Page 53 of Twisted Lies

Chapter 24

Astrid

“Hi, Mom, do you have time?” My voice cracks as my throat catches, and there’s a pause on the other end. The old bathroom in the basement is the best place to have privacy while speaking to my mother on the phone. I sit on the far end of the beat-up couch with my legs tucked underneath me.

“Of course, dear,” she replies serenely. “How are you doing?”

My chest lowers as I take in a deep breath. “Not too bad, and you?”

Another pause, but not as long, and I have to wonder what’s going on. I know something’s wrong. Why is Mom so tight-lipped? Is someone with her listening?

“Everything is going well,” she finally answers. Mom is a piss-poor liar. She can’t even manage to include herself in that statement. I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t want to tell me the truth about how she really feels.

“And how about you?” I ask, waiting for her reply.

“I am doing well, Astrid.” There’s no way for me to actually know if this is true. I can’t walk into her bedroom and look her up and down. I can’t count her pill bottles or check the kitchen to see if she’s eaten. An understanding jolts my reflection. The distance between us is a delaying tactic. Mom’s unwillingness for me to visit keeps me from knowing her truth. The conversation shifts back to my life, or we won’t have anything to talk about at all.

“I spoke to Dr. Howland…I mean, my father. About a few weeks ago...” My voice trails off as I carefully pick my words. “Howland wants me to use his last name…”

“Why?” Mom asks.

The explanation is implied, I guess. I hadn’t expected that question from Mom, though now it makes sense. Instead, I give my reason for wanting it. “If I do, he’ll give me more money.”

“Money,” she sighs. “And all the things it can buy, including love.”

“I’m sorry, Mommy.” I hang my head as if she can see my embarrassment. It kills me to ask for anything. “But I need…”

“Don’t apologize, Astrid,” she replies, “He placed us into this predicament.”

“I don’t want to choose,” I reply softly.

“You may have to,” Mom replies without bitterness. “We may all have to do things we don’t want to.”

I pause, wondering what Mom has been made to do. She’s supposed to be getting better and off the painkillers. I want to ask what else Howland is asking of her, but she’ll shut down again.

“I don’t want to be nice to Howland,” I reply truthfully, “I want to keep on resenting him, but it’s too late for that now. I really need you to tell me what to do.”

“I can’t, Astrid,” Her voice is severe, as if she can’t tolerate my pleading. “I can’t tell you what to do anymore.”

“Why not?” I persist, though it’s stupid to push. “I need someone to tell me what to do. I mean an adult. Not a bunch of rich brats who want a piece of me.” Sighing, I curl up on the couch, placing my head on the backpack. “I went to his office to ask for money, and I chickened out.”

“Why did you go to his office?” she asks sharply. “Why didn’t you call?”

“I needed something else.” I close my eyes tight, but a tear slips out anyway. “I’d rather not get anything from him, but I can’t work and go to this school too. I’m sorry, Mom.”

She lets out a low sigh of surrender. “I’m sorry, Astrid. I tried to protect you from your father. I did my best. I just can’t do it anymore.”

“What do you mean by can’t?” I ask, lifting my head.

“Astrid, I might not be coming home,” she replies, “Your father has offered me a place to live in a community where I can get lifelong care.”

My head drops down on my backpack—something hard inside presses into my cheek. “I get it,” I tell her quietly, “He wants to make amends. Howland said himself that he didn’t want to be judged poorly for not helping us.”

Her silence is charged, and then each word hardens her voice with fury. “Astrid, your father wants you. The only way to get you was to separate us. Permanently. I’ve said some terrible things about your father,” Mom pauses, catching her breath, “and he’s more heinous than anything I’ve ever said. I had a bad feeling when he showed up that day at our apartment, but I talked myself into believing he could be decent.”

My heart drops so low I don’t know how it’s going to get back up. I can’t help thinking about Bryce and how Howland approved of him for Charlotte. They’re all the same and probably believe that the world is at fault and not their crap behavior.

“How’d you meet him?” I ask.

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