Trashley: Part Sixteen
The death, the date, and the vacuum
After discovering her Grandpa had been diagnosed with several forms of cancer, Ashley rushed to Missouri to comfort her Mom. Unfortunately for Ashley, her Grandpa dying in real life meant everything she’d said about him dying back in March was a giant fabrication. I could still remember the quiver in her voice that night on the phone, “I have to go. Someone’s crying outside my bedroom.” The next morning, she told me that her Grandfather had died.
Prior to his first death, Ashley established how close she was to her Grandparents, how she set an alarm to Facetime them every morning at eleven twenty-five, right before she took her lunch at Fermilab, doing “Physics” research.
She worried for her Grandma since her Grandparents had never spent a day apart. And wouldn’t you know it, Grandma had a stroke and died the next day. God rest her soul. What had once been a poetic and beautiful love story now felt pre-meditated and deceitful. If Ashley was lying, she did it perfectly, as if she’d practiced before. She set up how close she was to her grandparents, along with all the little details. They were Ashley’s world, the two people she loved more than anything. And when they died, she seemed devastated. I even bought her socks in an attempt to cheer her up. But I still didn’t have proof that this other set of Grandparents didn’t exist.
I believed I’d get to the truth if I relied on my superpower: patience.
I was wrapping up my shoot in the Canary Islands and dying to get back to Perci. I hadn’t had edible food or a warm shower in weeks. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck off that fucking island.
As our plane took off, I slammed the window shade down. I always choose the window seat for two reasons: I love looking at the Earth, and two, if the plane goes down, I want to watch. As we flew away, it felt like we were on the helicopter at the end of Jurrasic Park. Just get me off this fucking island.
“I hope you burn,” I whispered under my mask.
I had to stay the night in Amsterdam and MTV put us up at the Citizen Hotel. Amsterdam is one of my favorite cities in the world, so it physically hurt not to go out that night. I was so drained from not being fed for six weeks, that I retreated to my room while my fellow producers stayed out until four in the morning, as one does in Amsterdam.
Ashley was back in LA after visiting her dying Grandpa, and I asked what she was up to.
She said, “Getting ready for a date,” It was one of those comments a guilty person says when they’re telling on themselves and making it sound like they’re joking. Or maybe I was projecting from the last liar I dated. I had no way to prove it, and I was too tired to investigate further.
Ashley claimed she was hit on everywhere she went. Like when the lesbian store manager at REI asked her to the movies. Or when the woman sitting next to her on the plane stroked her arm the entire flight. Or when the TSA lady slipped her phone number into Ashley’s pocket. Or when the Starbucks barista wrote her number on Ashley’s cup. I knew she was making those things up because maybe it boosted her self-esteem, or she was trying to make me jealous. I fell asleep and dreamt about being in a relationship with a woman who wasn’t a liar.
One day, I’d find her, but for now, I’d settled on Ashley.
I landed around eleven a.m., and MTV scheduled a driver to take me home. I swung open my front door, crouched down, and held my arms out for Perci, expecting him to run into them and shower me in dog kisses. But that didn’t happen: he wasn’t there.
Ashley was sitting on my couch, reading “Tender Is the Night,” the only book I’d seen her touch since we’d met. She looked surprised to see me despite sharing my ETA with her. She put her book down and stared at me across the room as if I were the Kool-Aid man who had just busted through the wall. Oh yeah.
“Where’s Perci?” I asked. I was dying to see him, and Ashley knew that.
“I dropped him off at Gabby’s, so you could have the day free.”
“Why? He’s my little baby boy. And why are you acting like I’m a stranger? Get over here and give me a hug.”
She stood up and walked towards me but was swaying side to side with each step.
“Are you okay? Why are you walking like that?” I asked.
“I’m not. You didn’t even notice the new TV.”
I looked at the wall, and sure enough, there was a gigantic new TV mounted to it. “That thing is massive,” I said, going in for a hug.
“I thought you’d be more excited about it,” she said.
It felt like she was expecting me to present her with an award for Best New TV.
“I don’t care about the TV right now. I was excited to see you and Perci. Give me a second to get my bearings.” All I wanted was to shower, get cozy, order Ramen, and be with my dog.
Ashley’s voice was slow, and her eyes looked heavy and red. As she stood in front of me her body blew around like one of those inflatable gas station tube men. It looked fun. She didn’t drink alcohol. Pills, maybe? I had no idea why she was malfunctioning. Ashley wanted to show me something in my garage, but on the way out, she opened the closet, picked up the vacuum cleaner, and carried it downstairs like she was holding a toddler. I didn’t ask why she was bringing my vacuum, but she set it down on the sidewalk and we went into the garage.
“I put this storage container in here so we can keep all of our camping stuff safe.” She opened it, and sure enough, all of our camping stuff was nicely stacked together. “Why aren’t you excited?” she asked.
“This is nice. Thanks for doing all this,” I said, pretending to be impressed. “I’m gonna go grab Perci, I’ll be back in a bit.” We closed my garage, and she went back upstairs, leaving my vacuum on the sidewalk. I assumed she was getting rid of it because she’d bought a new one even though mine was perfect.
I went into Gabby’s gate and Perci ran out of her house and gave me the greeting I imagined, like a soldier returning from Afghanistan to surprise his ten-year-old at the bus stop. Except I was returning from an even scarier place, the Canary Islands, all so that I could continue feeding Perci Just Food for Dogs.
“How was everything with Ashley, by the way?” I asked Gabby.
She looked around to make sure Ashley wasn’t hiding in the bushes, “I have to be honest, Lauren, I think there’s something seriously off about her. I don’t think she went to MIT. I have a friend who works there, would you want me to ask if they can find anything about her?”
I glanced at Gabby’s lemon tree to make sure Ashley wasn’t swinging upside down from one of the branches. I leaned in and whispered, “I think you’re right. We did some digging in the Canary Islands and couldn’t find any connection to MIT. I also think she made-up her Grandparents dying.”
Our voices kept getting quieter, as though Ashley’s head might pop out of a nearby gopher hole.
“And she asked me to water all your plants while you were gone even though she was living there. Which I was happy to do. But weird, yeah?”
“What? She didn’t tell me that. Also, thank you, also, what the fucking fuck?”
Gabby and I agreed to talk more about her later, and I headed home. The vacuum was gone by the time I returned with Perci. I hoped whoever had picked it up needed it more than me.
I had just gotten off a long and exhausting flight, yet Ashley was the one who appeared jet-lagged. She slept on my couch the rest of the day.
I showered and put on a face mask. I noticed a sty developing in my eye, which happens when I get stressed. Hot.
When Ashley woke up, she seemed a bit more present. Her speech was back to a normal speed, and she wasn’t walking like she was trying to balance on a tightrope. I showed her my sty, and she ordered medication and a hot press on Instacart. For all of her peculiarities, she could take care of me when I needed it.
The next morning, we drove to Starbucks to pick up Ashley’s Chai Tea Latte. We had planned a fun day that included going to REI and shopping for our upcoming camping trip. Ashley had left her phone in the car when she ran into the store. She never went anywhere without her phone. In the twenty seconds it took for her to pick up her drink from the counter I saw her phone lite up several times, and I instinctively looked down in time to see a notification from Bumble, the dating app.
She had a new match and a new message.
Ashley got back in the car, and the look I gave her could’ve sliced her in half. “What?” She said, already defensive.
“You’re on Bumble?”
“What? No, I’m not,” she started.
“Ashley, I just saw several Bumble notifications on your phone.”
“What are you talking about? I told you I was on Bumble,” she said, changing tactics.
“Don’t you dare gaslight me, I think I’d remember if my girlfriend told me she was on a dating app.” I started driving. “This is over. Get your shit out of my house. You’re such a liar.”
It was the first time I called her a liar to her face. But by this point, I was almost certain she was lying about her Grandparents dying, being a Physicist, and dating apps.
Of course, Ashley didn’t like this. She escalated to yelling and crying, and somehow, in her special way, she turned herself into the victim.
“I was only on there to make friends. I don’t have any friends here, and you do. I don’t think it’s fair for you to accuse me of trying to date other people or even talk to other people. I only want you. I don’t want anyone else. I’m not a liar,” she sniffled. “And I’m not a cheater.”
“I don’t trust you. Your phone just showed that you had a new match. You are literally on there trying to date people.”
“Do you want to see my phone? Here, I have nothing to hide. I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just trying to make friends.”
I looked at her outstretched arm, offering me her unlocked phone. I was so tempted to go through it. What would I find on there? I felt sure I’d have some god damn answers. But for some reason, I declined.
“I’m not gonna go through your phone, Ashley. Stop.”
I wouldn’t want someone reading my journals or going through my phone, so I didn’t take Ashley up on her offer. That night, I apologized for accusing her of dating other people. Then I asked her, “Why’d you put my vacuum on the sidewalk yesterday?”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t.”
“Yeah, you did. I watched it happen.”
How could she not remember this?
“I didn’t touch your vacuum, it’s still in the closet,” she insisted.
“Go look in the closet, and tell me if you see it.”
She opened the door. “Weird, I don’t remember doing that. I’ll just buy you a new one.”
Damn right, you’re gonna buy me a new one.
How could she not remember? It happened less than twenty-four hours ago, and it was the middle of the afternoon. Pills? Weed? How fucking high was she to experience body waves and slurred speech? She must’ve been toasted out of her fucking mind.
“Oh, and by the way.” Ashley said, “My sister Claudia stayed the night here a few times, in case you find any long blonde hair. I don’t want you to accuse me of cheating like you did with Bumble.”
“Why are you telling me this now and not when she was here?”
“I didn’t want you to get mad.”
“Why would I be mad if your sister stayed the night?”
“I just didn’t want to tempt it.”
The fuck was Ashley talking about? Why would I be upset if Claudia stayed the night? I was mainly shocked she’d have time to step away from watching her boyfriend play Call of Duty.
Would my neighbors tell me Ashley had a blonde over and was using her sister as a cover? Did she put the blackout windows up so my neighbors couldn`t see another woman in my home? No, Ashley only wishes a blonde woman would be into her.
Love that u texted her about the Anna Delvey show
How important it is to have good, trustworthy neighbors. I was seriously worried for Perci. I can’t even imagine the physical and emotional toll this was all taking between work and Trashly. Not being able to even participate in a night out in Amsterdam is tragic.