Chapter Sixteen

Samantha Micelli was no fool. Something was going on in her home. She wasn't sure what, exactly. But whatever it was, it had been going on for a while. Ever since her father and Angela had taken their unanticipated vacation to Pittsburg, they'd been acting weird. It had been understandable, at first. After all, they'd been poisoned against their will. It was natural to be shaken up. But as time continued to march on, they seemed to be getting more crazy, rather than less. Had they finally admitted their feelings while under the effect of whatever the heck they'd been slipped? Maybe kissed? Or even gone all the way, as gross at the thought may be?

But if that was the case, why were they so miserable? And why, if they'd finally and at long last gotten things out in the open, were they carrying on like everything was normal? Sam was a sixteen year old woman of the world, and she'd already experimented with alcohol once. She knew it could make you do things you normally wouldn't. Had something darker happened? Had one or both of them said something hurtful? Done something hurtful? She didn't wanted to think too hard about the possibilities.

Had they maybe gotten together and then broken up again during the short time they'd been away? They had only been gone for a couple of days, but Sam had seen shorter relationships. Julia had split with Bobby O'Neill only three hours after they'd agreed to go steady. And Chad McCann had dumped his latest girlfriend forty-five minutes into the relationship. Ugh, she'd really dodged a bullet when she'd lost that jerk's interest two years ago.

She'd tried picking Jonathan's brain, but he'd been no help at all. One day on the living room couch, when his mom had been upstairs crying for no reason and her dad had been sitting at the kitchen table staring vacantly into space, she'd pointed out that their parents were acting crazy. The little dweeb had dismissed her concerns out of hand. "What's your point, Sam? Our parents are always acting crazy. Remember that time he tried to teach her baseball? Or the time she was pretending to be a teenager and running around in that miniskirt? Or that time he was dressing up like Jeeves and making Yorkshire pudding? It always blows over, sooner or later."

"Jonathan!" she had protested, hitting him with a sofa pillow to get his attention. "This is different and you know it." Dad and Angela had had their differences in the past. Plenty of them, in fact. But their friendship was more solid and reliable than the marriages of most of Samantha's friends. Even in their most contentious moments, they'd retained a certain closeness. They had been comfortable with each other, at home in each others' presence, even when they were at each others' throats. But over the past few weeks, something had changed. There were moments they seemed closer than usual and moments they seemed farther apart than usual, and they kept flip-flopping from one extreme to the other.

It was creepy. Like watching Bert hide from Ernie, or Robin aimlessly wander away from Batman to stuff his face with chocolate in the middle of a confrontation with the Joker, or Jem ditching the Holograms to go sit in a bubble bath for three hours. (Was she getting too old for these shows, now? Eh, screw it, she had bigger things to worry about.)

She'd tried talking to Dad directly, but he'd put his odd behavior down to stress from school. She had tried to talk to Angela, and she'd put her odd behavior down to stress from work. Samantha wasn't dumb enough to buy either excuse. She'd been to school, and it didn't make her stare vacantly at a baked potato for ten minutes straight like she'd caught her father doing at one point. She'd held a couple of jobs, too, and they had never made her literally cry over spilled milk, the way Angela had done while making her coffee a few days ago.

Earlier in the week, she had tried Mona, but she had been uncharacteristically unhelpful. "I don't know a whole lot more than you do, sweetheart."

"But that means you do know a little more than I do." Samantha had extrapolated from that remark. With Mona, sometimes you had to do a little bit of reading between the lines.

"Maybe. At first, I thought they were knocking boots, but unless Tony's worse at it than I gave him credit for, or Angela's worse at it than I feared possible, I don't know why it would be causing them this kind of angst." The redhead had slammed a fist on the arm of her sofa in frustration. "If only I knew which of them was the cold fish, I could give them some advice, and maybe an illustrated copy of the Kama Sutra!"

"Ew! Mona, those are my parents you're talking about!" Samantha had groaned, before fleeing from Mona's apartment in disgust.

Arriving home from school today had her more afraid than ever. As she walked through the front door, she heard her father's voice crying out "green bean alert!" in a panic, from somewhere in the house. That was strange. She didn't smell any food cooking. And it was too late for lunch, and too early for dinner.

The oddities didn't stop there. Angela had come home from work early. And voluntarily, with no physical signs of handcuffs or a cattle-prod having been used on her. She emerged from her office with mussed hair and smudged makeup. Had she been crying again? "Hey Sam," she greeted a little too casually.

"Hey Angela. What are you doing home so early?"

"Uh…I…" Angela looked as guilty as a child with a hand in the cookie jar. Was it really such a difficult question to answer? An awful possibility presented itself. Was the agency closing? Had she lost her job again? If Angela's money was running out and she was going to have to fire Dad, that just might account for the awkwardness between the two of them, and Dad's nerves, and Angela's crying.

Speaking of the devil, her father emerged from the office behind Angela. "She wasn't feeling well. Decided to listen to her h-housekeeper for a change and come home a little early."

Okay, this was getting scarier by the minute. Angela never voluntarily missed work for anything short of a double amputation. Samantha didn't bother probing further. They had proven they weren't going to give her the truth, and questions would only make them double down on covering up whatever was going on. "With the way you were hurling this morning, I can't say I'm surprised. You know, I've been feeling a little off myself today. Maybe I've got what you have."

"Over my dead body!" her father screamed, causing both her and Angela to jump. His face was red with anger, the veins in his neck bulging conspicuously.

Angela placed her left hand over her racing heart. Then she shoved it back in her pocket and left it there, putting her right hand over her heart instead. "Tony, for goodness' sake, there's no need to crucify the poor girl!" She placed a consoling right arm around Sam's shoulders. "I know what this is. You're nervous about the big French test on Monday, aren't you? Sweetheart, you've got no need to play sick. You've been studying so hard, you're going to ace it for sure."

Oh, right. That. As if she didn't have enough on her plate. Well, one problem at a time. "I have been a little stressed about it. Maybe it's just a tension headache. I'm gonna go lie down for a while, I think." She gave Angela a dubious look. "Shouldn't you be doing that, too?"

"Oh. Right," said Angela.

"Yeah, that's why I was in her office," Dad put in hastily. "She was trying to sneak in some work and I was about to drag her off to bed."

Angela giggled as if he'd just cracked a joke, then abruptly composed herself when she saw the look Samantha was giving her. "Sorry. I was just thinking of something I saw in the funny pages this morning. Trying to keep my spirits up, you know."

"Angela, I think you'd better get some rest, and soon."

Dad gave Angela a thoughtful look. "She's probably right, Angela. Go on, I'll come up and check on you in a minute."

Samantha took Angela by the hand and led her upstairs. Angela kept glancing back over her shoulder. Was she expecting someone to be giving chase? Was there a Mafia hitman after her or something? That would be ironic, given that she lived with a couple of Sicilians. Well, I tried asking honestly to their faces. I tried asking rudely behind their backs. They're leaving me no choice. It's time to stick my nose in and do some good old-fashioned snooping.

She waited until Angela's bedroom door closed, then went to her own room. Leaving the lights off and the curtains shut, she stuffed Freddy Fuzzy-Face under the covers in her bed and prepared to go to work.

Samantha heard footsteps on the landing that could only belong to her father in his big, clunky sneakers. Across the hall, she heard Angela's door creak open, then click shut. That was interesting. Dad had said he was going to check on her, but he usually made a point of leaving the door to Angela's room open when he was in there. It was like he thought he needed to prove there was no funny business going, even if it was just a ten-second visit to drop off a tray of food or fresh towels. Did the fact that he'd closed it mean they were up to some…funny business…in there right now?

Yuck. I don't want to think about this anymore, she decided, fleeing down the stairs while the coast was clear. She'd been planning to listen to their conversation at the crack in the door, but since there wasn't one this time, she decided to poke around Angela's office instead. That was where they had been hanging out when she'd walked in. Maybe they had left some clue behind.

Neither of them had bothered to close the door, much less lock it. She slipped in, and found her dad's camera sitting on Angela's desk. Had they been taking pictures of whatever they were up to? She wrinkled her nose. Was that really…something they were into? Ew! I thought we agreed not to think about that anymore! a voice in her head screamed at her. She sat the camera aside and glanced up the doorway. It was still vacant. She held perfectly still, listening for voices or footsteps. She didn't hear any. Good, she still had time, though how much was anyone's guess.

She tried the drawers on Angela's desk. They were all locked except the top left one, which only held office supplies. She grabbed a few sheets of loose-leaf paper so that she could pretend she had just come for homework supplies if someone caught her in the office. As she slid the drawer closed, she noticed a stray form of some kind hanging off the corner of the desk. And was that her father's name on it? It was upside down from her point of view, so she couldn't be sure.

She picked it up for a better look. Yep, there it was. His full name, too. Anthony Morton Micelli. He almost never used that, unless he was filling out something official. Had her worst fears been realized? Was this some kind of pink slip Angela had prepared for him? She skimmed the rest of the page, her heart nearly smashing though her rib cage when she saw the header at the top. City of Niagara Falls, Office of the City Clerk: Marriage License Bureau. With Certificate of Marriage Registration in large, bold print underneath.

Samantha's brain did a kind of hiccup, momentarily blanking out before quickly and abruptly jolting back on. She read on, her curiosity temporarily taking a backseat to her confusion. This is to certify that Anthony Morton Micelli and Angela Katherine Micelli, nee Bower, were married on November 2nd, 1988. She stared at the words typed on the page, willing them to make sense. They did not oblige. Wait a minute…

November second. That was one of the days they'd been in Pittsburg. Or Niagara Falls, more accurately, it seemed. Apparently, they had lied about that. Had they been lying about being poisoned, too? Hm, no. As annoyed as she was with them for keeping secrets, she had seen them lying half-dead on the bathroom floor. Nobody could fake an illness that well. Especially not Dad and Angela. They weren't great liars. That was how she had known something was up in the first place, after all. Though she had certainly never suspected this.

She took a moment to arrange the facts as she knew them in her head. Dad and Angela had gotten smashed and lost their minds on November first. They had gotten married on November second. They had come to and phoned home on November third. Therefore, they had gotten married while smashed. Ooh, this is like something out of General Hospital, she thought excitedly. Though General Hospital probably would have made things a lot more interesting. Dragged the story arc out for at least six months. Made the unwilling husband and wife strangers, or archenemies, or involved with other people. Not two best friends who had been carrying a torch for one another for years and just needed a little push to take them to the finish line.

Well, it had been bound to happen sooner or later. Maybe this was for the best. It was already far too late to be sooner, and neither of them seemed to realize how very quickly later was passing them by. Without the liquid courage, I probably would have been married before they were, Samantha thought, muffling a laugh with her hand. The real question was, why hadn't they said anything? Unless…oh no, they weren't trying to laugh it off as something they hadn't really meant and get a divorce, were they? Like they had a few months ago when Angela had been shouting I love you, Tony in her sleep. Or that time at the Fergusons' wedding when they had been dancing around an empty floor with no music as an excuse to cuddle. Or that time Dad had followed Angela out on her date and brought her home several hours with mussed lipstick and fogged-up glasses?

Sam's heart sank. Yep. I know my father and apparent stepmother. That's exactly what they're doing. Her course of action was clear now. She had to find a way to talk them out of it. She slipped the marriage certificate into the sheaf of loose-leaf paper she'd swiped as a cover for her presence in the office. She wasn't sure yet exactly what she was going to do with it. Maybe she would Xerox it and send out copies to all of the biggest gossips in the neighborhood. Ooh, or maybe she could have wedding announcements printed up! Or maybe she should just take it to Mona, who was bound to have some ideas on how to keep them together. We'll think of something, she promised herself. Samantha had already lost one mother, and her father had already lost one wife. She wasn't going to let either of them go through that again.

Jonathan Bower was sick of being the youngest member of his family. No matter how old you got, the rest of the family still treated you like a baby. He was twelve years old. Samantha had been hopping trains and winning fistfights at his age. But no one even bothered to tell him what was going on in his own home. Like they thought he was too innocent or just plain stupid to notice anything was up.

Everything's fine, Jonathan.

Your mom's just feeling the after-effects of that poisoned punch, Jonathan.

I'm fine, sweetheart. Just too many smells coming at me at once.

No, pal-o-mine, I ain't staring at your mother. I was staring at the picture on the wall behind her. I think it's a little crooked, don't you?

Crying? No, of course I haven't been crying, honey. What could I possibly have to cry about?

Did they think he was still dumb enough to believe in the Tooth Fairy, too? He'd pretended to believe all was well, because he'd wanted so badly to believe all was well, but at a certain point, he'd had to face the cold, hard truth. Something was wrong with his mother.

The signs were obvious. She was sleeping like an Arctic ground squirrel in the wintertime, complaining of headaches, throwing up like the little girl in The Exorcist, was crying all the time. And this morning, she'd turned down coffee. Had the poisoned punch she'd drunk broken something inside of her? Or had it made some pre-existing condition worse?

What really freaked him out was how worried Tony seemed to be about her lately. Tony had always been overprotective of his family, but lately, he'd doubled down. He had been watching Mom like a hawk, chewing out anyone who bothered her, and coddling her at every turn. The housekeeper clearly knew something was up. Had he worked it out for himself, like Jonathan himself had, or had Mom told him the truth outright? If so, why hadn't she broken the news to the whole family? Was whatever she had really that scary? Could it be terminal?

Upon arriving home, he was relieved to find the living room deserted so that he could head straight to his room. Once inside, he took the notebook and stack of medical textbooks he had checked out from the library earlier in the week out from under his bed. If they wouldn't tell him what was wrong with his mother, he was going to figure it out for himself. He cracked open the notebook and reviewed his notes from the last few days. So far, the strongest possibilities were Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, which would explain the headaches, exhaustion unalleviated with rest, and weight loss, but not the nausea and vomiting. Or leishmaniasis, which would explain every symptom she had. However, she lacked the characteristic skin lesions of that particular parasite. It could also be a tapeworm, but she hadn't had a fever, as far as he could tell.

Or it could be cancer. Cancer of the upper digestive tract was a strong possibility, considering how she'd been hurling every morning, but according to his research, a brain tumor could also cause nausea and vomiting due to increased cranial pressure. The prognoses for these particular cancers weren't good. A five-year survival rate around twenty-five percent for brain cancer. About the same for stomach cancer. And esophageal cancer was practically a death sentence

The boy shuddered as he read. His mother had been the one constant throughout his life. His father was more of a distant uncle than a parent. His grandmother loved him, but was more of a teenaged girl trapped in a woman's body than an actual adult. He thought of Tony as a father…and Sam as a sister, though he would never demean Sam or himself by admitting it…but he was acutely aware that they had no legal claim on him. If something happened to Mom, he'd be shipped off to live with a man he barely knew, who had showed little-to-no interest in his well-being. It was a scary thing to have to imagine.

As he sat at his desk, poring over the books with a heavy heart, he crossed his fingers and tried to hope for a tapeworm.

Tony quietly opened Angela's bedroom door and slipped inside, wincing as the hinge creaked. I need to get some WD-40 on that when we're done talking, he noted. "Angela, as much as I was enjoying where that was headed, it's probably for the best that Samantha interrupted us when she did. We still need to—" As he gently shut the door behind him and turned around, he found his blushing bride unceremoniously passed out on the bed. She was lying on top of the covers with her suit jacket still on, feet hanging over the foot of the huge double bed, still clad in a fancy pair of Mary-Jane pumps.

As he unbuckled them and slipped them off, she began to stir. "Mmph. Tony, did I fall asleep again?"

"Either that, or you pricked your finger on another spinning wheel," Tony replied, giving her his hand and helping her sit up.

She tugged him down to sit next to her, immediately slipping her arms around his waist. "So, when are we going to tell them?"

"Soon as we can get them all together, I guess." Over the past month, Tony had kept enough secrets to last him a lifetime. He was ready to start sleeping next to his wife in the evening and wake up next to her in the morning like a normal person. He stroked her hair longingly. The sooner, the better. "You think your mom was serious about getting stuck in the freight elevator with Pedro tonight?"

"Mother just likes to brag. That only happened once," Angela scoffed. "She'll probably be home for dinner. Pedro spends the evenings looking after his grandchildren while his daughter works, and he's hard to get alone at night, or so Mother tells me. That's why they're always carrying on at work."

"That's when we'll spring it on them, then. Today, no matter what. We've told enough lies."

"We didn't lie to anyone, exactly," Angela defended. "We just didn't tell the whole truth. If I'd known you wanted to keep me, I'd have been happy to…" She sighed. "Actually, I still probably wouldn't have been eager to tell them. I know they're going to be hurt that we didn't invite them."

"Yeah," Tony agreed reluctantly. "I probably should have fought you harder on that one, but I didn't want to rock the boat. I was worried you might change your mind."

She squeezed his hand affectionately. "We're way too much alike for our own good. I was worried you might change your mind if they started making jokes."

"Angela, do you really think my ego's that fragile?"

"I wouldn't say fragile, but I know it bothers you when people laugh about our relationship. Remember what happened at the Fergusons' wedding?"

"Oh yeah. Fred and Ginger." Tony grimaced.

"Right. Ugh, I could have strangled those two snobs." She leaned against him, smiling wistfully. "I'd been spending the entirety of the ceremony picturing us in Doyle and Isabelle's place."

"No way." Tony studied her face carefully to make sure she wasn't putting him on. She didn't seem to be. If anything, she seemed a little embarrassed by the admission. "I was picturing us, too."

"Oh, you're just saying that to make me feel better," Angela scoffed.

"It's the truth!" Tony insisted. "You looked a lot better in that dusky pink wedding dress of Doc Ferguson's than she did. And when I pulled back your veil to kiss you, the smile you were giving me hit me like a rabbit punch to the heart."

The detail he offered seemed to convince her, and she offered up another confession. "When everyone at the table was joking around that we should make it a double wedding, part of me was hoping you'd take the idea and run with it."

"Part of me was hoping that you'd take the idea and run with it," Tony fired back at her. "You didn't say nothing, either."

"I hardly had a chance, Tony!" she protested indignantly. "You ran off and set me up with Geoffrey!" She frowned up at him. "What was that all about, anyway? Pushing me into the arms of another man? You told me you fell in love with me the year before, when we were dancing the Lindy around the Christmas tree.

"I did. And I was worried I was going to snap and tell you how I felt if you stayed available one second longer," Tony shot back at her.

"You should have," Angela reprimanded him gently. "I could have admitted my feelings to you instead of my therapist and saved a ton of money on copays."

They shared another kiss, at that. "Mm. It all worked out, in the end."

"As long as Mother and the kids don't disown us for keeping this from them," Angela reminded him.

He checked his watch. "Jonathan should be home by now. I need to make sure he gets his homework done before he parks himself in front of the TV. I should check on Sam, too. See how her head's doing. Then I need to make dinner. Something good. I want them to be in the best possible mood when we drop this bomb."

"Your brownies are always a hit," Angela hinted unsubtly.

"Nice try, babe, but I ain't sharing your heart with my brownies today." He brushed one last kiss against her lips and rose to leave. "Go back to sleep."

"Tony, it's the middle of the afternoon."

"The baby can't tell time yet," Tony joked. "And if you're this tired, you should listen to your body."

"Stop siding with my body, Tony," Angela griped, though she flopped back onto her pillow just the same.

"Aw, don't make me choose between you. I happen to like your body and as I recall, it likes me back," Tony flirted shamelessly.

"All right, I'll go back to sleep, as long as you promise to wake me before you break the news to the family. I'm not leaving my man to face their wrath alone." Tony opened his mouth to protest. She held up a hand to silence him. "Tony, spare me the macho stuff. I know you're tough, but this is something we should do together. Remember, we're sharing the blame."

"Agreed," he conceded. "I'll wake you at a quarter after six. I know it takes you a while to wake up."

"Thank you, sweetheart," she yawned, her eyes already fluttering closed.

Tony quietly shut the door behind him, and noticed a light coming from Jonathan's room. "Jonathan?" He rapped on the door.

"Come in," Jonathan replied.

Tony poked his head in. "Hey buddy. Why didn't you tell me hi and hit me up for a snack when you got home?" That was their usual routine. Was Jonathan mad at him about something? Or just outgrowing his old housekeeper? Or stepfather, now.

The boy offered him a smile, but it was a weak, fleeting thing; crossing his lips for just a second or two and never touching the rest of his face. "Just some homework I needed to get a running start on."

Indeed, there was a pile of obscenely thick books stacked on the desk beside him. Tony crossed the room and picked one up. "Encyclopedia of Endocrine Disease, Volume Two." He glanced at the cover of the book in Jonathan's hands. "Oxford Textbook of Oncology?" Pretty heavy reading for a twelve year old, but then, Jonathan had always been smart for his age. "You working on a term paper or something?"

Jonathan nodded. "It's… for extra credit."

"That's my boy. I feel another round of straight A's coming on this semester!" Then he remembered himself and gave the kid a gentle pat on the back. "But no pressure."

Jonathan normally would have followed up with some smart-mouthed remark about how ugly his teacher was or how smarter he was than Samantha, at this point. But all he did was nod absently, his attention back on the book in his hands. "I don't think I'll need a snack today, Tony. I'm not hungry."

"Not hungry? With gingerbread and peppermint icing in the house?" Getting concerned, Tony reached out to touch his forehead. "Are you sick, pal-o-mine?" Maybe Sam's headache wasn't just stress, after all. Maybe there was a bug in the house. Please, God, no, he groaned inwardly. That was the last thing they needed, with two kids, a senior citizen, and a pregnant woman in the house.

"Now that you mention it, my stomach does feel a little funny." Jonathan rubbed his belly, looking not quite pained, but definitely uncomfortable. "Like there's a big heavy rock in it or something."

"I'll make something light for dinner," Tony promised. "Think you could handle some soup, and maybe a salad?"

"I guess so," said Jonathan unenthusiastically.

"Good boy. How about a ginger ale to settle your tummy, for now?"

Jonathan gave him another distracted nod. Tony took the hint and left, heading to Samantha's door to check on her next. The lights in her room were off and his daughter was a lifeless bump under the covers. That was good. Rest was probably the best cure for her at this point, whether it was nerves or a germ that was plaguing her. He shut the door, careful not to make any noise that might wake her.

Inspiration struck Tony as he thumbed through his recipe cards, searching for a clear soup that wouldn't aggravate Jonathan and Angela's delicate stomachs too badly. Feeling terribly pleased with himself, he took the idea and ran with it, coming up with a menu that he hoped would ease conversation at the dinner table into the difficult subject he and Angela had to tackle.

At 6:15, he rapped on Angela's bedroom door. "Angela, wake up."

Angela seemed to be enjoying another flashback. "I wanna lick brownie batter off you nex' time you make brownies, Tony. Mmph. No, 'm serious. I don't care if I'm at work, call me and I'll come home..."

Yeah, this secret wasn't going to endure much longer. It was probably for the best that they had chosen tonight to come clean. Tony came in and shook her gently. "Angela, honey, wake up."

Watching her wake up was an interesting experience. Her face went from pure contentment, to confusion, to embarrassment and then annoyance. "Oh no. Tony, was I talking in my sleep again?"

"Yeah," Tony confirmed. "But it ain't your fault. I've been shirking my husbandly duties, and after I specifically promised you on our wedding day that I wouldn't." He hung his head in not-entirely-feigned guilt. "Dinner's gonna be ready in half an hour."

"I'll come down and help you."

Tony gave her a pained look. "Angela, killing our family may seem like an easy solution, but I guarantee you, it'll just cause more problems in the long run."

She shoved him lightly. "My cooking's not that bad!" He didn't say anything, just stared at her blankly. "Okay, fine, it's that bad," she relented. "But I could help you set the table or something. Please, Tony? I'm worried about how our little confession is going to go over, and having you near helps my nerves."

"Really?" Tony puffed up like a blowfish at that. "I make you feel safe, huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Tarzan, and you're especially sexy when you wrestle crocodiles for me."

"I didn't know you were into role-playing," he teased, helping her to her feet. "Come on, let's go set the table."

The kids were watching TV on the couch. That is, the TV was on, and they were facing it. But neither of them seemed to be paying much attention. They were wearing the thousand-yard stares of two traumatized war veterans. Had they gotten into a fight or something? "Um, sweethearts?" Angela ventured. "I didn't know you liked the Care Bears."

The kids seemed to notice the TV for the first time. Jonathan and Samantha looked at each other, as if they were each expecting the other to provide an explanation. "Technically, these are the Care Bear Cousins," said Jonathan, as if that explained everything.

"Sometimes it's nice to indulge your inner child," was Sam's offering.

Angela turned to Tony, who shook his head ever-so-slightly, then let his eyes drift back to the kids. No, it's not just you. They're acting weird. "Whatever violent or naked program you were watching before we walked in, it had better be over in half an hour," Tony warned them, sounding exhausted. "Dinner's at seven."

"Okay," said Sam, a little too casually for comfort. Jonathan didn't even bother with a response—he simply continued to stare at the pastel animals frolicking on the screen as if they held the key to eternal life.

As she followed Tony into the kitchen, the smell of baking bread and fresh herbs assaulted her. Her mouth watered eagerly, while her stomach lurched uneasily. My little green bean, what in the world are you trying to tell me? Then she caught a whiff of the cookies laid out on the cooling rack, lumpy with gobs of walnuts and sprinkled liberally with confectioner's sugar, and her stomach settled down. You've got your mother's sweet tooth, don't you, darling? She laughed out loud when she realized what kind of cookies Tony had made. "Mexican wedding cookies, Tony?"

"You noticed!" Tony pumped a fist happily. "Do you notice anything else?" He poured soup from a steaming stockpot on the stove into a fancy tureen, and held it under her nose.

"Italian wedding soup," she realized.

He sat the tureen on the table, opened up the oven, and took a round, golden loaf of bread that looked far too pretty to eat, crowned with elaborate braids of crust and studded with little white flowers and stars made of a paler dough. "Ukrainian wedding bread," he answered her unasked question as he put it to cool beside the cookies. Then he nodded at a pile of broccoli florets sitting on a cutting board next to a mixing bowl. "That one's going to be Amish wedding salad in a few minutes. Think they'll get the hint?"

It would be nice if it were that easy, but… "Probably not. Who could guess something like this?"

"I sure as hell couldn't, but it's worth a shot," Tony chuckled, returning to his knives and vegetables as she gathered clean dishes and silverware.

The kids were at the table by seven, as promised. Mother was fifteen minutes late, as expected. "Do I smell homemade pretzels?"

"No, Mother, it's Ukrainian wedding bread," Angela hinted.

Her mother examined the elaborate loaf and gave a low whistle. "Tony, this is beautiful." She gave her son-in-law a pitying look. "You've obviously got way too much time on your hands." She leaned over to whisper in Angela's ear. "Or maybe he's just sexually frustrated. Did you two have a chance to celebrate properly after you told him about the kid?"

"Mother, shh!" Angela hissed, mindful of the two kids at the table.

Her mother clucked her tongue sadly. "That sounds like a no, to me. You two really ought to get on that. There's no sense closing the barn door when the horse has already bolted."

"Here, Mona, have some of this Italian wedding soup." Sam pushed the tureen toward them.

The phone rang. Tony went over to pick it up. "What? No, we don't need any flowers." He hung up and turned around with a baffled shrug. "Must have been a wrong number."

Jonathan hadn't said a word since he'd come to the table, and he'd barely touched his food. "Jonathan, is your stomach still bothering you?" Tony asked.

Jonathan's stomach was bothering him? Why hadn't he told her? "Are you sick, sweetheart?"

"Would you expect me to tell you if I was?" Jonathan snarled.

"Well, yes." Angela blinked in surprise. "We're family."

Samantha, for some reason, found that remark hilarious, dropping her spoon into her soup with a splash and laughing like a hyena. "Yeah. We are, aren't we? Even me and it!" She pointed at Jonathan, then started giggling anew, pounding the table in her enthusiasm.

Tony patted his daughter's back carefully. "Sam, honey, are you okay?"

"Let her smile while she still can, Tony," Jonathan snapped. "Once she figures out what you two have been keeping from us, she'll be as miserable as I am!"

"Jonathan!" Angela cried. She was too alarmed to even care how he'd found out. She had known he would be upset that he hadn't been invited to or even notified of the wedding, but miserable? She hoped he was just being dramatic.

"I already know, Jonathan," said Sam smugly.

Jonathan stared at Sam in disbelief. "You do?"

She rolled her eyes. "If a lame-brain like you can figure it out, did you really think they could hide it from me?"

"You know? And you think it's funny?" Jonathan pushed back his chair and sprang to his feet. "I'm gonna kill you!"

"Ay-oh, oh-ay, no fratricide at the dinner table!" Tony wrapped his arms around Jonathan, pinning the boy's own arms to his sides in the process and rendering them useless. Meanwhile, the phone started to ring again, adding to the atmosphere of utter chaos. He did his best to ignore it and focus on the squirming child in his arms. Jonathan kicked his feet at Samantha in impotent rage, each attempted blow falling several inches short of her.

Sam thumbed her nose at him impudently. "I don't know what you're so upset about, anyway. You're the one who wanted this to happen in the first place."

"You did?" Mother gave Jonathan a quizzical look. "You always told me you'd much rather have a puppy."

"We're not getting a puppy, Jonathan, no matter how many tantrums you throw," said Tony resolutely. "Your iguana would get jealous."

"I don't want a puppy! I want my mom back!" Jonathan wailed, tears spilling over his eyelashes and trickling down his cheeks.

Angela put her own hurt feelings and growing confusion on hold to pry her son from Tony's arms, dry his tears, and wrap him in a hug. "Jonathan, no matter what happens, I'm always going to be your mom."

Sam looked confused. "Jonathan, calm down. This was your idea. You're only twelve. It's too soon for teenaged mood swings."

Jonathan's sobs turned hysterical. "I know said I wanted this to happen the last time she grounded me, but I didn't mean it! Honest, I didn't! I was just mad."

"Hold it!" Tony bellowed. "I think one or more people in this room are confused. I'm one of them. Let's talk about this one at a time. Jonathan," he began patiently, "what is it that you're crying about?"

"Aw, Tony, quit trying to protect me!" Jonathan choked out between sobs. "I know that Mom has Stage Four glioblastoma multiforme!"

Sam frowned. "What's glioblastoma multiforme?"

"Is that some kind of euphemism? Like the Egyptian flu?" Mother wondered.

"It's the deadliest of all deadly brain cancers, and Mom has it! That's why she keeps fainting, throwing up, sleeping all the time, and having headaches and personality changes." Jonathan dried his eyes on his sleeve.

"Honey, I promise I don't have multi-format Jell-o blastoma." Angela was sure she was butchering the pronunciation of whatever exotic disease her son was convinced she had.

Jonathan sniffled. "Leishmaniasis?"

"No."

His wet, red eyes glimmered with hope. "Then it's just a tapeworm?"

Tony gave her a pointed look. "See, Angela? Tapeworm was a perfectly normal assumption." Then he turned his attention back to Jonathan. "She's not sick. Buddy, how long have you been carrying this around?"

"Couple of weeks." Jonathan admitted. "You're really okay, Mom?"

"I'm worried about my son. Other than that, I'm fine." She gave him one last squeeze. "Honey, next time something like this is bothering you, come and talk to me sooner. It's not good to keep this sort of thing bottled up inside."

Sam started laughing again at that. Tony narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his daughter. "All right, Samantha, let's have it. What do you know, exactly?"

"Well, for starters, I know how to read." She held up a piece of paper, waving it like a victorious soldier with a banner. "And this marriage certificate was a real page-turner."

"What?!" Jonathan howled.

"Where did you find that?" Tony demanded, snatching the you-know-what from Samantha's hand.

"In Angela's office." Sam turned to her bewildered stepmother, her eyebrows raised impishly. "I don't make a habit of snooping, but I'm not stupid. I've known for a while that something was up, and since you guys didn't have the common decency to let me know I have a mother again, I had to do some sleuthing."

"You're getting married?" Mother gaped at them. "Talk about going from zero to sixty. Well, as happy as I am to hear this news, Tony, you'd better not be proposing to her just because of the baby. My Angela deserves better than that."

Angela gave her mother a double-take. Just when I thought this day couldn't get any weirder, my mother decides to stick up for me? "Oh, Mother…"

"Baby?!" Sam shrieked. "What baby?"

"It ain't like that, Mona." Tony insisted, handing her the certificate. "Look at the date. We were already married when I knocked her up."

"You're already married?" her mother cried. "When the heck did this happen?"

"November second, 1988," Sam piped up helpfully.

"Wait, go back to the baby," Jonathan interrupted. "What the h—?"

"I know this is a terrible shock, pal-o-mine, but please watch your language," Tony gently reminded him.

"November second? But that can't be. That was one of the days you were wandering drunk around Pittsburg," Mother recalled.

The phone rang again. Annoyed, Tony stalked over, picked it up and immediately slammed it back up again. "Must be a very persistent telemarketer."

"Confession time," Angela sighed, standing up and taking Tony's hand to bolster her courage. They had put it off long enough. Thank God they had decided to face the music when they had. Her son had worked himself into a panic, her daughter had been worried enough to do some very uncharacteristic snooping, and her mother was so worked up she was actually admitting out loud that she cared.

"Angela's right." Tony faced her mother and crossed himself with his free hand. Forgive us, Mother, for we have sinned."

"We've told some lies, and we shouldn't have, but we never expected it to really matter," Angela tried to explain. "You see, it actually wasn't Pittsburg we went to after we got poisoned. It was Niagara Falls."

"Yep. Them kids and their booze got us loosened up enough to finally admit we were crazy about each other, and we decided to shuffle off to Buffalo," Tony summarized. "We would have done things right. Had a proper wedding and invited you, but Angela was worried I would try to fix her up with another geek at our reception, if we had one."

"I guess I can't blame her for that," Mother admitted grudgingly. "It sounds like the kind of idiotic thing Tony would do." The children nodded in agreement.

"We were blitzed and didn't know it," Angela reminded her family. "I know it all sounds really stupid now, but it all made perfect sense at the time."

"When we came to, we couldn't remember anything at first. We figured we probably weren't in our right minds when it happened, so we should get it undone," Tony added. "That's why we didn't say nothing. We figured there was no point rocking the boat over something that was only temporary."

"I was afraid of that," sighed Samantha.

"You didn't, did you?" Jonathan demanded.

To Angela's relief, Jonathan seemed upset at the prospect. "No, honey. We were going to, but then we got our memories back and realized we had been more together than we'd given ourselves credit for when we said our vows."

"Yep. I told her I didn't want to undo them, she admitted she didn't either, so we figured we should probably let you guys know why we were sleeping in the same bed, filing joint taxes, and having a baby all of a sudden." Tony smiled sheepishly.

"A honeymoon baby!" Mona beamed. "That's so romantic. Especially by the standards of you two bores." Angela breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing the barb. That meant things were back to normal. Relatively speaking, anyway.

"A baby. So I heard that right?" Sam wanted to know. "Like, a baby person?"

"No, a baby alligator," Tony scoffed. "Yeah. A little brother or sister. That sound okay?"

"I want a brother," Jonathan requested, looking at Angela expectantly, as if he expected her to immediately pull a fully-formed baby boy out from under the table. He jerked a thumb at Samantha. "I've got one too many sisters already."

"Can it, you little weasel." Sam threw a little piece of bread at her stepbrother and gave him a look of revulsion. "She can have whatever she wants. If you ask me, she's probably gonna want a girl after the way her last boy turned out."

"Aw, shut up."

"It doesn't matter whether it's a boy or a girl," Mother interjected. "The important thing is that it be named after me."

"You want them to name my brother Mona?" Jonathan wrinkled his nose. "I say we name him Blade."

"If it's a girl, you could also name her Carmella, after Mrs. Rossini," Sam suggested.

"Not while there's breath in my body!" Mother protested.

"Okay, since she'll be the baby of the family, how about Tootie, after the youngest girl on The Facts of Life?" Sam offered instead.

"Well, it's better than Carmella," Mother conceded.

"You're not naming my brother Tootie, either!" Jonathan interjected. "His name is Blade!"

"Ugh, dream on, Jonathan!" said Sam.

"Okay, then how about Tony Junior? At least I know Tony will back me up on that one."

"No way! If we're going in that direction, Angelo would be better, after your mom. She's the one doing all the real work of bringing him into the world, after all."

This conversation was spiraling out of control. She nudged her husband expectantly. He was a lot louder than she was, after all. "Tony, do something."

Tony nodded seriously. "Ay-oh, oh-ay, that's enough out of all of yous! This is our baby, and if it's a boy, his name is gonna be Matthew, after my father and grandfather."

"Tony!" Angela groaned. He had missed the point completely.

"Oh, excuse me, I see what you were getting at now," Tony apologized, before announcing, "I mean Robert, after Angela's father. Matthew will be his middle name."

"That's not what I meant!" Angela snapped.

"Oh, sorry. Did you want to go back to talking about girl names?" Tony brightened a little. "Have you had a feeling, or a premonition or something? Do you think we're having a girl?"

"No! I think we have other things we should be talking to the family about right now!" she reminded him. "Mother, Jonathan, Samantha, I know you must be feeling shocked about all of this, and insulted at not having been invited to the wedding—"

"Not me. I hate weddings," said Jonathan. "The first one I ever went to was Dad's, and it kind of soured me on the experience." He made a face, clearly still haunted by both the nausea and the humiliation. "I'm just glad you're not dying. I was afraid I was gonna have to go live with Dad!" Her son shuddered. "Married is definitely better than dead."

"Spoken like a true bachelor," Mother snorted. "Personally, I'm more relieved than shocked or insulted. Also a little proud." She patted her daughter on the back. "I didn't think there was enough booze in the world to get you to cut loose and follow your heart, but you proved me wrong. I guess you take after me more than I'd thought."

Sam took a bite of her soup, looking thoughtful. "I like weddings," she admitted. "It would have been fun to help you pick out your dress and the flowers and everything." She took another bite, chewing slowly. "Now that you mention it, I guess I am a little sad I wasn't there." The girl smiled wryly. "But not as sad as Mrs. Wittner's going to be about getting snubbed for matron of honor again."

"Actually, I always imagined that when your dad and I got married, you would be my maid of honor, Sam," Angela replied.

"Really?"

"Of course. You helped bring Tony and me together, after all."

"Hey, who set you up on your first date?" Jonathan protested, sounding deeply offended.

"And that's why I would have wanted you for my best man, buddy," said Tony.

Mother raised her hand. "And what about me? You know, the woman who introduced the two of you?"

"Mother, you couldn't have been matron of honor. I would have needed you to give me away," Angela reminded her.

"I gave you away to Tony four years ago," Mother reminded her. She gave Tony a look of exaggerated disapproval. "I can't believe it took you this long to come to your senses and unwrap your gift, but better late than never."

Angela was starting to form a picture of the wedding-that-never-was in her head. It would have been so much happier than her first wedding. Mother hadn't approved of Michael, and had refused to walk her down the aisle. So she'd made the long journey by herself, trying to picture her late father at her side. Her friend Emily had stood as maid of honor, while three of her sorority sisters had served as bridesmaids. The bridesmaids had spent the entire reception and several days prior complaining about the dresses she had picked out for them. Emily had taken the red eye in from California and been falling asleep on her feet, unable to muster a smile. But there had been no help for it. Angela had been as short on friends in those days as she had been on good taste in men.

She risked a sideways glance at Tony and found him staring at her with the exact same look in his eye that she knew she was wearing in hers. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Tony grinned. "Are you thinking vow renewal?"

"Clear-headed and free of nausea?"

"With the people we love?"

"And no Neil Sedaka music?"

"Maybe a little Sinatra instead?"

"No time like the present?"

"I bring out your impulsive side, don't I, Angela?" Tony swept her into his arms and kissed her. Jonathan and Samantha wolf-whistled at the sight.

"You're eloping again?" Mona groaned. "I just got comfortable in this chair."

"Does it count as an elopement if you bring your family?" Tony wondered.

"We'll work out the semantics later, sweetheart." She gave him a reassuring kiss.

"Okay, but I don't want to leave a dirty house, so first we have to finish eating and wash the dishes.

"Does this mean I'm going to have to wear a suit again?" Jonathan whined.

"Yeah," Tony replied apologetically. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll be suffering in my own monkey suit right beside you."

"Can I have a new dress?" Samantha asked eagerly.

"Yes," Angela replied. "I want pictures this time around. Ooh, maybe you and Mother and I could find something that matches! We'll all go shopping when we get there."

The phone rang again. Getting annoyed, Angela went over to pick up up. "Just unplug it," Tony suggested. "I think we've had enough of that racket for one night, don't you?"

"Our line's usually not this active, Tony. What if it's some kind of emergency?" She picked up the receiver. "Hello?" she barked, none-too-politely. "Yes, Wendy, it's me. Yes. Yes, how in the world…? What? No, I didn't have a matron of honor, Wendy. We eloped. Wendy, it's not like that, we haven't told anyone yet. How did you even…?"

Samantha chose that moment to start laughing again, and suddenly everything made sense. "Wendy, I'll explain everything later, I promise. Okay, thanks. Goodbye." Angela hung up the phone and turned to her stepdaughter grimly. "Samantha, did you print up wedding announcements and distribute them to all the neighbors?"

Too far gone to answer, Sam nodded in between bursts of laughter.

Mother gave her a nod of respect. "I've got to hand it to you, Sam. That's pretty good."

"How come you didn't come and get me, first? I could've helped!" Jonathan complained.

"It was a one-woman job, Jonathan," Sam managed to reply. "Bonnie's grandma knows some calligraphy. I gave her some cardstock and a picture of my dad and your mom from the Fergusons' wedding, and she drew me up a master copy in exchange for a foot rub. I took that down to Kinko's, and the rest is history." She smiled innocently at Angela. "Don't worry. It was a good picture, you and Dad looked really cute in it. I saved a copy of the announcement for the family scrapbook."

"Samantha…" Tony grated.

Samantha lifted her head up high, holding her father's gaze without a hint of remorse. "Since you hadn't told me, I figured you were planning to go back on it. And I wasn't about to let that happen. I thought this might make it a little harder for you to keep pretending it hadn't happened."

Angela tried to share her husband's sense of outrage, but couldn't quite manage it. "Don't be too hard on her, Tony. It all worked out, more or less, and she did save us the trouble of telling the neighbors."

"And I paid for it out of my own piggy bank. Consider it my wedding present," Sam suggested graciously.

"Don't push your luck, missy," Tony warned her.