My Three Husbands Read Online Free

she used to do bad Bette Davis imitations at parties.
    She gingerly embraced me, afraid to pull me too close because I smelled like cigarette smoke. One of Mom’s doctors told her she might be allergic to it. This was after years of smoking two packs a day and inhaling down to her toenails.
    â€œWell, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?” she asked, using her gentle “what did you do in day care today” voice.
    I shrugged and collapsed onto her overstuffed sofa.
    â€œIs something wrong?” she asked warily.
    I shook my head.
    â€œDo you need money?” She started for her purse.
    â€œThat’s not why I came over.”
    â€œYou’re all dolled up, sweetheart. High heels and everything. You look bee-you-ti-ful. Did you just come from someplace fun?”
    I kicked off the red stilettos that were killing my feet. “The dads took me out to dinner.”
    â€œOh?” She moved closer. I was her only source of information about the glamorous private lives of the dads. “Where?”
    â€œGianicolo.”
    â€œOh? I haven’t heard of that. Is it new?”
    â€œIt’s this fabulous new Italian restaurant over in the West Hills. Everything’s gray and black-and-white marble. Except for this blue wall of water.”
    â€œWas it expensive? How much was the bill?”
    â€œA hundred and fifty-four with tip. For three en-trées and three Caesars. I had a dessert and we all had espresso. And wine.”
    â€œWho paid?”
    â€œThey split it.”
    â€œWas the food good?”
    â€œThey were raving.”
    â€œThe dads were?”
    â€œMm-hm.” I waited a second. “They’re getting married.”
    â€œThe dads are?” She didn’t so much sit down as drop into the chair beside me. “You mean like a commitment ceremony?”
    â€œThat county registry thing. Domestic partnership.”
    â€œWell,” she said, “isn’t that nice.”
    â€œDid you know they’ve been together for twenty years?”
    â€œYes, sweetheart, I’m aware of that.”
    â€œThat’s longer than anyone I know. Straight or gay.”
    Her eyes stole over to the television screen.
    â€œThey invited me and Tremaynne to go on our honeymoon with them.”
    Mom cocked her head, like a bird who’s just heard a worm, and slowly rose from her chair. “Would you like some passionflower tea, sweetheart?”
    â€œIck, no.”
    â€œI’m afraid I can’t offer you very much. I’m off coffee, pop, wine, off everything but natural herb teas and pure spring water. Carla”—her nutritionist—“thinks I might be allergic to wheat. Gluten. And of course I’m lactose-intolerant.”
    I didn’t want details but dutifully asked if she was feeling any better.
    â€œWell, sweetheart, I’ve been ill for a very long time, you know. I just didn’t know it. And nobody’s been able to figure out exactly what it is.”
    Lose a hundred pounds, turn off the Bette Davis movies, and get out of this house once in a while, I wanted to shout. But didn’t. “Should we go on a honeymoon with the dads?” I asked.
    â€œWell, sweetheart, it depends on what you want.”
    Out of the blue I just blew up. “Can’t you ever just give me one solid piece of advice? My whole life it’s always been up to me to decide everything. And it’s like I never make the right decision.”
    Mom was on the verge of tears. Breathing hard to fight down her panicky agitation. “Well, we learn from our mistakes,” she said wobbily.
    â€œThen why do I keep doing the same stupid things over and over again?”
    â€œI don’t know where you’re coming from, sweetheart. Did you have a fight with Tremaynne?”
    â€œNo, but it pissed me off that he wouldn’t even go out to dinner with me and the dads. They invited us. It was supposed to be a kind of