Read Online I'll Love You When You're More Like Me by M.E. Kerr - Free Book Online

clickety-clicks in between the Hrens’ words. About the only time they didn’t have their hands on the handle of an Addo-X was when they were eating or sleeping.
    â€œWho cares about morals?” one of Harriet’s brothers said. I could never remember their names, though all the Hren children’s names began with H.
    â€œYour sister just made an objection to being seen with Easy Ethel Lingerman,” said Mr. Hren. “I say what difference does it make? Morals, schmorals, right? Isn’t that what you kids think? Morals, schmorals.”
    â€œDon’t provoke at dinner,” Mrs. Hren said. “Provoke anytime else but not at dinner. You get everyone excited, we swallow air and get gas.”
    â€œOhhhhh muth- ther ,” Harriet’s little sister Hannah groaned.
    â€œIf there’s a better, more proper way to put it, put it,” Mrs. Hren said.
    â€œWhen I was your age this kind of thing wouldn’t be discussed in a family situation—ever,” said Mr. Hren, “so count your blessings.”
    â€œWho wants to eat baked beans and discuss sex?” said Harry or Harold Hren.
    â€œWere we discussing sex?” said Mrs. Hren. “Who said anything about sex?”
    â€œMorals, sex—same difference,” said Harvey or Hadley Hren. “I’d rather hear more about Wally’s meeting with Sabra St. Amour.”
    â€œTell me more!” Hedy Hren did an imitation of Sabra.
    â€œI just met her, that’s all,” I said. I’d been sitting there washing down the beans with a glass of RC cola, remembering Harriet’s saying once that she wanted ten children; five girls and five boys.
    â€œWas she happy-looking or unhappy-looking?” Mrs. Hren asked me.
    â€œWould you be happy-looking or unhappy-looking if you were making about twenty-five thousand a year?” Harriet said.
    â€œThat’s peanuts in her field,” said Mr. Hren. “She nets closer to forty, forty-five thousand.”
    I was imagining myself thirty years from now, sitting around the table with Wanda, Winifred, Wilbur, Warren, Wylie, Wendy, Wharton, et cetera, Harriet at the head of the table, entertaining Wendy’s boyfriend or Wylie’s girlfriend, speaking from my vast experience in the mortician business on some related subject, say the cost of seamless solid copper caskets, a summer’s night, a day in the life of an average Seaville citizen.
    â€œWas she stuck up?” Mrs. Hren asked me.
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œAs a reporter about anything, stick to undertaking,” said Hector or Harry Hren. He was Hector, probably, theonly imaginative one of Harriet’s brothers.
    He wanted to be a cartoonist; he didn’t want to see his sister marry into the funeral-home business. Harriet told me he’d come into her room at night, after his date, after he’d gotten a little loaded on tequila sunrises, and he’d try to reason with her about what life would be like with me.
    Harriet was looking forward to it. She even wanted to take some beauty-school courses so she’d be a first-rate cosmetician. My mother was always saying she could teach her; it’s real easy, anyway, my mother was always reassuring her. It’s like doing up your own face, said my mother . . . and I’d walk out of the room so I didn’t have to hear about it.
    Mr. Hren wanted Hector to apologize to me for being sarcastic.
    â€œSkip it,” I said.
    â€œApologize,” said Mr. Hren.
    â€œThis isn’t good for the digestion,” Mrs. Hren said. “Hector, say you’re sorry you’re sarcastic sometimes.”
    â€œYou’re sorry you’re sarcastic sometimes,” said Hector.
    Mr. Hren smirked. “You darn kid,” he said, pleased. “You darn kid, you’re some smart-A, aren’t you?”
    My own little future Wharton was telling me he wasn’t going to follow in my footsteps for anything in