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eyes.
Dammit, she hadn’t meant to come across as a stuck–up,
too–good–to–do–what–she’s–supposed–to snob. It’s just that she seriously needed
something to take her mind off of life in general because apparently
cosmetology school wasn’t going to be able to do the trick.
    Her gaze met and held her
mother’s for a few seconds, but neither wavered with their stance on the
situation. Was her mom going for threatening, or just annoying with her
hovering? She shrugged. Either way, it wasn’t welcomed. Apparently she’d hit
some nerve with the ice queen though, because now her finger was pointed
outwards, and when her finger got moving, Abigail knew things would only go
downhill from there.
    Seriously, you’d think a
little sex would lighten up her mood!
    “Sorry Mom,” Abigail grunted
needing to nip this conversation in the ass before it got any worse. “I’ll deal
with the school. I’ll deal with the grunt work too, but you’ve got to at least
give me a few more hours or something,” … or else I’m gonna lose my mind
with all the crap swimming around inside my head right now.
    Her mother cleared her throat,
going back to her dusting, furiously this time. That poor helpless, yellow rag…
Her mother was a dust rag murderer! “Now, you are more than welcome to continue
working the register and washing hair, Abigail, and you can even pick up more
hours if you really want to. I just can’t allow you to do any styling or actual
cuts or colors until you have that license plastered to the wall in the back of
the salon, you got it young lady?”
    Abigail fought an eye roll,
closing her eyes. The argument definitely wasn’t worth it tonight. “Whatever Mom ,”
she groaned, just as the honk of a horn rocketed through the air from outside.
    She shut her eyes and sighed.
Great! Lover Boy was there now.
    One tiny beep of that horn,
that’s all it took for the woman who had managed to own the rights to the title bitter–queen–bitch, to appear as if she was suddenly on a high that
wasn’t caused by a joint, a pipe, or a needle. It was quite amazing how a
simple set of brightened eyes could make a woman literally look twenty years
younger.
    Abigail curled her upper lip,
borderline snarling as she watched her mom primp like a wannabe hooker. She
yanked up the edge of her pinstriped, grey linen skirt, and patted her cheeks.
And without even glancing back at her slack–jawed daughter, the lady managed to
drop her rag, unbutton her top button down to the top of her boobs, all the
while long, pushing her lady lumps upwards and out to garner attention like a
regular old porn star.
    Seriously…could
forty–two–year–olds actually turn slutty–fied? Because her mom had done just
that… The lady couldn’t get any more obvious—or desperate looking. It was damn
near disgusting, especially since it seemed she had written off her husband
once and for all. How could she not love the man who she had pledged her life
to—the man Abigail loved more than anything?
    Her eyes narrowed at the
thought of her father, and she had to say something. That woman couldn’t get by
with this! It was wrong, damn wrong. And that was the nice word she had for the
situation. “So Mom, when’s Daddy supposed to be home anyways?”
    Her mother froze in the arch
of the doorway leading towards the kitchen. Pressing her hands into balls at
her side, she stayed silent for a few seconds. She didn’t turn around, but the
stiffness in her stance was more than noticeable. She had to have known that
her daughter had her figured out, and Abigail grinned wickedly at the prospect.
“W–what’s that supposed to mean, Abigail?” she questioned, clearing her throat
as she glanced just briefly back over her shoulder. Her cheeks were bright red,
flaring down to her neck.
    “Oh nothing Mom,” she paused,
wondering if now was the time to bring it up or not, “just curious, that’s
all.” Abigail shrugged, feigning innocence as she