"You think I'm cheating on you?" Angela stared at him. "Is that what you've been blustering about?"

A tiny seed of hope took root somewhere in his battered heart. "You mean you're not?"

"No! I can't believe you would be dumb enough to think that! Or believe anything that came out of Joanne Parker's mouth." Angela shook her head and started pacing with the speed and ferocity of a charging bull. "Damn it, Tony! I don't know whether to be more offended, or less, now that I know what you were talking about."

Tony squinted at her in confusion. It was late, and he was tired, emotional, and slightly sozzled. It was obvious he'd missed something, but he couldn't begin to guess what. Though he knew it would only make him look stupid to ask for clarification, trying to figure it out on his own was proving severely detrimental to his left cheek. "What did you think I was talking about? What were you talking about?"

"I'll tell you when you're sober." Catching him off-guard, she snatched the jar from his hand and slammed it into the trash can with a wet crunch. "Try to make that soon, will you?" And with those parting words, she fled upstairs.

The scrawny clerk behind the desk, whose nameplate identified him as Armin, wrinkled his nose distastefully at the sight of their besotted smiles. "Let me guess. You're here for a marriage license?"

"What's wrong with that?" Angela asked, feeling defensive. "You got a problem with true love?"

"No. I have a problem with people who decide they've found true love after knowing each other for a grand total of five minutes, come to me demanding an immediate marriage license, and then come back to me three days later demanding an immediate annulment." Armin replied grimly.

"That ain't us," Tony reassured him. "Angela and I have been living together for four years, and she knows exactly what she's getting herself into. She knows all about my temper, my snoring, and my horrible, horrible middle name."

"And he knows all about my borderline eating disorder, what I look like in my bathrobe, and my real hair color," Angela threw in, then turned to laugh in Tony's face. "It's your funeral, honey."

"I'm pretty sure it's yours," Tony teased, taking her in her arms and kissing her.

"All right, break it up, you two," sighed Armin. "What's the bride's full name?"

"Angela Katherine Bower," said Tony. "Katherine's spelled with a K. Pretty, huh? It's her grandma's name."

"Got it." Armin jotted it down. "And the groom's name?"

"Anthony Morton Micelli," said Angela. "But keep the Morton part under your hat. He's a l'il sensitive about it."

"Bride's birthplace?"

"Hanover, New Hampshire," said Tony. "Her family's from Connecticut and London, though. She was only born in New Hampshire because her parents met at Dartmouth College. Her mom dropped out after the wedding, but her pop was still a student when she was born."

"I don't need her life history, pal," said Armin, jotting "New Hampshire" on the form. "Groom's birthplace?"

"Brooklyn, New York." Angela shook her head reprovingly at the clerk. "Seriously, the accent should be a dead giveaway. Though it's not as thick as it used to be, after four years in Connecticut." And little Samantha had lost hers entirely, not long after joining her household. Angela privately hoped Tony would never go that far. She found his manner of speaking endearing.

Tony looked a little upset by her observation. "You really think so?"

"Yeah, mostly since you started taking that dumb speech class." She rolled her eyes at the memory. "At least you've mellowed out a little since those first couple of weeks. Seriously, it was like living with Henry goddamn Higgins."

Tony frowned. "Ay-oh, I only listened to him 'cause of you! You're the one who backed him up and said I talk like a dumbass."

"I never called you a dumbass! I happen to admire that body part of yours greatly, and would never have insulted it!" She gave it a pinch. Tony laughed, the clerk averted his eyes, and it was only then that she realized what she had just said. And done. Well, that was love for you. It made a girl do crazy things.

"Save it for the honeymoon, lady," Armin groaned. "Dates of birth, please?"

"Mine is May 25th, 1950, his is April 30th, 1952." She grinned mindlessly. "I snagged myself a hot young stud."

Tony's dopey smile mirrored hers. "And I scored me a sophisticated, worldly older woman."

"Mother would be so proud of both of us!" They burst out laughing and fell into each others' arms again.

"Speaking of your mother, what's her name at birth and birthplace?" said Armin.

"Mona June Rockwell, 'cause she was born in June. Her dad used to call her his little Junebug," Tony rambled. "Mona was born in New London, which is funny, 'cause her mom was born in the old London." Tony started laughing again, though it hadn't been particularly funny. She knew how he felt. She was feeling a little giddy, herself. Her head felt like it had been pumped full of helium, and she was having trouble focusing her eyes.

"And her dad's name was Rob Robinson," Tony prattled on obliviously. "Ain't that the cruelest name you ever heard?"

"Besides Morton, of course," Angela snickered.

"Shut up. Anyway, he was born in Hartford and he stayed there until he joined the Navy, right after Pearl Harbor." Tony smiled fondly. "Angela's got this cute little frame on the desk in her office, with him on one side in his petty officer's uniform, and Jonathan—that's my new son—as a baby in a little sailor suit on the other side. Makes me smile like a big dope every time I go to dust it."

"Like you're doing now, my hunk of filet mignon?"

Tony reached up to feel his mouth. "Huh. Guess so, my little baked potato!"

"Were those really the best pet names you guys could come up with for each other, after four years together?" Armin shook his head in disgust. "What about Anthony's parents?"

"Their names were Lina Romano and Giancarlo Matteo Micelli, and they were both born in Italy." Angela squinted in concentration. "No one called his father Giancarlo, though. Does that matter? Everyone called him Matty. You see, Matty's mother wanted to name him Matteo, after his own father, because they looked so much alike, but it's actually illegal in Italy to name a son after his father if the father's still living. Can you believe that?"

"You make a good point, baby," said Tony. "I mean, of all the dumb things to waste time passing a law about-"

"I don't care!" Armin snapped. "What are your occupations?"

"My Angela's an ad exec with her very own agency," Tony bragged. "That's right, pal! She ain't just hot, she's smart and accomplished, too. And she's gonna marry me! Can you believe it?"

The look of wonder in Tony's eyes nearly took her breath away, and she reached up to stroke his face. Her hands were a little clumsy, probably from exhaustion, but he didn't complain. "And my Tony's a housekeeper. Bet you'd never guess it to look at him, huh? But he's secure in his masculinity. It's one of the things I love about him."

"I love you too, sweetheart," Tony sighed happily, leaning into her touch like a housecat relishing a pat on the head.

"How very touching." Armin rolled his eyes and wrote down their answers. "What is your current marital status?"

"Angela's divorced." Tony turned to Angela. "That jerk never deserved you, by the way," he spat resentfully. Then he softened up and gave a little shrug. "Then again, neither do I. But I'll give it my best anyway."

"Tony's widowed," Angela reported. "I never met his first wife, but from what I've heard, she actually did deserve him. Too bad I can't talk to her. She could have taught me a lot about how to handle him, I bet. Maybe I could call her up on a Ouija board or something, the next time he's giving me grief."

"Sign here, date here, and present your ID, please," said Armin.

They forked over their drivers' licenses. "Ooh, I love it when I get carded," sighed Angela. "It makes me feel young."

"You'll always be gorgeous, Angela, no matter how old we get," said Tony. "And I ain't just trying to be romantic," he informed the disinterested Armin. "Not for nothing, but you should see her mother!"

"I'll pass, thanks." Armin stamped marriage license and handed it over impatiently. "Congratulations on your impending nuptials. Now get the hell out of my sight."

Angela awoke with the urge to vomit, and swallowed hard. "What in the world are you up to in there, honey?" she asked the child inside her, rolling onto her back. "Your big brother never gave me this much trouble when he was your age." She patted her belly affectionately. "I'll bet you're going to take after your daddy and your big sister, and not be able to sit still for five minutes at a stretch." She found a smile. "It's a good thing I'm going to have help this time around, isn't it?"

That was one thing she could be sure of, at least. This one would not be relinquishing his rights as a father the first time his child threw up on him. He was too damned honorable for that. Whatever his feelings for her were, and whatever happened between them, she knew she could trust Tony not to turn his back on his child. Hell, she knew she could trust him not to turn his back on Jonathan, to whom he had no obligation in the slightest.

Speaking of the devil, Tony chose that moment to come along with her morning wake-up call. Rather than a rhythmic series of knocks and a sing-song "rise and shine," this one consisted of three dull thuds that brought to mind a brain-hungry zombie trying to break down a door. "Wake up," he croaked without seeming to care whether she complied. This tepid command was followed by the unmistakable drag of heavy feet shuffling clumsily down the hall, reinforcing the zombie motif.

Well, that settled it. He was in no shape to hear her news, and she was certainly in no hurry to share it. Relieved, she seized the excuse with both hands and got up to dress. Taking a tailored silk pantsuit out of the closet, she was uncharacteristically disturbed when it hung loose around her hips. She still hadn't regained all of the weight she'd lost while she'd been out of commission last month. This would normally be a pleasant surprise, but under the circumstances, it was downright scary. This couldn't be healthy. "You must be getting hungry in there, kiddo. Your daddy usually makes Spanish omelets on Friday. You sure we don't want one?" She opened the door and caught a whiff of spicy onions and melted cheese floating up the stairs. Her stomach lurched almost painfully.

She retreated and set to work on her makeup and hair. "Okay, message received. I promise I won't eat anything. But I need to go in the kitchen say goodbye to your brother and sister, and make sure Grandma's keeping her mouth shut. Can you behave for just a few minutes while I do that?" The vitamin Dr. Thomas had prescribed her and the water she'd taken it with stayed down, which she took as acquiescence.

"You know how to negotiate. That's my boy. Or girl. Whatever you want to be is fine with me." The wheels in her head began to spin at that thought. It would be nice to try raising a girl from scratch, having missed out on Samantha's first eleven years. Then again, having a baby boy in the house would feel comfortingly familiar. Jonathan would probably prefer a little brother to pal around with. They would have a ball, roasting ants under magnifying glasses and pulling the wings off of flies. Ick. She suspected Samantha would join her in not having a preference. She'd been a rough-and-tumble girl, and would be just as happy to cheer on a little brother at his baseball game as a little sister at her ballet recital. Or vice-versa. Angela knew without a shadow of a doubt what her mother wanted, at least. During their sojourn in the ladies' room yesterday, Mother had been vocal in her desire for a granddaughter named Mona.

And Tony? Would he want a son, or another daughter? Or would he not want either, and stick around solely out of obligation? If so, it was for the best that their short-lived marriage would soon be over. The silly thrill of being his wife a bit longer wasn't worth the potential heartache to Tony, herself, the baby, or Sam and Jonathan if he took it in his head to stay married to her because he thought he had to. She wondered how much longer it was going to take. She was surprised that the paperwork hadn't reached their mailbox already, in fact. She'd dropped off her half at Jay's office a week and a half ago, and he'd promised to have it filed with the court the same day. The mail must be running slowly, given how busy the postal service was with the holiday season. That was Uncle Sam for you.

An idea struck her. Well, not so much an idea as an excuse for procrastination. The best thing to do here was wait until Tony signed and submitted the response form agreeing not to contest the annulment. Once that had been safely filed with the court and a judge signed off on it, she could break the news about the baby. That way, if he did take it into his head to propose a shotgun wedding, she could simply say no. She sighed unhappily. She would have to say no, as nice as it would have been to have a wedding with him that she could actually remember.

"That'll be two hundred and ten dollars for the two of you, sir."

Tony reached into his back pocket for the wad of cash he'd won playing pool against the frat boys, squinted at it uncomprehendingly, and with a shrug of his shoulders, handed it over to the lady at the ticket counter. "These bright lights you've got on in here are messing with my eyes. Is this enough?"

"More than." The lady peeled off a few crumpled bills and handed them back to him along with their tickets. "Are you sure you don't want round-trip tickets? It's a lot more cost-effective than paying for return tickets."

"If I have my way, we'll never come back!" Tony replied grandly, stepping away from the counter to sweep his fiancée into his arms.

"But we've gotta, Tony," Angela sighed unhappily. "We've got a family, remember? And work, and school, and friends, and bills, and country club memberships…"

"Oh yeah. All that." Tony pouted.

It had exactly the result he'd hoped for. "You're so cute when you pout." Angela pressed her lips clumsily to his, wobbling slightly and grabbing his shoulders to steady herself. His Connecticut klutz. So adorable.

"Back at you, babe." He handed her their tickets for safekeeping. "You're so damned cute I could eat you up."

Angela giggled. "I'd like that, Tony, but I thought you wanted to wait till after the wedding?"

Which, according to the train schedule, was only four hundred miles and eight hours away. "Right. Remind me to do it later, then, my little baked potato."

Angela's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "I think I'm gonna like being married to you, my hunk of filet mignon. Third time's the charm, huh?"

"Wait a minute. What d'you mean third? I thought I was the second batter up." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Do you have a secret other family in the next town over? Is that why you're always 'working late' and 'going on business trips?'" That would explain a lot, actually.

"No!" Angela smacked him indignantly on the arm as they boarded the train and found their seats. "When I was in college, I eloped with this guy, Brian Thomas. Stop glaring, there's nothing to be jealous about. It only lasted a few hours and we were so hammered he never even touched me."

"Hmph. A real man doesn't use being hammered as an excuse to shirk his husbandly duties," Tony scoffed. "Don't worry, baby. You won't ever have to worry about that again. You're marrying an Italian this time."

"Mother and the kids will be angry that we didn't invite them to the wedding," sighed Angela.

"We could invite 'em if you want. Eloping was your idea." Tony himself would have preferred a big wedding and the chance to show her off a little, but in the grand scheme of things, he was fine with any ceremony that ended with him being married to Angela. He doubted anyone else would care overmuch, either. It wasn't as if they needed to talk things over with her mother or the children or get anyone's approval. They'd had their family's blessing for years. A very loud and insistent blessing. Most of their friends, neighbors and relatives treated them like they were already married.

Angela made a face. "Yeah, but I don't wanna hear them say 'I told you so.' Even though they totally did. Besides, if we invite them, we'll have to invite the rest of my relatives, and then the rest of your relatives, and then all of our friends and neighbors. Then the next thing you know they'll all be drunk, or fighting, or drunkenly fighting, and I'll be quietly sobbing in a corner while you mutter swearwords at them in Italian like you did all through our last dinner party." She wrinkled her nose. "What is a figlio di puttana, anyway?"

Tony scrunched up his face in confusion. "I forget."

"I'll just bet." Angela rolled her eyes, and her head rolled along with them. "Oh, great. I'm getting motion-sick already!"

Tony figured, as a good fiancé, he should probably do something for her discomfort. "Wanna take your mind off it by making out?"

"I thought you'd never ask, hot stuff!" She scooted into his lap and seized his lips in a possessive kiss.

Tony woke just as his flashback was getting to the good part. To add insult to injury, he had a hangover, and this time, he deserved it. With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself out of bed. A look out the window hinted he'd slept through his alarm, and a look at the clock confirmed it. He was going to have to skip his morning run, but that was probably for the best, as even walking down the hall was unpleasant.

He pounded clumsily on Sam's door with none of his usual energy or enthusiasm. "Wake up," he instructed gruffly, then repeated the action at Jonathan's door and finally, Angela's. Then he adjourned to the kitchen and proceeded to ransack the cupboards for tomato juice and tabasco sauce, nearly sobbing with relief when he found both items unopened and ready for consumption in the pantry. After a tall glass of the peppery concoction, he felt halfway human again. The Kaminskis had been true to their word about their gift for him and Angela being far less toxic than their son's, at least.

A less-positive side effect of the diminished potency was that it had been just strong enough to loosen his tongue last night, but not strong enough to wipe out the memory of what he'd said to Angela. Ugh. He had accused her of cheating on him like some kind of scorned housewife, and made no effort whatsoever to hide his displeasure. He'd done everything but burst into tears and tell her to think of the children. Well, at least she had told him he was wrong, and he knew he could take her word on it. As angry as she had been at him, once she'd figured out what he was talking about, he didn't need to worry about her lying to spare his feelings. Unfortunately, that meant he would have no one to blame but himself for the end of their short-lived marriage.

He was relieved when Jonathan and Samantha beat both Angela and Mona to the breakfast table. Angela wouldn't want to worry either of the kids by taking Tony to task in their presence. As long as they stuck around, he was safe. And Mona had been in a weird mood last night at dinner, constantly winking at him and laughing at him for no apparent reason. He suspected she had some sort of prank in the works, and he wasn't eager to find out what it was. "Morning, sweetheart. Morning, buddy."

Jonathan's eyes bugged out at the sight of the plates Tony had laid before them, piled high with the usual Friday-morning omelet, plus bacon, sausage, toast, and a bowl of chopped fruit. Sam scowled up at her father. "Dad, I know what you're up to."

His heart sank. He had hoped the kids had slept through his embarrassing fight with Angela last night. "You do?"

"How dumb do you think I am? You're trying to make me fat and pimply so that I'll have to stop dating!" She gestured at the heap of thick-cut bacon as if it were People's Exhibit A.

"Wow, and it worked so quickly!" Jonathan pointed at her face and applauded sarcastically. "Nice work, Tony."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Stow it, the both of yous. There's no ulterior motive, here. Can't a guy treat his family to a hearty meal without these wild accusations flying around?"

To his dismay, Mona chose that moment to barge in, eye the spread on the table, and ask, "Tony, what football team did you invite over for breakfast?" She took a seat and helped herself to some bacon. "And more importantly, how many of the members are single?"

The kids looked back at him pointedly. Tony did his best to ignore them. "I'm trying to encourage Angela to stick around for breakfast." That wasn't entirely a lie. "She still ain't gained back enough of the weight she lost last month, and I'm getting worried."

Mona let out another one of her weird laughs. Tony turned to the kids. "Come on, seriously. Did she put another drawing on my forehead when I was sleeping? Please tell me it's not anything obscene this time." Sam and Jonathan both shook their heads and set to work on their breakfast with the air of two brave soldiers attacking an impassable hill.

"Relax, Tony," said Mona, accepting the omelet he presented her with and giving him a motherly pat on the shoulder in return. "A true artist never pulls the same prank twice."

"Then will you tell me why you're acting so strangely?"

"Would that I could, dear man. Would that I could. But don't worry about Angela. I have a feeling she'll be plumping up again in very short order." Then she started cackling again as if she'd said something hilarious. These Robinson women are going to be the death of me.

Sam stubbornly piled half her food onto Jonathan's plate and shook a warning finger at her father. "Nice try, Dad. But I'm staying beautiful and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

And they're turning my own daughter into one of them!

Jonathan was mumbling something undoubtedly uncomplimentary at Samantha through a mouthful of egg and potato, when Angela walked in. "Don't talk with your mouth full, dear," she gently reprimanded him, pointedly avoiding Tony's gaze when he tried to catch her eye.

"Sit down and eat with us, Angela," Sam invited her helpfully.

Jonathan indicated her usual chair next to him. "Yeah, sit between me and Sam before the sight of her kills my appetite."

"Don't talk to your sister that way!" Angela cried indignantly.

Jonathan's face scrunched up in confusion. "She's not my sister."

Sam curled a lip in disgust. "Good thing, too, or I'd have to put myself up for adoption."

Tony wondered whether his daughter would make good on that threat if he were to reveal Jonathan was now her stepbrother. No, she'd probably take it out on him for his role in making them an official family. And rightfully so. From what little he'd been able to remember, getting married had been his idea. "Close enough," said Tony, neither lying nor revealing the truth. "Angela's right. We're a family and we should be sticking together instead of tearing each other down." He finally caught her eye and gave her a look of contrition, hoping she would recognize his words for the apology they were.

To his alarm, her only response was to burst into tears. The kids stared at her, then each other, then looked to him for answers. As much as he hated to admit it, he didn't have any. He tried to pass the buck up the generational ladder by looking imploringly at Mona, but she didn't seem nearly worried enough about her daughter's out-of-character breakdown. All she did was move the plate of toast a little farther away from Angela, muttering that it was going to get soggy if left where it was. "Looks like the next few months are going to be rainy ones."

"Mona, this is no time to make small talk about the weather," Tony scolded her. "Your daughter is upset."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Jonathan ventured, giving his mother a tentative hug. "Sam and I were just goofing around."

"Yeah, Angela." Sam joined the embrace. "We didn't mean it. Really."

"I know, sweethearts," Angela patted the kids on their backs. "I'm sorry to be such a basket case. I'm just a little emotional today."

"The m-word's back in the house," Jonathan translated, pulling a face.

"Yes, that's it," said Angela. Tony handed her a paper towel to wipe her eyes with, and she took it gratefully. "Thank you, Tony." She dabbed at her eyes, taking care not to smudge her carefully-applied mascara and eye shadow.

Relieved that she had spoken to him, signaling that their fight was at least on pause, if not over, Tony pulled out her chair. "Sit down. Juice is on the table, and coffee's almost ready."

"No coffee for me, thanks." Angela's face crumpled, and she started crying again.

Jonathan ran to Tony's side, clutching his sleeve as if in fear for his life. "She's crying again, Tony!"

"Forget the crying! She just turned down coffee! She must be sick." Sam held her hand to Angela's forehead experimentally. "You don't have a fever, Angela."

"Settle down, you two. She still ain't all the way recovered from being poisoned, is all," Tony told the kids. "The doctor told us to stay away from caffeine."

Jonathan gave him a skeptical look. "You're okay."

"She got the biggest share of the punch, and she's smaller than I am. It's gonna take her a little longer to get back on her feet than it did me." Tony wasn't sure if he believed his own words, though. The crying was scary enough, but seeing Angela turn down coffee was downright disturbing. He nudged Jonathan back toward the table. "Go on, sit down and relax. Finish your breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day." He placed the latest Spanish omelet on a plate and touched Angela's shoulder tentatively. "Angela, can I offer you an omelet? It's caffeine-free."

"I don't think so, Tony," said Angela regretfully.

"Aw, come on. You worked right through dinner last night, and I know you must be getting hungry." He waved the plate under her nose, doing his best to tempt her. "I made yours with extra cheese," he cajoled. "Crispy fried potatoes, grilled onions, juicy hothouse tomatoes—"

"Oh, God!" She pushed her chair back from the table, nearly knocking him off his feet, and made a beeline for the door. "Get out of my way right now!"

Tony immediately felt guilty. He shouldn't have tried to push food on her when he knew her stomach was still bothering her, off and on. He set the plate he'd prepared for her on the stove and ran after her. He didn't have to go far. She was right where he'd expected, kneeling on the floor of the downstairs bathroom, heaving her guts out. She hadn't even taken time to close the door.

He wetted a couple of hand towels in the sink, wrapping one around her neck and wiping the disgusting cocktail of smeared makeup, sweat, tears, drool and bile from her face. "Sorry. I didn't think…I'm just worried, is all.

"Worried?" She brushed a strand of hair out of her face, looking dazed.

"Well, yeah. It's just that you've gotten so thin, and that's not healthy at a time like this."

Angela jolted as if he'd slapped her. "What do you mean, 'a time like this?'"

What in the world had she thought he meant, to look so terrified all of a sudden? "You know. The holiday season, when people traditionally get more chubby, not less." He nudged her knowingly. "Especially when they live with a world-class chef like me."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Your humility is an inspiration to us all."

He stood up and offered a hand to help her to her feet. He was relieved when she took it. "You're not going anywhere if you're still this bad off."

"Tony, I'll be fine. It comes and goes."

Tony raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, do you really want to be at the conference table with all of your employees looking on the next time it comes?"

That got a laugh out of her. "No, but…"

"But nothing! You need to see a doctor. It's been over a month, you shouldn't still be this miserable."

"I saw Dr. Thomas yesterday."

Angela looked unaccountably nervous. Uh oh. What had her doctor told her? "And?" Tony prodded impatiently.

"He's got a few theories," she replied vaguely. "He's running some lab work to try and figure it out for sure."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Trying to milk you for every penny. Hmph, that's doctors for you. They're even worse than lawyers! Next appointment you have, want me to come with you? I don't know much about medicine, but I can loom in the background with my sleeves rolled up and look intimidating, just in case he's thinking about gouging you again."

"That's…weirdly considerate of you." Angela smiled, and briefly reached up to touch his face. "Thanks, Tony. You're the best husband I've ever had."

Tony tried not to let his extreme pleasure at the compliment show. "Well, between Michael and that dud Brian Thomas, that ain't saying much."

Angela blinked. "How did you know about Brian Thomas? I never told you, or anyone, that story."

"Sure you did," Tony argued. "Remember, at the city clerk's office in Niagara Falls?"

"Oh, yes. I remember now. Right before Armin carded us, and you—" She bit her lip, staring at him with wide eyes as the enormity of the shared memory hit them.

Jonathan chose that moment to poke his head into the room. "Mom, are you okay?"

Angela exhaled sharply. "I'm fine, sweetheart. Just too many smells coming at me at once. Tony, I think I'm going to drive into the city today. No need to take Mother and me to the train."

"Angela, wait. Like you said last night, we should probably talk—"

But she was already halfway up the stairs. "Later, Tony! I've got to go brush my teeth again and reapply my makeup."

Jonathan folded his arms and gave Tony a dubious look. "Seriously, Tony, what's with her? I'm not dumb. I know something's up."

Tony hugged his fellow male sympathetically. "I wish I knew, pal-o-mine. But I'll keep a close eye on her, okay?"

Jonathan seemed slightly reassured by the promise. "Thanks, Tony." The two men of the house shared a hug.

Samantha chose that moment to emerge from the kitchen and beckon to Jonathan. "Come on, twerp," Samantha glanced around, checking nervously for Angela. "I mean, dear little brother I never had. I'll give you a lift to school if you're willing to hustle."

"Thank you, Samantha," Angela's voice rang out from somewhere behind him. "And Jonathan, I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier. Have a great day at school, both of you." Angela had grabbed her makeup bag and was already sneaking out through the kitchen. A squawk of "hey, I'm not done with my omelet!" followed by a slam of the back door indicated she'd taken Mona with her.

Sam shook her head sympathetically, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Good luck, Dad."

"Thanks, honey. I'll need it," Tony sighed grimly as he shut the door behind the kids. With that, he was left alone with his raging thoughts.