Seven Up - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,22

get the firehouse for her daughter Carolyn's shower, and it was taken clear through the rest of the year."

My mother slipped a look at my ring finger. No ring on the ring finger. Just like yesterday. My mother pressed her lips together and cut her meat into tiny pieces.

"We're thinking about a date," I said, "but we haven't settled on anything yet." Liar, liar, pants on fire. We have never discussed a date. We've avoided a discussion of the date like the plague.

Morelli hung an arm across my shoulders. "Steph suggested we skip the wedding and start living together, but I don't know if that's such a good idea." Morelli was no slouch when it came to lying, either, and sometimes he had a nasty sense of humor.

My mother sucked in some air and stabbed a piece of meat so hard her fork clanked against her plate.

"I hear that's the modern way of doing things," Grandina said. "I don't see nothing wrong with it myself. If I wanted to shack up with a man I'd just go ahead and do it. What's a silly piece of paper mean anyways? In fact I would have shacked up with Eddie DeChooch, but his penis don't work."

"Jesus Christ," my father said.

"Not that I'm only interested in a man for his penis," Grandma added. "It's just that Eddie and me only had a physical attraction. When it came to talking we didn't have too much to say."

My mother was making motions like she was stabbing herself in her chest. "Just kill me," she said. "It would be easier."

"It's the change," Grandma whispered to Joe and me.

"It's not the change," my mother shrieked. "It's you! You make me crazy!" She pointed her finger at my father. "And you make me crazy! And you, too," she said, glaring at me. "You all make me crazy. Just once I'd like to have a dinner without talk about private parts, and aliens, and shooting. And I want grandchildren at this table. I want them here next year, and I want them here legally. You think I'm going to last forever? Pretty soon I'll be dead and then you'll be sorry."

Everyone sat slack-jawed and paralyzed. No one said anything for a full sixty seconds.

"We're getting married in August," I blurted out. "The third week in August. We were keeping it a surprise."

My mother's face brightened. "Really? The third week in August?"

No. It was an absolute flat-out fabrication. I don't know where it came from. Just popped out of my mouth. Truth is, my engagement was kind of casual, being that the proposal was made at a time when it was difficult to distinguish between the desire to spend the rest of our lives together and the desire to get sex on a regular basis. Since Morelli's sex drive makes mine look insignificant he usually is more frequently in favor of marriage than I am. I suppose it would be most accurate to say we were engaged to be engaged. And that's a comfortable place for us to live because it's vague enough to absolve Morelli and me of serious marital discussion. Serious marital discussion always leads to a lot of shouting and door slamming.

"Have you been looking at dresses?" Grandma asked. "August don't give us much tune. You need a gown. And then there's the flowers and the reception. And you need to reserve the church. Have you asked about the church yet?" Grandma jumped out of her chair. "I've got to go call Betty Szajack and Marjorie Swit and tell them the news."

"No, wait!" I said. "It's not official."

"What do you mean . . . not official?" my mother asked.

"Not many people know." Like Joe.

"How about Joe's granny?" Grandma asked. "Does she know? I wouldn't want to cross Joe's granny. She could put the jinx on things."

"Nobody can put the jinx on things," my mother said. "There's no such thing as a jinx." Even as she said it I could see she was fighting back the urge to cross herself.

"And besides," I said, "I don't want a big wedding with a gown and everything. I want a . . . barbecue." I couldn't believe I was saying this. Bad enough I'd announced my wedding date, now I had it all planned out. A barbecue! Jeez! It was like I had no control over my mouth.

I looked at Joe and mouthed help!

Joe draped an arm around my shoulders and grinned. The silent message was, Sweetheart, you're on your own