Afraid to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“Sure it is. Watch this.” She’d walked over and turned off the television.

“Mom!”

“Yeah?”

Seeing she meant business, he’d had the brains not to argue. Pescoli considered the bitten tongue a baby step, but a step in the right direction, though, of course, he still needed some sincere attitude adjustments.

Now as Pescoli unzipped her jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair, Cisco raced into the house and took up residence near his bowl, barking loudly until she found his kibbles in the pantry and measured out half a cup. He danced on his back legs and spun in tight little circles as she poured the scoop into his dish. “Oh, come on, it’s not that late,” she said. “It’s not as if you’re starving.” However, he wolfed down his food as if he hadn’t eaten in a week rather than in a mere twelve hours.

Pescoli tried each of her kids on their cells. Neither picked up. She left quick voice mails asking them to phone her back but knew they wouldn’t bother listening to her message. They never did, so she texted each of them.

Where R U? Call ASAP!

She thought about pouring herself a beer or a glass of wine but thought she’d wait until she found her kids.

I’m an adult now, I can do what I want. You have no say over me.

Jeremy’s proclamations rang in her ears. His “adulthood” had been a serious bone of contention between them. She figured as long as she was supporting him, he wasn’t anywhere near mature enough to be considered an adult and he should report in. He didn’t see it that way, of course, and his room, located in the basement, didn’t look any more organized or adult than it had when he was twelve. As for Bianca, she was as headstrong as both her parents and of the age where she was testing her bounds, pushing the limits on her freedom.

Her phone dinged, indicating she’d gotten a text, so she checked the screen. From Bianca: With Michelle. Xmas shopping. Home soon. Xoxo.

Okay, she couldn’t complain about that one, she supposed, though she’d like to. Michelle was technically the kids’ stepmother, though Pescoli hated to think of the twenty-odd-year-old as anything close to a parent of her children. She was Lucky’s current wife, had long, blond hair, a killer figure, and despite her innocent look was a cunning woman who had, for reasons indiscernible to Pescoli, zeroed in on Luke and married him soon after college. Michelle played the part of the bimbo to a T, but there was more to her than met the eye. Grudgingly, Pescoli had to admit she took care of the “girly” things with Bianca. They got their pedicures and manicures done together, went out to lunch or coffee and shopped ’til they dropped, seeming to delight in every sale that came along.

At least Pescoli didn’t have to do those things that made her uncomfortable. She’d work with

Bianca on her homework and had signed her up for every sport from soccer to tennis to horseback riding and would gladly have coached, but Bianca, from the get-go, liked all the things that Pescoli detested about being feminine.

You know, Mom, there’s something wrong with YOU, not Michelle, Bianca had once accused. What is it with you? It’s almost as if you have to prove you’re more of a man than a woman and it’s gross!

“Bingo,” she said now, and texted back, K. Bianca’s one letter response meaning, “okay.”

Jer, of course, being the “adult” he was, didn’t bother to text.

She should have taken Santana up on his offer! Instead, she tackled the dishes, turned on the dishwasher, then took the overflowing garbage and empty pizza box out to the exterior can, where snow had piled four inches, covering the lid. The night was quiet, snow falling.

Her cell phone jangled as she walked into the house and she smiled when she saw Bianca’s face and number fill the small screen.

“Hey,” she said as she walked into the living room, where the Christmas tree, without an ornament or light, stood in the corner.

“Hi, Mom!” Bianca was breathless.

“Where are you?”

“Still at the mall. Michelle and I just had dinner and I still have tons of shopping to do. So I was thinking it would just be easier for Michelle if we ... um, finished and I stayed over at Dad’s.”

“For the night?”

“Yeah. Michelle said she’d get me to school in the morning.”

Pescoli tried to ignore the pain in her heart. “You’ve got your homework.”

“What do you think?” Bianca said, copping an attitude for a second before adding quickly. “Of course I do. I’m finished with my report for English and I just have a little more algebra.”

“Spanish?”

“Finished.”

She wanted to say no, and “get your behind home,” but that was just selfish and territorial on her part and wouldn’t help with Bianca’s attitude or her being involved in her father’s life. “Okay, then.” Ignoring a little hole in her heart, she added, “I’ll see you ... when? Hey, wait, is Michelle going to get you to school early? For dance team?”