Trashley: Part Eight
A Friend of a Friend
Dating Ashley felt like waking up on a rollercoaster blindfolded, drugged, and naked. And Cecelia was still bombarding me with messages online. I read every DM she sent but never replied. I started checking her Twitter and Instagram regularly, sometimes as much as twenty times a day, in an effort to piece together the puzzle. Ashley and her Mom encouraged me to block Cecelia, but it felt wrong. I wanted Cecelia to know I came in peace, just in case I met their kids someday. I wanted her to see I was a good person.
Ashley met me with anger whenever I brought up the messages, so I learned to tread lightly. “Cecelia wrote me again this morning,” I told Ashley, “She said you’re taking maternity leave when the baby gets here. And that you’re moving to an apartment in Minnesota to help.”
“I told you I don’t want to talk about her, just block her!” Ashley snapped.
My job was starting up in mid-June, and I was leaving for Spain in mid-July for five weeks. Ashley and her Mom said they’d watch Perci while I was gone, so if Ashley was leaving for Minnesota, I needed to know so that Perci wouldn’t be abandoned while I was halfway around the world.
“I’m not moving to Minnesota, stop believing everything she says! Perci’s gonna be fine, just stop.” I pulled back, cautiously trusting her.
Cecelia continued watching my Instagram stories within seconds of being posted. A bunch of new faces were watching: Cecelia’s Mom, her sister, and her friends. Two other suspicious accounts were lurking, too, which I figured belonged to Cecelia, in case I blocked her. Smart. I didn’t block anyone though because I believed I had nothing to hide.
I hated how harsh and abrasive Ashley could be, but I knew she was also capable of being caring and thoughtful. She would do chores around the apartment so I could focus on writing. She did my laundry, put the duvet on the comforter, took out the trash, and bought expensive bottles of wine. My love language is acts of service, after all. I told my therapist it felt like I had an assistant. With Ashley around I could outsource all of the things I hated doing, and spend more time focusing on my book proposal. I also told my therapist that dating Ashley felt like taming a wild beast. Sometimes, when it was being nice and gentle, I’d reach out to pet it only to have it rip my arm off, forcing me to grow a new one. But I was convinced that if anyone could tame Ashley, it was me.
“Do you mind giving me an hour alone at the apartment this afternoon?” Ashley asked one morning.
“Yeah of course, what’s going on?”
“I have an interview with the University of Cambridge. They need a new Physics professor, and I’m fairly certain they’re going to offer me the job,” she said.
“Whoa, that’s huge! I can’t believe I’m just finding out about this.” I didn’t understand why she hadn’t mentioned this before.
“Well, if I take it, I’ll have to move to the UK. So I wanted to get your opinion.”
“I mean, don’t not take it because of me. That sounds like an incredible opportunity.”
I didn’t want to be the reason she didn’t further her career.
“Well, the other thing is, I’ve also been offered a position at NASA’s JPL lab in Pasadena. And if I take that one, I’d be able to stay here.” she said.
“Ashley, this is a big life decision. I think you should take the one that speaks to you. And if you take the Cambridge position, we can figure it out.”
Later that afternoon, I gave her a few hours alone, and when I came back, she said they’d offered her the position, but she’d turned it down. “I think the JPL one makes more sense right now,” she said. “Plus it would be a year-long contract, and I can always change my mind and reassess after a year.” For as in-demand as Ashley seemed, I’d yet to see her do any Physics. I wondered if Cecelia was telling the truth. There was no way — Ashley’s stories were too detailed, like her annoying student Geoff with a G, and her Physics books, the way her whole family vouched for her. Plus, her professional work email signature said Dr. Ashley PhD.
I started introducing Ashley to my neighbors when we ran into them on the streets. I’d gotten really close with them during the Pandemic. We would have dog parties and socially distanced cocktail hours in the yard. We’d group text, “Anyone down for a wine walk?” which is exactly what it sounds like, roaming the hills with a dog leash in one hand and a big glass of wine in the other. I live in Silver Lake, a hip and trendy neighborhood in East LA filled with creatives, celebrities, and professionals, including a few doctors and scientists.
Nearly everyone was welcoming of Ashley, and I had already told them so much about her. My neighbor Gabby was a science journalist and mathematician from Australia, and Gabby knew a lot of people who went to Cambridge and MIT. It sounded like Ashley could hold her own whenever they talked about science or school. The only neighbor who didn’t like Ashley was Kirsten. She was the one I went to when I found out Ashley had an ex wife and children. Kirsten warned me that Ashley’s stories didn’t line up. “If her ex-wife is so abusive,” she would say, “then why would Ashley leave their daughter with her.” Kirsten avoided Ashley at all costs, sometimes ducking into traffic if she saw her walking down the street. She made it known how she felt, so I tried to keep them apart.
For someone who didn’t have social media, Ashley spent a lot of time on her phone. She texted non-stop, and I was never sure who was on the other end. At first, I figured she was texting Cecelia because they were co-parenting their daughter. But Ashley also never put her phone down with the screen visible. She would stuff her phone between the couch cushions when we watched TV, and it buzzed all the time. And, when we drove, she always put her phone in airplane mode when the screen was face up. When I asked why, she said because it charged faster if it was in airplane mode.
I bought it, but not completely.
It had been a few days since Cecelia had begun sending me messages, and Ashley and I were finally getting back to some sort of normal. “I’m gonna go meet someone for dinner at that place you love, L&E Oyster,” Ashley said. Up until then, I’d never met any of Ashley’s friends. She told me she had friends, and they were all sending her screenshots of my tweets they thought were funny. But I didn’t know anything about them.
“Cool, who are you meeting there?” I asked.
“A friend of a friend, she’s also a writer.”
“Oh nice, do I know her? What does she write on?” I asked because I know nearly everyone in the LA writing scene.
“Some TV show,” Ashley said, “But in the interest of transparency, she asked me out. She thinks it’s a date.”
“Wait, what? Is that what we’re doing now? Going on dates with other people?” I was so stunned. “We’ve had this conversation. You said you wanted to be exclusive.”
I knew what Ashley wanted. She wanted me to get mad, possessive, and jealous. She wanted a reaction, to see if I cared. Instead, I told her to go for it and went about the rest of my day. I was never afraid of losing Ashley to someone else, but I knew she was afraid of losing me.
Later that afternoon, Ashley told me, “I canceled the date. I honestly thought it was just as friends. I’m really trying to make more friends around here, and it’s just so hard.” Her voice quivered, and her brown eyes grew to the size of a caricature drawing.
I thought for a moment. She had a point: I had so many friends here, and she didn’t.
“I get it.” I said, “You should still go and just let her know you’re dating someone but would still want to be friends.” I genuinely meant it.
I wanted Ashley to meet people and find friends who shared her interests. She ended up staying with me that night, and I never heard about the other woman again. But I did see her name on Ashley’s phone because I made a point to look. I found her Instagram. She was a writer on Glow, and we had a bunch of mutual friends. She seemed cool.
Ashley missed out.
It had been nearly a week since Cecelia found me online, and I was still getting daily messages about Ashley. I didn’t respond. Maybe it was the boredom of the pandemic, or maybe I was looking for companionship, even if it wasn’t great, but I put up with Ashley’s chaos. There was never a dull moment, and I was so sick of dull moments.
The weekend was approaching, and I wanted to squeeze in a day trip to Morro Bay, one of my favorite little coastal towns. We drove Ashley’s Tesla and wandered around watching otters play in the water while sea lions bathed on nearby buoys. Ashley and I sat down at an ocean-side restaurant for a martini and lunch. This was the Ashley I liked best — the one who wanted to go on adventures with me. Here, we were great.
“I want to go to Alaska,” Ashley said between bites of clam linguine. “I want to go this week before you start work.”
I hadn’t been back to Alaska in a few years. I’d always hated summers in Fairbanks because the mosquitos were the size of hummingbirds and the sun never set, which pissed me off. But Alaska was where my family lived, and my sister Jordan was pregnant and having a gender reveal party in a few days. I considered it. We could fly to Alaska, surprise my family, and I could show Ashley what it was like growing up there. The stars aligned, and I bought tickets.
We were going to Alaska, and Ashley was going to meet my family.
