“I know so.”
“You don’t think I’m fat?”
“Good God.” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Bianca had always been slim and athletic, not an ounce of excess fat on her body. “Of course not.”
“You’re just saying that cuz you’re my mom. You have to. Can I have my phone back?” She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers in a “come-on-gimme” gesture just as the damned thing vibrated again.
Pescoli tossed the cell to her daughter. “Trust me, runway models would kill for your figure.”
Bianca glanced at the cell, then sent a sidelong look toward the mirror again, her expression clouding. “You sure? You’re not just saying that cuz you’re my mom?”
“I speaketh the truth.” Pescoli sat on the edge of the bed where she spied a shimmering turquoise bikini lying in an open box. God, it was tiny.
“I just think I could look better,” Bianca confessed.
“You look great. Trust me. And enjoy it. While you’re young. Okay?”
Bianca shrugged.
“Come on, let’s have some dinner. I told you we’re starting a new tradition tonight.”
“Oh, right. No Christmas or something.”
“Most Un-Christmas. We’re still going to celebrate the real deal on Christmas Day if we can, but when we can’t, let’s do something different. We’ll have our pizza and open gifts and I have a surprise guest tonight.”
Bianca rolled her eyes. “Un-Christmas, Mom. Really? And don’t tell me, the surprise guest is your boyfriend.” Her expression turned to disgust and Pescoli clamped her teeth together in frustration. In her daughter’s mind, it was fine for Luke to have carried on while they were married and to marry a much younger woman. Bianca accepted Michelle, for the most part, with open arms as her stepmother. However, that’s where the understanding stopped. When it came to Santana, or any other man Pescoli had dated since her divorce, Bianca didn’t hold back. She was vociferous in her dislike of all of them, especially Nate Santana.
Pescoli figured it’s because Santana was her first serious relationship and thereby a threat of some kind.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but the other guest is Sturgis,” she said and whistled to the dog.
“Who?” Bianca was confused for a second. Then the Lab cautiously stuck his nose into her room. “Oh!” Her face lit up. “We’re keeping him?”
“More like he’s on loan. Just until the sheriff is well enough for the both of them to go home.”
“Awesome!” She turned to the dog and patted her bed, indicating for him to jump up. “Come on, boy!”
Unsure, Sturgis hung back, glanced at Pescoli.
Pescoli plucked at the pink quilt on her daughter’s canopy bed. “Maybe he’s intimidated by all the girlie stuff.”
“Come, Sturgis!” Bianca threw her mother a don’t-even-go-there look and patted the bed again. This time the black Lab, head down, tail swinging slowly behind him, sauntered into the room. At another round of urging, he bounded on the bed and got lost in the myriad of blankets.
“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” Pescoli said. As if to back her up, Cisco appeared in the doorway and yipped for attention.
“You never think anything is a good idea.”
About to argue, Pescoli changed her mind and said instead, “Let’s just remember he belongs to the sheriff and we already own a dog whose nose is more than a little out of joint.” Cisco began doing quick twirls in the hallway. “He been out lately?”
“Don’t know.”
“I’ll take care of it. But in the future, pay attention, okay.”
No response.
Don’t pick a fight, it is the first ever, hopefully not annual, Most Un-Christmas.
After letting both dogs out and then wiping their paws, she fed them both on opposite ends of the kitchen and was gratified that Cisco had quit growlin