Chapter 10 Ashlyn
Ashlyn
“I thought he told you not to worry about packing,” Demi says as I throw things into a laundry bin.
“No. He said don’t worry about getting a moving truck because his house is fully furnished.
He said nothing about bringing some of my things with me,” I say as I unplug a peacock colored lamp with little tassels all around the shade and set it in a box.
Meanwhile, Demi throws herself back on my bed and stretches out.
“The villa was furnished,” she says as if I didn’t watch the show she was on.
What’s funny is that those shows are pre-recorded, so I watched the show with her.
By the time the shows aired, I already knew she’d been the last girl standing with two men claiming to be in love with her.
She’d simply walked off set, breaking the streaming station and the internet all while her heels clacked on the floor.
“Well, I intend to have some things of my own,” I tell her.
“As you should,” she agrees, absent mindedly braiding a couple strands of her long blonde hair.
Demi looks like a supermodel. Tall, thin, tan, and blonde.
I, on the other hand, am neither tall nor short, skinny nor fat.
My hair has always been wavy and red, like the color of sangria.
I could try out for the next Spider-Man movie and be the next Mary Jane.
“You know we weren’t allowed to bring anything to the villa.
They provided everything, even clothes and make-up. ”
“Well, if he tries to tell me what I can and can’t wear, he’s going to have more than a broken pergola, I can tell you that much,” I say, and she chuckles.
“I still can’t believe you agreed to do this,” she says.
“Yeah, neither can I,” I admit. “But I didn’t really have any other choice. He threatened to call the police. More than once.”
Demi rolls her eyes before rolling onto her stomach. “If he was going to call the police, he would have done it after he saved you from drowning.”
“I wasn’t drowning,” I correct her. “Floundering maybe. I was in shock.” I sit down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, taking a break from packing. “I still can’t believe this is my life.”
“I can,” she says. “Shit like this always happens in LA.”
“I mean the whole thing. The divorce. Losing my job. Everything,” I say, and Demi gives me a small, empathetic smile before waiting for me to go on.
She knows me well enough to know that I am about to vent.
“It’s like…all I ever wanted were the stereotypes.
I know that sounds dumb, but it really was what I wanted.
I loved working at the daycare. I loved being with kids all the time, especially babies.
And when I met Mitchell, he knew how much being a mom meant to me.
We started trying on our wedding night. And month after month, little white stick after little white stick, nothing happened.
Just single pink line after single pink line. ”
“I remember,” she says, looking up at me.
“And I know it takes some people longer than others, but it’s like…I could just tell something was off. Like there was a reason I wasn’t getting pregnant. I just never imagined that I was the problem.”
“No, no,” Demi says, sitting up. “You weren’t the problem. They don’t know what the problem was. You said yourself that your OB couldn’t find anything.”
“And his doctor didn’t find anything either, he told me,” I explain.
“And when Mitch came home and told me that, I was actually upset. I wanted them to find something. I wanted a reason.” I am starting to tear up and I reach for a tissue out of a green ceramic tissue box with pink flowers and cheetahs on it.
Then I put the box into one of the boxes to take with me.
“I hate to say it, Ash. But maybe the reason was Mitch was wrong for you and you weren’t supposed to have his babies.”
“Maybe,” I sniff. “I mean, God knows he moved on fast enough.”
“Right?” she asks. “God. I can’t believe he’s already married again.”
“Well, I can,” I say. “And if I had to guess, this Becca chick is either going to get pregnant easily or doesn’t want kids and doesn’t make it the center of the relationship.”
“There is nothing wrong with wanting to be a mom, Ash. Most women want it,” Demi says softly.
“Well. I know it might not seem like it, but I think good things are coming your way. I can feel it. Karma might be a bitch sometimes, but she’s a fair bitch.
And if I had to guess, she’s in your ring, not Mitchell’s,” she says, and despite still feeling crummy, I smile.
Demi has always been good about that. There’s a reason she is my best friend.
And who knows, maybe she’s right and there is a reason for all of this.
I just have to figure out what that is. In the meantime, I am bringing more of my things to Zane’s house.
LA might be one big reality TV show, but my life doesn’t have to be. Not if I can help it.