“No, but I had a protein bar at Jana’s and we went out for coffee at Joltz.”
“You drink coffee?” This was news. Dear God, how did she miss something so basic? For all her life, Bianca had turned her nose up at anything close to coffee.
“I had a mochaccino. With whipped cream and chocolate. Tons of calories.”
“Anything else? What about dinner?”
“What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?”
“Close enough.”
“Pizza, okay?” Before she could comment, Bianca added, “At least two slices, vegetarian, with tons of cheese. At Dino’s. We had ice cream afterward. So what do you want me to do now, keep track for you?”
“That would be nice, yeah.” Feeling the argument escalating, she pulled back. “I’m just a little concerned.”
“Oh, Mom, get a life!”
“I have one and it’s busy enough for two or three more people. I really do need a clone, you know. But, honey, you’re a major part of my life, you and Jer are the most important.”
“Hard to tell sometimes,” she muttered.
Pescoli couldn’t argue that point; her job and hours away from the house were a simple fact of life. “Listen,” she said, not going to be drawn into that particular discussion, “I know girls your age sometimes struggle with body image and I just want to make sure that you’re okay.”
Bianca rolled her large eyes. “Mom, I eat a lot. Like tons! But ever since I had mono last year I haven’t had a major appetite. It’s not a big deal. I think that might be a good thing.”
“Because?”
“Because America’s fat and I don’t want to be part of that.”
“You aren’t even close!” The girl was thin, but with curves. “I just want to make sure you’re getting enough nutrition, that’s all. It’s my job to worry about you.”
“I thought your job was to catch the bad guys,” her daughter charged.
“That too.”
“Well, stop worrying about me. Really.” Her cell phone clicked and she looked down, saw a text, and frowned.
“Bad news?”
“No, just . . . Chris.”
“I thought you and he were over.”
“We are.” She looked her mother squarely in the eye. “He sometimes doesn’t get it.” She tossed her phone onto the counter. “He’s such a dick.”
“I don’t think you should talk like that.”
“Funny, isn’t it?” she said, and for a second she sounded just like Michelle. “Because I don’t think you should either.”
“You got me there,” Pescoli said and pushed herself off the bed. It was hell going around and around with her daughter. “Aren’t you due for a checkup with Dr. Lambert?”
“For the mono?”
“Well, hopefully that’s long over. I’m just talking about a physical, y’know, to check on your general health,” Pescoli said, not convinced that her daughter wasn’t sliding down the slippery slope of a serious eating disorder. It was one thing to eat poorly, as a lot of teenagers did, it was another to avoid food due to some freakish perception of weight.
“I’m fine,” Bianca insisted. “At least I was until you got home.”
“Enough said. I don’t have time for this right now.” She heard the words and inwardly winced. Even though she realized that an argument now would only escalate into a full-scale battle, she hated to think that she was running away from a fight that had to happen. Bianca was still glaring at her. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” she promised and was rewarded with an overly dramatic groan.