Instead of hitting or throwing something or shouting at the woman stirring eggs (which I might have done three years ago and still want to do right now), I sit down beside Charlie. He is reading The Zombie Survival Guide. He has read this book a million times since he got it for Christmas last year. He doesn’t really think that there will be a zombie invasion, but he likes to plan for all the ways that the world could come to an end. He’s not a Boy Scout anymore, but he still believes in the Boy Scout motto—Be Prepared—more than anyone I know. He has canned food hidden on the top shelf of his closet that he thinks only he knows about, and a life jacket stuffed under his bed in case God decides to flood the world again. He got the life jacket from Santa last year, which really means that Mom bought it for him, which was kind of crazy. Just because a kid asks for a life jacket doesn’t mean you should give him one.
I don’t believe in God. I would like to believe in God and heaven and all that, but it just doesn’t make any sense to me. It seems ridiculous. Babies die all the time. If there was a God, babies wouldn’t die. Little kids, either.
Even so, I told Charlie that even God couldn’t flood the world in one day. It would take a long time for all that rain to pile up, so a life jacket wouldn’t help. He would need a boat like Noah, which is a bullshit story, too.
Even if Noah managed to squeeze every animal and every bug and every bird on his boat, which isn’t possible, what about all the trees and the flowers? After forty days underwater, they’d all be dead.
“Maybe next time God won’t give anyone a chance to build an ark,” Charlie said. “Maybe it’ll be quick. Like a flash flood. Then you’ll wish you had a life jacket, too.”
“Can’t God just shoot lightning bolts at us if he wants?” I asked. “Wouldn’t that be a lot easier than forty days of rain? And a lot more fun for him? Kind of like a giant video game.”
“Don’t be dumb,” Charlie said. “Even if it’s not another Noah’s ark flood, I’m still ready for a regular flood. They happen all the time.”
We have never had a flood in our town, but I let that one go. Sometimes you just have to stop fighting and move on.
Mrs. Newfang taught me this, too, and I think she’s right. That doesn’t mean it’s easy, but with Charlie it’s easier than most. I can’t stand him most of the time, but I love him, too.
Julia is reading the box score from last night’s Red Sox game on the ESPN website. They lost again. Even though Julia is a girl and a year younger than Charlie and five years younger than me, she pays more attention to sports than both of us combined. She can also throw and catch better than Charlie. The dumbass doesn’t even care.
She throws and catches better than me, too, but at least I care.
“Did you talk to Mom this morning?” I whisper to Charlie.
Charlie keeps staring at his zombie book. He is reading a page about weapons. There is a cartoon drawing of a gun on the page.
I look back at the other mother. She’s buttering toast now. She’s left-handed, just like Mom. Or she’s faking it. I wish I had a real gun right now. If I did, I could make her tell me where my real mother is.
I start to get angry again.
“Did you talk to Mom this morning?” I ask Charlie again, even softer this time.
“About what?” Charlie asks. He’s still staring at his book.
“About anything. Did you talk to her?”
“Mom!” he calls out. “Did I talk to you this morning?”
“You’re talking to me now.” The other mother is using my real mother’s voice, and she is saying what my real mother would say. It makes no sense. How could she so perfectly replace my mother? I feel like I’m trapped in some scary movie, but not a stupid one filled with blood and guts. A real one. The kind of scary that you secretly believe in even while you’re trying not to. Like one of those old, black-and-white Twilight Zone shows.
I look at the other mother again. She is standing by the stove. Bacon is crackling and spitting in a pan. She’s trying to flip it with metal tongs without getting burned. I look closely. Maybe this is my real mother. Maybe I’m just not all the way awake yet.
But I know this is not my mother. I know it deep down in my bones. I know it like I know that there was no ark filled with two of each animal and no Santa Claus delivering life jackets. I know it like I know that Charlie will not put his book down until someone takes it away or threatens to punish him. I know it like I know that even though Julia is the youngest of the three of us, she will have a boyfriend before Charlie has a girlfriend and maybe before I have a girlfriend.
I’m angrier now. I try counting back from ten again. It doesn’t work. It’s a stupid strategy. I want to ask this other mother where my real mother is. I want to know what she’s done with her. But I’m too afraid to say anything. I’m afraid to know the answer, but I’m more afraid of what she might do if I ask. I’m afraid of what she might do if I stop pretending that she is my real mother.
I want to ask Julia if she noticed anything different about Mom, but thanks to my idiot brother, the other mother is listening now. I can’t let her know that I know.
Asshole Glen walks into the kitchen. He is wearing his maroon bathrobe and probably nothing underneath it. I give him a hard look. I want to know if he has been replaced, too. If he is the other Glen.
He’s not. He’s still just Asshole Glen. Shaped like a walking baby, all pale and pudgy. He says he was a basketball player in high school, but I don’t believe him. He’s got squinty eyes and a mustache and beard. He’s going bald. He combs his hair over the spot, but it only makes him look like more of an asshole.
I wish he had been replaced.
I watch to see if Glen can tell that this is the other mother. Except to Glen, she would be the other wife.
The other stepwife, really. That’s what I call Mom sometimes. If I have to be a stepson, she has to be a stepwife.
I only call her that in my head, though. Never out loud. I say a lot of things in my head. Mrs. Newfang says this is a problem. I’m supposed to talk about my feelings more. But I think I would have a lot more problems if I said what I thought.
Asshole Glen doesn’t realize that this is the other mother. He grabs a slice of toast from the plate on the counter and eats with one hand while he takes the other mother by the waist and pulls her close. He’s wearing brown slippers.
I hate this. It makes my stomach turn just thinking that his hands are touching my mother, except now his hands are on the other mother, so I don’t care so much. I wish Glen would run away with the other mother and leave me and Charlie and Julia behind. Then all my problems would be solved.
Not really, but at least it would be a start. Getting rid of Asshole Glen would be a great start.
“What are you guys doing today?” Glen asks. He is eating eggs from the frying pan with a fork.
“Fishing!” Charlie says.
I say nothing.
Julia says nothing.
“All three of you?” Glen asks.
“Yup,” Charlie says.
“I have a softball game tonight if you want to go,” Glen says. “You could be the batboy if you want, Michael.”
You haven’t been to a single one of my Little League games this year, and you think I’m going to go to your stupid-ass softball game?