Page 40 of Toxic Wishes

The truth is both my parents are to blame. My dad should have talked to my mom instead of going out chasing women to solve his problems, and my mom should have forgiven my dad if she was going to stay married to him or find a way to work through their issues. She never cared as long as she got to spend what she wanted. Now that he’s limiting the money supply, she is a different person. I have never seen this side of her.

“Go ahead and try. Your whores aren’t getting my fair share, that’s for sure. They haven’t put up with your ass for twenty years, so those bitches can walk over my dead body before that happens.”

My phone buzzes.

What’s wrong? Are they fighting again?

Ya. I would get my own place, but the money I saved would be gone in no time, and there’s no way I can work and attend medical school. I was going to use that money to live off of.

Have you tried talking to your dad to help you?

I don’t want to stress him out. He’s got a lot on his plate, and who knows, he may be paying all his money to lawyers soon.

Damn, Asher. I’m sorry. Well, let me text my brother. You could probably head to the lakehouse and hide out until things calm down, at least.

You make me sound like a charity case. That’s fine. I’ll figure something out.

No, it’s okay. He doesn’t care. He and his son stay in a separate part of the house, even if he’s renting it out to others. And he has so much money now that, during the summers, he takes him to cool places like Disney World. Not Branson.

Josh always lifts my spirits, reminding me of Blake. I laugh to myself, taken away from reality for a split second, and Blake’s face comes into view. He used to make me feel light. We discussed the future, always giving each other hope.

God, I missed him.

I wonder if he would be in L.A. now, making music and rocking out his guitar like he loved doing—before the drugs.

My phone rings, and my stomach flutters, lighting up inside as I answer.

“Hello”

“Hey, bitoch, how’s the southern life? Have you caught any fish or rounded up any horses yet?”

I laugh, shaking my head slightly. Mel, short for Melanie, was named after Donald Trump's wife. Her parents are huge fans. But she was born and raised in California, and any state in the Midwest or South was considered a different country to her.

“Shut up.” A faint smile curls on my lips.

“How have you been? Obviously, busy bumping and grinding since I haven’t heard from you since you left.”

“Ya, sorry, I have just been trying to find a job, and-” let out a long I sigh.

“Oh gosh, what is it? You’re miserable, aren’t you? I knew you needed to come back here. Should I start looking at flight times? Because you know my ass will fly you down there tomorrow.”

“No, it’s just my parents,” as if on cue, my mom starts cursing in the background, and they start fighting about money again.

“Holy shit, is that them?”

“Yeah, I just need to find a job, a place to live, and, you know, a whole new life.”

“Girl, you need to come back to Cali.”

“Mel, you know I can't. It's too expensive there, and now that I broke up with Jared, there is no way I could live alone.”

“Girl, I told you my dad would get you a job, and you could stay with me. It’s not like we don’t have room here.”

She wasn’t lying. Her dad was a film producer, and Mel was an only child. They lived in what I would deem a mansion. But I just hated the idea of living with people I don’t know. Maybe if it was just Mel, but living with her parents, who only bathed in bottled sparkling water, I didn’t know if I could get used to being around that.

“I know, and believe me, it sounds tempting, but my scholarship is up too, so if I want to attend med school in the fall, I would have to apply for an even bigger loan.”

“Ugh, you sound so sad.”

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