Read Online Vertical Lines (The Vert Series Book 1) by Kristen Kehoe - Free Book Online

easier.
    I opted to call her early this morning instead of texting. Texting is impersonal and makes it easier to say no .
    “How’s tonight work out for you?”
    “It’s the first day of classes.”
    Nala said something in the background, but it was not clear enough for me to hear, and I didn’t care enough to ask. “Good. You shouldn’t have too much homework then.” I didn’t have to see her to know she was hesitating. “Come on, Red. I’ll buy you dinner.”
    Honestly, I think that was my only leverage. She agreed, and I hung up quickly so she couldn’t change her mind, texting her the time I would be at her dorm. Now, I’m thirty minutes late meeting Jordan and that pisses me off. Truthfully, everything pisses me off right now because I just came from my mother’s house in La Jolla where Ashton is “taking some time.”
    In reality, she’s hiding. From me. From Nala. From herself.
    “Mom, why did you let her quit the program and leave treatment?”
    I asked this earlier, after making the fifteen minute trek up the freeway to her mansion in La Jolla. It makes her feel like a queen, but every time I’m in the five-thousand-square-foot structure, all I can think of is a tomb. Large, blank walls, lots of cabinets—expansive countertops and floors that never have anything marring them.
    Before she met and married her third husband, my mother and her second husband bought a home in Bay View, right above the harbor. He was a schoolteacher—tenured, twenty years older than she was, and far too humble for the lifestyle she wanted to live. But he was stable, and willing to marry her, and that’s all my mother really wanted.
    Taking care of herself has never been something she aspired to. Being taken care of is all she knows. When she’s unmarried, that falls to me. Or, when she’s married to a guy who can take care of her, but can’t talk to her, like now. She’s on her fourth husband; he’s the most wealthy to date, but he’s also the busiest. Theo—the second husband who saw me through middle school—was just too nice. Whatever Cheri wanted, she got. In the end, that included half of his retirement and the Bay View house.
    She sold that when she met Duane, her third husband, tucked away the nice sum in a separate bank account, and let him move her to La Jolla, far away from the normal people and into a world only the wealthy understand. She still lives in the same home, the one she got in the divorce settlement, and whose property tax and maintenance is currently paid for by a plastic surgeon ten years younger than she. He is just as happy to be taken care of by an older woman as she is to have her life paid for by a younger man.
    She’s even happier that Ashton’s home and playing the doting daughter. Along with looking and acting like a grown up, my mom doesn’t like making grown-up decisions; when Ashton comes home, she welcomes her with open arms and pretends her daughter is fine.
    Even now, when it’s obvious Ashton is not only still sick, but that she’s using again. Hence, the necessity of the program Nala and I placed her in almost a month ago.
    “Oh, you know Ashton. She doesn’t like to be around all of those people, sharing her private business. She loves to be at home, with me.”
    “Because she knows you won’t ask her any questions, or make her do anything she doesn’t want.” Reigning in my temper as best I could, I let out a deep breath. “Where is she right now?”
    “Out.”
    “Where?”
    This is where the conversation fell down—my fault, obviously . My mother felt attacked, and didn’t I think she loved her daughter (the same daughter she couldn’t bear to take to treatment herself because it made her too sad), and why did I always blame her for everything. Nothing was accomplished after this; I apologized, asked her to talk to Ashton about at least visiting her therapist here or going back to group, and then kissed her before leaving.
    Now, I’m screaming into the