Beauty & the Beasts by Anne Weale, Janice Kay Johnson

words—to be home alone. Just because she’d caught him lighting up a cigarette in his room. He’d done that because he knew it would make her mad. Why not? At least then she noticed him for a minute or two.
    Their San Francisco town house was narrow and tall. The bedrooms were on the third floor. As he bounded up the stairs, he heard voices drifting down. Women’s voices. Mom was in her bedroom with someone else.
    Instead of going into his own room, Garth moved quietly down the hall and stopped just outside her door, which stood a few inches ajar. He couldn’t see anything, but he heard a long breathy, “Oooh! Noreen, it’s glorious! Chuck’ll think he’s the luckiest man alive when he sees you coming down the aisle.”
    His mother giggled like a junior-high-school girl. “Oh, Frances, I hope so! I feel so lucky.”
    Garth gagged. So she’d found some guy willing to marry her. What was so lucky about that? ChuckMorrison had money, but he was balding on top and getting a paunch that hung over his belt—he really, really liked to eat. He took Mom to these fancy restaurants, and the rest of the time she fussed in the kitchen so she could surprise him with some gourmet delight like blanquette de veau —which was still eating a big-eyed calf, even if the name was French. Or—get this—squid in ink sauce. Mom had actually sat there in the kitchen on her tall stool, humming under her breath and squishing ink sacs in a sieve and then making a sauce out of it. And she called him picky because he wouldn’t eat it. Chuck, of course, had exclaimed in delight and dug right in. Mom told Garth that she was trying to cook more seafood because she was worried about Chuck’s cholesterol. Big surprise. And she was lucky to have him?
    “I’m home,” Garth repeated, and pushed the door open.
    One of her closets had mirrored doors. Mom stood in front of them in her wedding dress admiring herself. She’d spread it on the bed for him to see a few days before, but on her it was different, not just stiff fabric. Rose-colored—at least, that was what Mom called that dark pink—the dress was really simple and shimmery. Long and straight, it sort of molded to her waist and hips and thighs more than he liked noticing when they were his mother’s. Her best friend, Frances, who Garth used to think was okay until she introduced Mom to Chuckie, sat on the edge of Mom’s bed, her hands clasped in front of her as though she was gazing adoringly at a Monet or aPicasso. Frances didn’t even turn her head to look at Garth.
    Mom didn’t ask how his day was, either. She held out her arms and rotated gracefully on tiptoe. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone. “So, what do you think?”
    He would never have admitted it to his friends, but he knew she was beautiful. He’d been proud of her when she picked him up at friends’ houses or went to school functions with him. But he’d never seen her like this. She…glowed. Because of Chuckie.
    And because she was ditching her son for the summer so she could be alone with the love of her life. All she’d do was cook. And go to bed with Chuckie, something he didn’t want to think about.
    He jerked his shoulders and said in a bored tone, “It’s okay.”
    Her face dimmed a little. “Sweetie, I wish—”
    “That I’d call Chuck ‘Daddy’?” Garth curled his lip. “I suppose we’re having something gross for dinner?”
    “I thought…since it would just be the two of us…”
    Chuckie must be busy. Otherwise, she couldn’t have lived without him long enough to have dinner alone with her son. She’d even brought the guy to a school parent night.
    Garth gave her a flat stare. “I’m going over to Dave’s.”
    “Why don’t we go out to dinner? Your choice.” Her smile was as bright and fake as the gold-paintedposter-board crown he’d worn in a school play. “I’ll pick you up about six?”
    “I’m not that hungry.”
    Mom’s eyes became steely. “I’ll pick you up,