“What?” Bianca spun on her stool to face her mother. “I don’t believe you. You’d never quit, Mom. What would you do?”
“Pay more attention to you and your brother.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding. Jer and I are never here, and we’re not gonna change just because you suddenly decide to become a stay-at-home mom. Get serious. Oh, wait a minute.” Her smile slid from her face. “Does this have to do with Santana? Oh, God, Mom . . . you’re not thinking about doing anything . . . stupid. I mean, I know you talked about moving in with him, but I thought you changed your mind.”
“Not completely.”
“Because that just wouldn’t work, you know,” she said hurriedly. “Not for me. Or Jer for that matter. I mean, I might have to live with Dad and Michelle.”
“Would you really want that?” Pescoli asked, bracing herself for the answer.
“I don’t know Nate Santana and I really don’t want to. It’s just weird that you’re dating h
im, y’know.” Her polish forgotten, she crossed the room and plopped onto the bed next to Pescoli, her legs folding beneath her. “Please, please don’t do something stupid,” she begged.
“Trust me, Bianca, I spend my life attempting to do just that.” It burned her a little that the kids had oh so readily accepted Michelle when Luke had remarried. However, whenever Pescoli dated, her kids both cried “foul” as if they were threatened by her interest in men.
“So what did you have for dinner?” Pescoli changed the subject.
“Soup.”
“Is that all?” she dared to ask.
“It was enough.”
“Bianca,” she said, “tell me what you ate today.”
“I told you.”
“Soup. That was it?”
“Oh, I guess I had a power bar and a Diet Coke.”
“Anything else?”
“I wasn’t all that hungry.”
“There was leftover pizza and some ham and a spinach salad in the refrigerator.”
Bianca’s eyes darkened. “So?”
“So, it seems like you’re intentionally starving yourself.”
“No way.” She climbed off the bed and glanced at herself in the mirror, caught herself, and turned away sharply, plopping onto the stool.
“What did you eat yesterday?”
“I don’t know.” When Pescoli waited she added, “Mom, really. I don’t remember.”
“Start with breakfast.”
“I don’t know . . . an energy drink.”
“That all?” When she saw belligerence in her daughter’s eyes she said, “Okay, lunch?”
“I made a salad.”
“Any protein in it?”