Gloria stopped her side-to-side turning and glared at her daughter. “Blue jeans make my eyes pop?”
Stella didn’t take her gaze off her hair. Screw it. The stuff was going up in a bun. After all, it was just dinner with Annabelle. Who the hell was she trying to impress? Stella opened a drawer and yanked out a hair tie. “I don’t know, Mom. They’re jeans. How would you like them to look?”
Gloria’s hand jabbed on her hip. “Like I’m smaller than a size eight.”
Stella shot her mother a glance as she wound her hair on top of her head. “Mission accomplished, then. Men will be tripping over themselves to get to you.”
“Now you’re just being facetious,” Gloria accused.
The bun on Stella’s head loosened and little hairs popped up, including some at her temples and the base of her neck. She expelled a sigh. “Seriously hate my hair.”
“Honey, do you know how many women would kill for hair like yours? I mean, it has this natural gorgeous wave that you don’t even need curlers for.”
Stella shoved the hairbrush back in the drawer and slammed the thing shut. “Yes, I know. Grass is greener and all that.”
“Okay, so, back to my jeans,” Gloria urged.
Ugh. Stella spun around and eyed her mom. “First of all, where are you going?”
“Line dancing at the VFW.”
Seriously? “Then they look good.” Stella pushed around her mom and headed toward her bedroom. Gloria was supposed to be in her own place by now. As in, away from Stella. As in, on the other side of town where she wouldn’t be bugging Stella about how she looked in her jeans.
Gloria hurried after her daughter. “Well, what if I told you I was going somewhere else?”
Stella riffled through her closet for a pair of boots. “Where else would you be going?”
“I don’t know. A date?”
Stella turned with a pair of black boots in her hand. “Then you still look fine.”
“I don’t want to look fine. I want to look smokin’. I want to look—”
Stella paused in the act of pulling on her boots and held up a hand. “Please stop.”
“What is wrong with looking smokin’?”
“Nothing if you’re not my mother.” Stella yanked on her other boot and zipped the thing up. “Rule number one about living with me. Don’t ask me to compare you to a twenty-one-year-old college student. Rule number two.” Stella stalked around her mom and went to her jewelry box. “Stop air-drying your underwear in my bathroom.”
“Honey, they’re too delicate for the dryer.”
“Understood. But dry them in your own bathroom.” Stella chose a pair of silver dangling earrings from the jewelry case. “I don’t like looking at your thongs while I’m doing my business on the toilet.”
Gloria lowered to the bed. “When will you be home?”
Stella finished fastening her earrings in and eyed them in the mirror. “It’s Annabelle, so expect me home by eight.”
“If you get done early enough, you could always meet up with us for some dancing.”
Line dancing with her mom? Stella would rather run around town in a bikini made of Cool Whip. “Thanks, but you go on ahead. I’ll probably just pick up a Redbox movie after dinner and come home.”
“Honey, don’t be such a dud. You’re never going to meet a man by having dinner with a friend and watching movies by yourself.”
“Maybe I don’t want to meet a man,” Stella retorted.
Gloria lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “It’s not natural to be alone.”
Stella turned from the mirror. “I was thinking tomorrow we could go out and see some apartments.” You know, since you aren’t doing it by yourself.
“Eager to get rid of me?” Gloria teased.
Absolutely. “It’s not normal for a grown woman to live with her mother.”
“Well, you’re not living with me. I’m living with you.”
Stella snagged her black clutch off the bed and pointed it at her mom. “Not normal either.”
“It is in some cultures,” Gloria muttered as Stella placed a kiss on her cheek and bid the woman good-bye.
Fifteen minutes later, Stella pulled into the parking lot of Maguire’s, a sports bar/pool hall that was never short on action and big-screen televisions displaying every ESPN channel. Stella disapproved of the place, based on the fact that they had placed Steve Young ahead of Johnny Unitas on their quarterback wall of fame. Not that she had anything against Steve Young, but two places ahead of Johnny Unitas? But they had the best blue cheese burger in the county, which Annabelle was obsessed with, so here they were.
Stella parked on the side of the building and then made her way inside. The place was rowdy, as usual, with the majority of the televisions and the crowd devoting their time and attention to the Denver Broncos game. Stella glanced around for Annabelle and didn’t see her at the bar or at one of the tables. Her gaze bounced from person to person, touching briefly on Steve Young’s smiling face as he sat on top of Johnny Unitas’s photo on the quarterback hall of fame wall.
Blasphemers. All of them.
Stella was bumped from behind by a woman who was too busy giggling at some man who’d spilled beer down the front of her John Elway jersey. If someone spilled beer on Stella’s John Elway jersey, if she had owned one, she certainly wouldn’t have been laughing. She moved out of the way and retrieved her cell phone from her purse.
“Hello?” Annabelle answered after a few rings.
“Hey, are you here?” Stella asked her friend.
“Yeah, I’ve got a table by the hall of fame wall,” Annabelle answered.
“I’m over by the front door and I don’t see you,” Stella replied as she maneuvered through the crowd, not seeing her friend anywhere.
“I’m looking right at the front door and you’re not there,” Annabelle said.
“Well, now I’m next to the bar.”
Annabelle paused before answering. “Still not seeing you.”
Stella’s gaze roamed the tables by the wall, but Annabelle wasn’t seated at any of them. They were all full of people either watching the game or eating their dinner. She sat on an empty stool and closed her eyes. “Are you at the Maguire’s in town?”
“No, I’m at the one in Pagosa Springs.”
Because of course.
Stella pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why would we drive all the way to Pagosa Springs for dinner?”
“Because the Maguire’s in town is obnoxious and full of drunk people. The one here is way better and quieter. Just hop in the car and come down here.”
Stella glanced around the place. “I don’t want to drive all the way down there.”
“Well, I’ve already ordered drinks,” Annabelle countered.
And wasn’t this the greatest way to spend a Thursday night? “That’s all right. I’ll just grab some food to go and head home. I’ve got a headache anyway.”
“You sure? I can ditch the drinks and meet you there.”
Stella turned around on her stool and faced the bar. The guy next to her elbowed her in the ribs when he jumped from his seat to yell at the television. “No, stay and enjoy your drinks. I’m just going to head home.”
“Sorry for the mix-up,” Annabelle offered.