Free Remember Me by Christopher Pike

couldn't get it to budge. I couldn't be bothered hassling with it, so I slumped down in a chair near the stove instead, a few feet away from the table, off to my parents' right. They didn't even look over at me, which I thought was rude of them.

    "Did you hear what Mrs. Meyer had to say about that loan you and Bill got from Mr.
    Hoyomoto's firm?" my mother asked my father, taking a bite of the chocolate cake Amanda and Mrs. Parish and I had talked about at length.

    'No," my father replied, lighting up a cigar and leaning back in his chair. "But I imagine she said something about us helping the Japanese buy the world out from under us."

    He looked tired, as did my mother, but they both looked good. They were dressed to the hilt, and they were a handsome couple. My father was of medium height, solid, with shoulders that could ram down a door. He radiated strength and masculinity. He didn't smile often, but he wasn't a cold man. He was just too busy to smile. There was too much building to be done. He had closely clipped rust-colored hair, a tan, and small, sharp blue eyes.

    My mother bore him scant resemblance, except that she also was attractive.

    She was tall and sleek, quick and loose.

    Her wide, thick-lipped mouth and her immaculately conceived black hair were her prizes.
    At present she had on a long black dress slit up the side to reveal one of her smooth white legs. It was odd she was eating cake that late. She usually took such good care of herself. In fact, taking care of herself took up so much of her time that she couldn't take quite as good care of us. But she loved my father, and she also loved her children. It was just a shame that she loved us all in a way she had learned from her therapist.

    "She didn't say it in those words," my mother replied, her voice cracking slightly as if it were being electrically interfered with. "But you'd think you were selling secrets to the Russians from the tone she took. Really, she's nothing but a pain in the ass."

    "Her husband's not a bad fellow, though," my father said, blowing a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. It was a strange cloud. It had that stuff in it, that mysterious haze that could have been a super-refined blend of smoke and gas and water all rolled into one.

    "Oh, Ted," my mother said, putting down her cake fork and waving her hand.

    "He's adorable, absolutely wonderful.

    I can't imagine how he's stayed with that shrew so long."

    "I almost threw out that cake," I said.

    "He's a good man," my father said.

    "He's too good for her," my mother said. "But you know, I heard from Wendy that Colleen Meyer's got six wells down in Texas."

    "Ted told me only three of them are pumping," my father said.

    "Three pumping wells can make up for a lot of character flaws," my mother said.

    "Hello," I said. "It's me. I'm here, waiting patiently to have my presence acknowledged."

    They continued to ignore me. I couldn't understand it.

    Then the phone rang. My mother stood up and walked over and picked it up, carrying her cake with her. But just before she answered it, she said something really weird.

    "That's probably Shari," she said.

    "Huh?" I said.

    My mother lifted the handset to her ear. She was smiling.

    She was tired, but her life was in order. She had a big house, a rich, hard-working husband, great clothes, far-out jewelry, one wonderful son, and one OK daughter.

    "Hello," she said. "Yes, this is she. Who is this, please?"

    My mother listened for several seconds, and as she did so, her hand holding the cake plate began to shake. But her smile didn't vanish immediately. It underwent a metamorphosis instead, slowly tightening at the edges, bit by bit, until soon it could not be confused for a smile at all. She dropped the plate holding the cake. It shattered on the tiles. Her mouth twisted into a horrible grimace. My father and I both jumped up.

    "What is it?" my father asked.

    "It's Shari," she whispered, slowly putting down the phone and sagging