My Mother Got Married Read Online Free

measuring how high his head was.
    “Hey! Look how tall I am. I’m the biggest one at the table!”
    Then he tapped me on the shoulder. “Hello, shorty,” he said.
    The kiddie menu could be folded into a pirate hat. Thomas handed it to my mother and she fixed it for him. He put it on his head.
    “Aye-aye, matey!” he sang out.
    Embarrassed, Lydia slumped down in the seat. “Could someone puhleez do something about him?” she begged.
    No one did, though, and things didn’t get any better. Thomas and I both ordered waffles with whipped cream and strawberries. As soon as mine came he reached out with his finger and stole a big gob of whipped cream off the top of mine.
    “Hey! Knock it off!” I blurted. “You’ve got your own!”
    My mother turned her head and looked at me. Then she shook her head—like I shouldn’t have yelled at him; like having some germy little mitt in your whipped cream was a privilege or something.
    Fortunately Ben came to my rescue. “Keep your hands to yourself, Thomas,” he said sternly.
    After I was finished, I excused myself and waited outside on the curb. I know it wasn’t polite just to leave like that, but Thomas was playing with the food on his plate and it was making me sick.
    A S USUAL , on the way home all anyone talked about was how stuffed they were. Anytime you go to a restaurant, the conversation on the way home is always the same.
    “I ate too much,” said Ben predictably.
    “Me too,” said my mother. “One more bite and I would have burst.”
    Just then Thomas made a loud exploding noise. “I did! I bursted! Did you hear me?”
    As soon as we pulled into my driveway I opened the car door. We were still moving, but I didn’t care.
    “Thanks for the breakfast, Mr. Russo,” I mumbled. I didn’t mean it, but whenever I don’t mumble thank you, I get a lecture.
    I hurried up the sidewalk. The front door was locked, so I sat on the step and watched as my mother said her good-byes.
    A few minutes later she came waltzing up the walk. “That was nice,” she chirped. “Wasn’t that nice? That was really nice.”
    In the next hour or two she must have said how nice it was a million times. Usually when you say a million, it means you’re exaggerating. But I’m not. I swear it was a million.
    Every time she said it I felt sicker and sicker. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Just when my life had finally started to settle down, my stupid mother had to mess things up all over again! I know you’re not supposed to call your mother stupid, but it’s how I felt.
    We did a lot more stuff with the Russos after that first breakfast. Picnics, a few movies and barbecues, junk like that. And even though I got to know them better—and Thomas finally stopped touching me—every time we were together the sick feeling came right back.
    Just like with the divorce, I was being swept along to places that I didn’t want to go. And even though my mother promised— promised —that she wouldn’t make any decision about Ben without talking to me first, I was beginning to get nervous. Very, very nervous.
    S EVEN months. That’s how long it took before the announcement finally came. It was a Saturday night in February. My mother had made a big pot of spaghetti and asked Ben and Thomas and Lydia over to eat with us. After they said they’d come, she asked me if it was okay. I just shrugged. Why did she always ask after they were already invited?
    We sat down to eat at six. Since spaghetti is my favorite meal, I was the first one finished. Thomas was last. Spaghetti takes longer to eat when you suck up each noodle like a vacuum cleaner.
    Lydia shook her head. “You’re such a toad, Thomas,” she told him. Then she looked at me.
    “He’s a toad. Am I right?”
    Happily I nodded.
    “Use your napkin, Thomas,” Lydia commanded then. “Come on, you’ve got sauce all over your face. Daaaad, do something. He’s so gross.”
    Ben hardly seemed to be listening at all. He just