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eye and lets my mother push him around. He used to be a truck driver until he got disabled (back trouble) from being so tall (at least seven feet).
    “ Are you very, very unhappy here?” Mother asked, wiping her eyes.
    “ It’s OK.”
    I knew the last thing in the world I’d ever want would be to go live under the same roof with that wacky woman, even if she did reside in cosmopolitan Oakland. True, Winnemucca was a pit, but I got along OK with Grandma, she seldom butted into my life, and my dreary hometown did offer that Immensity Known as Uma.
    “ Would you like to come to Oakland for a nice long visit?” she asked brightly. (Can mothers read minds?) “I could petition the court to permit it.”
    “ Uh, gee thanks, Mother. But I have my job. I just joined a youth group. And school starts next month.”
    “ I hope you don’t turn out like my other children, Noel. I never hear from Nick and Joanie only stays in touch so she can give me grief.”
    That reminded me of something.
    “ Mother, is it true that Nick got married when he was my age?”
    “ I refuse to discuss that horrible incident and that horrible, horrible girl. I hope you’re not thinking about girls, Noel. I feel there’s some kind of bad seed from your father that got into Nick. He wound up getting arrested. It was a nightmare for us all.”
    “ I always liked Nick,” volunteered Mr. Rumpkin. “He’s a wonderful juggler.”
    “ Oh, pay the check, Wally. Everyone is looking at us. They’re wondering why that woman with her make-up all smeared is holding that dear Negro child’s hand.”
    I was wondering the same thing.
    Parents. They can creep you out.
    Though I wouldn’t mind being adopted by Mr. Rumpkin. While shaking hands good-bye, he slipped me a wadded-up bill. Twenty dollars! What a guy.
     
    WEDNESDAY, July 6 – Another dry night. I think the secret is to avoid dinners like spaghetti that are full of water. I hope Uma doesn’t insist on cooking Italian every night after we tie the knot. Perhaps I could request my pasta dry. No, she already thinks I’m weird. I realize now I have barely more than a month to win her heart before ill-fated (I wish) Scott Chandler returns. Toby will have to turn up his dusky charm.
    Carlyle phones every half hour to ask if his afro has arrived. The guy is very anxious to repudiate his race. I keep telling him it will take at least a week to get here. I’m not sure UPS has even heard of Winnemucca.
    I’ve been ruminating a lot about mothers. I think the act of germinating another person inside you kind of weirds them out. I used to envy kids who had mothers to tuck them into bed at night and take care of them. Not any more. I prefer grandmothers. You get the standard love and mothering, but without the biological baggage. Let’s face it: how can you ever hope to have a normal relationship with a person who shat you out like a pumpkin?
    5:18 p.m. A slow day in the wedding biz, so Toby sneaked away to see if Uma was manning her kiosk. She was. How I’d love to possess one of her used polo shirts for nightly snuggling (in lieu, that is, of the actual girl).
    “ I’ve got it,” Toby announced, smiling brightly.
    “ That’s too bad,” said Uma. “Have you seen a doctor?”
    “ I mean I’ve got your money.”
    “ What?”
    “ The $1.59 I owe you for the breath mints.”
    “ Oh, right.”
    I selected an innocuous Payday candy bar and handed her my $20 bill.
    “ I don’t need any breath mints, Uma. They were actually for Mr. Dugan.”
    “ Uh, OK,” she said, counting out my change.
    “ Did you see the fireworks the other night?” I asked.
    “ No. I missed them. How were they?”
    “ I missed them too.”
    “ Oh.”
    The conversation was threatening to grind to a halt.
    “ Heard from Scott?”
    Uma, alas, brightened. “He sent me a postcard. Their boat had reached Barbados.”
    Where was God when I needed a hurricane?
    “ I hear you were dining here yesterday and holding some