Trashley: Thirty-Two
Not the only catfish in the sea
Ashley had just announced to my entire family that she was officially a Scholar, which meant she was finally done with her schooling. Or, as she put it, “It’s the end of an era at MIT.”
My Dad threw a wad of cash on the table so we could properly celebrate Ashley’s achievement with a Lo-Country Boil.
That afternoon we took the ferry to Mayport to get clams, crabs, and shrimp fresh off the fishing boats. Ashley’s smirk was still tattooed on her face, and I found myself wondering what was going on in her brain. Did she truly believe she was graduating as a scholar? Did she think we were all suckers for believing her? Did she get some kind of sick pleasure out of lying to people? This may sound a little sexist, but when my lesbian, feminist brain imagines a scholar, it pictures a fifty-five-year-old bearded bald man hunched over a two-thousand-page book, feather quill, and ink pot in hand. He’s castrated and wearing a long sand-colored gown. I think I’m picturing a Wizard.
Drew escorted Ashley as they picked out ingredients. Ashley was rocking her pink MIT shirt since it was a special occasion. Plus, the maroon sweatshirt needed a wash.
My sister and I browsed seasonings across the room.
“What does it mean to become a scholar?” I asked Ilaura, who is smarter than me.
“I’m not sure, but I know a way to find out.” Ilaura whipped out her phone and said, “Google says the term scholar is equivalent to the term academic, and describes them as a university-educated individual who has achieved intellectual mastery of an academic discipline, as an instructor and a researcher.”
“Wow, that’s definitely not her,” I said. “Unless you can become a scholar playing NBA2K.”
I sighed, and Ilaura put her arm around me.
“It’s gonna be okay,” she said, “she’s a dud, you’ll find someone better. She’s not the only catfish in the sea.”
We laughed. Ilaura always made me feel better when I needed it.
When we got back to my parents' house, we started prepping dinner. Ashley and I had been watching Jeopardy religiously since November because Amy Schneider was on her winning streak, and I was prepared to kill for her. We turned the volume up so we could watch from the kitchen.
Ken Jennings read off the categories and the Universe must’ve been flirting with me because the last category was Physics. The very subject in which Ashley was a Scholar.
You could’ve caught air from our three heads whipping towards Ashley.
“You’re up, Scholar lady,” I said.
Ashley barely looked up from her phone, “Huh?”
“The category is Physics. It’s your time to shine,”
“I’m in the middle of something,” Ashley said with her mouth gaping open while staring deeply into her phone screen.
“I’ll take Physics for two hundred, Ken,” Amy said, kicking off the show.
“This Parabolic Trajectory occurs when the kinetic energy of an object exceeds gravity.”
This should’ve been effortless for Ashley.
We waited for her response.
“What is Positive Energy,” Amy buzzed.
“Correct, Amy. Go again.”
“Let’s do Physics for four hundred.”
Ashley was entrenched in her phone, avoiding Jeopardy as if the show didn’t exist, as if ignoring it would make it go away. Unfortunately, that’s not how the world works.
“Fundamental strings vibrate in multiple dimensions while Cosmic Strings are this dynamic structure.”
“What are One-Dimensional entities,” Drew said.
“Correct,” said Ken, as both Drew and Amy had gotten the correct answer.
“I only know that because I read that book about string theory,” Drew said to Ashley, who ignored him.
Ashley put her phone up to her ear. “Hello?” she said, “Oh, hi, no, this is a good time.” Ashley stood up from the table and left the house. She wandered into my parents' yard as we watched her talk on the phone from the kitchen window.
“Nobody called her,” I said.
“Nobody,” said Ilaura, “She’s talking to herself.”
Ken came on in the background, “Electric current may be expressed in this unit.”
“What are coulombs?” Drew said.
“That’s correct, Drew,” said Ken.
“I think my mind is exploding,”
“Yeah,” I said, “It’s called The Ashley Effect.”
We abandoned Jeopardy and went outside to the deck, where Ilaura boiled water in a large cauldron and sprinkled in seasoning like a witch casting a spell.
I poured myself a glass of Clasa Azul because I didn’t come all the way to Jacksonville to fuck around with cheap tequila.
Ashley joined us on the deck, “That was my old Professor, calling to congratulate me.”
Of course it was.
Ilaura poured out the cauldron of goodies onto the table and my parents joined us for the feast. As we were about to go to Pound Town on the Lo-Country Boil, my Dad raised his glass for a toast.
“Cheers to Ashley for becoming a Scholar and being smarter than every goddamn one of us.”
“Cheers!” we all said in unison, clinking out glasses together.
“Let’s eat.”
At this point, I was ninety-nine point six percent certain that Ashley was lying about her credentials. The part I couldn’t understand was Ashley’s family. Were they covering for her? They had to know if their daughter moved to Boston and went to MIT for four years. Unless Ashley lied to them too? I thought of the podcast Dirty John. The villain pretended to go to work at the hospital every morning, leaving the house in his scrubs, but it turned out he didn’t even have a job. There was no way Ashley disappeared for four years and pretended to go to school. Cecelia had said that Ashley’s family would cover up Ashley’s lies, but I couldn’t comprehend that level of deceit. Were they all in on it? And why? Who fucking cares if you went to MIT?
We didn’t talk about Physics for the rest of the night. There was no point, I found what I was looking for, validation that I wasn’t crazy for questioning Ashley’s past. I had only needed Ilaura and Drew’s help to confirm what I had suspected: that I was dating a liar.
After dinner, we sat out on the deck. My Dad and I smoked cigarettes while my Mom stood upwind to avoid the sweet aroma of Marlborough Lights.
“It’s too bad you’re leaving before McKale gets here, Lauren,” My mom said.
“God, you guys need to stop inviting my ex-boyfriend to visit you all the time. You guys are obsessed.”
“Ex-boyfriend?” Ashley scoffed.
“Yeah, from Alaska. He’s the son-in-law my parents never had. No offense Drew.” I said.
“None taken,” said Drew, who had his own man-crush on McKale.
McKale and I dated in 2003, when we were both journalists for the ABC Affiliate in Anchorage. While we were dating, he moved to Juneau to work for the Governor. We did the long-distance thing, but then I took it a step further and moved to New York City, and alas, we broke up and my parents were devastated. I don’t think they ever fully recovered. McKale was loved by every person he met, he’s charming, tall, and charismatic, and we just didn’t work out. Plus me so gay now. And he was a Republican and kind of religious, two things I’m allergic to. Even though we broke up, my Mom hung his engagement photo on the fridge as a reminder that his new fiance could’ve been me. If I had stayed in Alaska and married McKale, I’d be the First Lady by now. And I’d be cheating on him with every single woman from Ketchikan to Prudhoe Bay.
“We loved McKale,” my Mom said, as if he had died and she was remembering him fondly.
“Everyone loves McKale, I know,” I said, “He’s handsome, charming, and successful. But Mom, he’s also a man, and I stopped dating those things in 2016. Please update your records.”
“It’s just too bad you won’t get to see him, I’m sure you guys would have a lot to catch up on. You should think about staying an extra day. And if you don't, I bet your planes will cross paths in the air,” my Mom said.
“Jesus Christ. I’m in the fucking room!” Ashley shouted at my mother.
The music stopped and I practically heard DJ Grandmaster Flash scratch the record.
All eyes were on Ashley.
My family had just thrown a party for Ashley's fake graduation, and she showed her appreciation by shouting at my Mom. A bold choice.
The only sound on the once cheerful deck was a field of crickets and my own heart beating in my throat.
“Well, this was twenty years ago,” my mom said, breaking the tension. She’s always been good at being steady and keeping the peace.
“I was just joking, god,” Ashley said, trying to recover from her party foul. “I’m not jealous, I’ve never been jealous in any relationship I’ve had, which is a lot.”
“Welp, I’m gonna call it a night,” said my Dad. He got up, hugged me, and went into the house.
“Me too,” my Mom said and followed after him.
Ashley’s snip at my mom had ruined the night.
I wondered about her past relationships. Besides being married to Cecelia and claiming to date a woman who looked like Anna Kendrick, I didn’t know of anyone else she had dated. I wondered if she lied to those women in the same way she had lied to me. It made me sad because I thought I had found the perfect person to share my life with. We used to have fun little adventures together and deep conversations that would extend through the night. The image Ashley had cultivated did not match who she was. I realized I needed to end things and move on with my life.
The next morning we hugged everyone goodbye and drove to the airport. Ashley took a few Zoom calls with the sobriety app she moonlighted with as we waited at the gate.
“This is so crazy,” she said, pulling out her earbuds, “there are so many messages on the BuzzKill Instagram about Kassie.”
“Who’s Kassie?” I asked, always needing more context.
“She’s my team leader I told you about, the twenty-four-year-old in Orange County. Well, she’s in Costa Rica this week and all of the messages are like, “You’re so hot” and that’s all anyone’s saying.”
“Okay…” I said, unsure where this was going, “why are you reading the DM’s? Are you doing social media for them now? I don’t understand why a Data Scientist would need access to the Instagram messages.”
“It’s all part of the collection of Data, I just thought it was funny how every comment and message is about her looks.”
“This is weird, Ashley. I don’t see how data and DM’s are linked. Do you have some weird obsession with this girl?”
“What? WHAT? She’s a fucking alcoholic, Jesus, stop being so jealous.”
“Ashley, this isn’t about being jealous,” I said, “It’s about your job, you told me you were doing Data Science, so then why are you checking the BuzzKill DM’s? And who cares if she’s an alcoholic, she’s working with a sobriety app so I’m sure that only helps her. And you really can’t judge people for drinking considering how many edibles you take on a daily basis.”
“What are you talking about, I don’t take that many,” she said.
“You’re sneaking edibles, I know you are.” I said, “I thought the weed delivery app was short-changing our orders, but they’re not. You’ve been hiding how many you take. You’re taking close to one hundred milligrams a day. I watch you knock yourself out every single night. ”
“No I’m not, I only take twenty a day,” she said, “And I AM doing Data Science. You don’t know what that means.”
“Okay. Whatever you say.”
We boarded the plane home and I did some calculations in my head about the best time to break-up with Ashley. The holidays were coming up and we going to Europe. I had also already bought her a bunch of presents since I like to knock that out early. I couldn’t break up with her before Christmas, it just wasn’t an option. Then we’d be in Paris for New Year's Eve, so it’d have to be in the new year. But her birthday was the following month and I’d already made a Glamping reservation at the Ventana in Big Sur and I had bought orchestra tickets to Hamilton since they were touring in Los Angeles in the new year. And I still relied on sharing her car until mine arrived, which was supposed to be sometime in early 2022. God, this was messy and I just wanted her out.
When we got back to our apartment in LA, Ashley Facetimed her daughter. I was in my bedroom unpacking when I heard Ashley sniffling in the other room.
“Why are you crying?” I asked.
“I just found out we can’t go to Europe anymore. It will be too hard to transfer trains and we have to do too many Covid tests. We have to cancel everything.”
Ashley sobbed into a pillow. It was a bit overdramatic for my taste. But maybe it was for the best. I was worried about being in a foreign country with her in case she flew into a rage like she tended to do.
“Let’s do it next year,” I said as I rubbed Ashley’s back. I knew full well there wouldn’t be a next year. Of course I was bummed, I’d spent an insane amount of time researching and planning the trip, and I’d be out several thousand dollars because I stupidly booked things that were non-refundable. The most devastating loss was all the outfits I’d bought over the last few months. I wouldn’t get to wear them while looking out a train window to Zurich where I’d dine at Uetliberg Maiensäss Fondue Chalet.
“Okay,” Ashley said. “Then let’s just do Bakersfield this year.”
Spending the holidays in Bakersfield was something to cry over. I couldn’t help but laugh at how quickly our Swissmas-Christmas vacation fell apart and was replaced by California’s dusty old step-child. I thought about the dead dog on the side of the freeway and imagined pulling over and putting a Santa hat on his decaying skull. I’d miss him because this was the last time I would ever go to Bakersfield, I was sure of that.
"Let's just do Bakersfield this year" absolutely not
Ummmmmm — she yelled at your MOM 🫨