Forks lift, everybody digs in. Lizzie and Garth are the first to sputter out sauce-coated strands. “Sheez!” Lizzie growls, “This is awful!” “Yuck! Ya burnt the sauce, Ma!” Garth's voice is heavy with condemnation.
        Regina tastes the sauce with the tip of her baby finger. “Ya spoiled my pisgetti!” she wails.
        I take a bite and make a face at Todd as if it were his fault. “It's scorched or something.”
        “I think it's great,” he says heartily.
        “It's not scorched,” Marsha says eating her salad with insouciance.
        Harry says, “Then how come you're not eating any?”
        She nibbles on a ruffle of lettuce. “Because I'm on a diet.”
        Todd repeats, “I think it's delicious.”
        (It occurs to me that the Emmons stick up for each other all the time. I dislike it; Will and I don't do that.)
        Will gets up and heads for the kitchen. “Anybody else want water?”
        Clayton says, “Good thing you're on a diet, Marsha.”
        “Oh, yeah?” She raises an eyebrow.
        Angelic-looking seven-year old Clayton sneers. “Yeah, 'cause you look like a haystack in that skirt.”
        I gasp. Todd scowls, says, “Now wait just a minute . . ..“ Her eyes shooting sparks, Marsha cuts him off. “Yeah? Well, you look like a baby in that cowboy bib.”
        Clayton loads his fork with spaghetti and flips the tines. Noodles zing through the air and catch in Marsha's hair. Without hesitation, she whips a handful of salad at him. He brushes it from his face and throws bread. She throws more.
        Laughing his shrill pleasure, Freddie tosses spaghetti at Harry and Garth, who jump up screaming, hurling spaghetti back. Clayton and Marsha pelt others. Regina cries, “Hey, you guys, stop! This is my party!” Ignored, she shrugs and dumps her plate in Todd's lap. With a startled laugh, he sprinkles salad on her tiara. In the throes of hysteria, Liz flings crusts and wads of foil at everyone. I bat back everything coming my way. Barking wildly, Missy leaps around snapping up whatever she can.

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