Page 56 of Hooked
Mena came moments later with a fresh glass and a new bottle of red. She poured Tayla a glass and set the bottle on the garden table.
“Is there anything else you need, Mrs. McKinnon?”
“That’s all, Mena. Thank you.”
“I’m going to retire for the evening.” Mena shot Tayla a glance that saidyour turn.
“Fine.” Bianca waved a careless hand. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Mena turned to Tayla. “Do you need me to arrange anything for your appointment in the morning? Gloria or I could press any clothing you might need. Will you need Charles to drive you?”
“I’ll be fine, Mena. Thanks. I don’t need anything.”
“Very well.” Mena left without a backward glance.
“What’s she talking about?” Bianca poured herself another glass, nearly spilling the wine. “You have an appointment? For what? Are youfinallymoving back?”
Her mother’s voice was the familiar odd mix of hopeful and reluctant. Bianca wanted to be happy Tayla was living closer, but in a way, Tayla living at a distance was a buffer.
Your daughter avoiding you was easy to explain when she lived a couple hundred miles away. It was a lot harder to dismiss when she was in the same city.
“I’m not sure of anything yet,” Tayla said. “It’s just an interview.”
“What’s the company? Another accounting firm?” Bianca’s eyes went wide. “If you take another job at a rival company—”
“It’s not a rival to Dad,” Tayla quickly volunteered. “It’s not even in the same vein of what I’ve been doing. It’s a fashion thing.”
“Fashion?” Bianca’s smile was sincere and unshadowed. “Tayla, that’s wonderful. Is it with one of those companies for… um, average-sized girls?”
Tayla tried not to cringe. She reminded herself that this was actually an improvement for Bianca. Tayla was built like the women on her father’s side—sturdy, stocky women of Irish descent, born to work on farms, survive famines, and run from English invaders.
Her mother had struggled. Tayla had been put on her first diet at age nine. Every year after that had been another diet. More tears. Another fight and another series of doctors all insisting to Bianca that Tayla was perfectly healthy and nothing was wrong with her thyroid gland.
She was just a big girl.
Bianca had spent so much time tiptoeing around the word “fat” or “big” or “plus-sized” that “average” was nearly progressive. After all, Tayla was pretty sure the average size for a woman in the United States was something like a fourteen. Technically, Bianca was probably correct.
Tayla nodded slowly. “Uh… kind of. It’s calledinclusivesizing. They carry things from retailers who cater to bigger women and also some who carry clothing from a two to a thirty-two. It’s a little bit of everything.”
“Thirty-two?” Bianca was mentally trying to do the calculations. It was painful to watch.
Tayla tried to change the subject. “It’s actually more like a tech start-up. Dad should love it. It’s an online marketplace for international designers.”
Bianca’s laugh was brittle. “Don’t tell him that part. Just say it’s in fashion and he’ll only ever half listen to what you’re saying. If you tell him it’s in tech, you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Yeah, I figured.” For the thousandth time, Tayla wished her mother would just leave. She could move back to Sonoma and start painting again. She could move into her own place in the city and hang out with interesting people.
Bianca wasn’t a bad person. She was a privileged person who’d never been forced out of her bubble. Sometimes Tayla imagined her mother as a hippie in the Haight or as an artist in Marin. Bianca had a beautiful way of seeing the world when she wasn’t miserable and drunk.
“Hey, Mom, why don’t we go in?” Tayla shivered. “It’s getting cold.”
“You go ahead, sweetheart. Mena will help me to bed when I’m ready.”
“Mena turned in for the night, remember?”
Bianca blinked. “Did she?”
“Yep.” She stood and tried to help her mother to her feet. “Come on, Bianca.”
