6. ashton
six
ashton
. . .
Manhattan - Sara Bareilles
I wake in the morning feeling the kind of desperate sadness and hollow loneliness I thought I’d left behind, locked in a box in my New York closet.
But in spite of the early-rising sun and the cattle’s morning song on the wind, and in spite of my brother’s cologne clinging to the furnishings in my cabin and wrapping me in all the love I’d missed, I just feel… numb.
There’s not much in me left to feel anything at all.
I bet Ruth would have a word for this, like Ev says she always seems to do.
But right now, there’s just… nothing. My heart was starting to heal, and I came home to Texas to help it along.
I always thought that I moved to New York City to spread my wings and find myself, take a bite out of that famous big apple.
But it turned out the apple was rotten to the core, and it wasn’t meant for me at all.
It’s hard to believe it’s been ten months since I last saw them. Eighteen months since our first time together. Twenty since Declan and I first met.
“I’m Jessa.” The woman who answers the door is gorgeous.
An inch or two taller than me; blonde hair, curves in all the right places.
Smooth skin the perfect shade of tan, with the darkest brown eyes I think I’ve ever seen.
She’s definitely not who I expected to see at the door of my boyfriend’s apartment.
Especially after he was so keen for me to come over. “And you must be—”
“Ashton,” I blurt out. Something in me is defiant, determined to stake my claim over Declan. We’ve only been together two months.
“The other woman,” Jessa corrects me with a wry smile.
Panic fills my entire body. It’s hard to breathe.
My face feels hot. My skin itches and something squeezes inside my head and my belly all at once.
A hundred and one excuses run through my mind.
How could I not have known Declan was seeing someone else?
I glance at him now, smiling awkwardly at me over Jessa’s shoulder.
His hand brushes her waist casually, intimately.
There’s no wedding ring there, no tan line to suggest he’s removed one.
Jessa isn’t wearing anything on her left hand either, just a smooth gold band on the fourth finger of her right.
I swallow hard. Tension squeezes my temples like a vise; daggers claw at the edge of my vision. I need to get out of here.
“This is what I wanted to tell you,” he says. “That’s what I invited you over for. I wanted to talk to you.” He’s calm as hell, and it’s kind of unnerving. They must both be able to hear how heavily my pulse is racing.
“I’m not—I didn’t—”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Jessa says with a small laugh. “Declan and I have an open relationship. I’ve actually been waiting to meet you.” She takes one step closer, eyes roving up and down the length of my body.
“Have you ever kissed a woman before, Ashton?” she asks. I nod hesitantly, and she continues, “Ever been with a man and a woman at the same time?”
This time, I shake my head slowly.
“First time for everything,” she says, a barely-there shrug lifting her shoulders. “You wanna?”
I stand motionless just inside the door.
Declan smiles encouragingly. Jessa reaches for my hand and in what feels like an instant, her lips are on mine.
One of her hands tangles in my hair, delicate fingers twisting and tugging gently.
When her other hand grips my waist, I’m powerless, and when Declan plants his lips on the side of my neck, I find myself moaning against Jessa’s mouth.
This is all wrong, but I don’t know how to stop it.
The worst part is, I’m not sure I want to stop it.
I like Declan a lot, even after just two months of coffee and brunch dates and fooling around in my apartment.
And when Jessa kissed me, I felt the same kind of explosions beneath my skin, the same tingles low in my abdomen that Declan gives me.
She’s beautiful, and this is wild, and I don’t think I could stop it if I tried.
“Wait,” I mumble. Jessa tears her lips from mine, Declan halts his movements against my skin. “I don’t—are you—I mean—”
“We get tested every month, if that’s what you mean,” Jessa says kindly. “We’re not monsters, Ashton. We just have extra space in our hearts and our bed for more than just the two of us. And if you’re okay with that, and you’re willing…”
Declan’s lips are still touching my skin. I think it over for a whole three seconds. I like him, and I like kissing Jessa, and this is New York. I can be anyone I want to be here. I nod slowly and Jessa’s encouraging smile spreads into a grin before she leans in to kiss me again.
Declan’s hard length is pressing against the base of my spine as he kicks the door closed behind us.
He reaches around me, large hands bracketing his wife’s narrow ribcage and thumbs circling her nipples.
This time, I swallow her moan, and then she returns the favor when her hands reach for my tits.
“You did good, Dec. I like her.” She pulls back from my mouth just long enough to speak before capturing my lips in another bruising kiss.
Her thigh finds its way between mine and before I know it, I’m practically riding her, fully clothed, whilst her husband kisses his way down the side of my neck, slipping the cardigan off my shoulders to reveal bare skin.
“Ever been eaten out by a woman before, Ashton?”
I shake my head as I try to catch my breath. I’ve never done more than kiss a woman before. I’ve always wanted to. Wanted to feel the difference in her touch, in the way we move together. But it’s just never happened.
Until now.
All the adrenaline that flooded my body when Jessa answered the door is redirected. My bones melt beneath Jessa’s fingertips; my skin heats and my breath catches for an entirely new reason.
“Well, let me be your first. Come on.” Jessa takes my hand, and the three of us move as one down the corridor toward the bedroom.
The apartment is a corner unit, and the bedroom is dual-aspect; large windows covering almost two entire walls of the room.
Anyone in the neighboring buildings can see us as Jessa pushes me down onto the king-sized bed in the middle of the room.
Declan drops to his knees on the mattress and crawls toward me as Jessa begins to strip to her underwear.
“I want to eat you while you suck my husband’s cock. ”
The next eight months of my life were a whirlwind.
I spent most of it in Jessa and Declan’s bed with their two German shepherds at our feet.
If we weren’t in their bed, we were huddled up in mine, or in a blanket fort on my living room floor.
We were a tangle of limbs entirely too long for the space we took up, bodies pressed close enough we could almost climb into each other’s skin.
We saw movies at old-fashioned theaters and ate all-night diner breakfasts in the dark before the streets woke up.
We watched the sun rise from the Brooklyn Bridge—a rite of passage for anyone in New York, they said.
And then, without warning, they stopped taking my calls.
They didn’t answer the door when I knocked. And just like that, we were done.
It wasn’t healthy. I chose to ignore it then, but I know it now.
Nothing about the way we lived or the way we loved was okay, and I wish I could go back and tell myself that.
Jumping headfirst into a polyamorous relationship—if you could even call it that—never discussing rules and boundaries, not even knowing that was where my relationship with Declan was headed…
the red flags were waving from the start, but through my rose-tinted glasses, I chose not to even look at them.
There are days I wish I had. Days I wish I’d heard the alarm bells ringing and turned right around, walked away from their door instead of letting Jessa seduce me.
But I was young and lonely and horny and they offered me something too good to be true, and at the time, it felt like everything I wanted.
Take it all. I hug my knees to my chest, back against the headboard, tangling my feet in a sleek, fuzzy blanket which falls away to expose my bare thigh. Take all that was ours and love it the way we did, because I can't.
Everything about that place—my tiny loft, the entire city—reminds me of them. That’s the kitchen where we made the cookie dough which never made it into the oven. The counter we cleared to make way for all three of us as we stumbled home in the early hours, all hands and lips and arms and legs.
The sofa where we lay under blankets, wrapped up in each other and black and white movies all Sunday long.
The city was made for us. The city loved us, and we loved the city.
We were the city, and all of the life in it, until the city took the life out of us.
Ten months ago, my heart shattered. I spent more days in bed with migraines than ever before.
I started leaving my friends on read. I dodged their calls.
I lied to my mom, telling her I was fine—just busy with internships, and that’s why I wasn’t calling quite so frequently.
And two weeks ago, I packed up all that was left—tiny little shreds of the woman I used to be—and I flew home, hoping for my mom’s cooking and a few trail rides with Mayo to help me piece my life back together.
On days when I think I miss them, I remind myself that I only miss what I thought we had.
Some days are easier than others; some days, just the thought of our breath mingling in the haze of a cool city morning is enough to bring me to tears.
But I’m mad, too. Mad about how seemingly easy it was for them to cut me out of their lives.
Mad about how they made me fall for them—both of them—only to pull the rug from under my feet.
And then, sometimes, I’m just so tired of hoping to hear their voices on the phone, or see them around a corner, that I think maybe I miss the dogs more than anything.
I tug the blanket to my chest, using one edge of it to brush an itch from my cheek.
The rising sun casts long shadows and a vibrant, orange glow through the window, reminding me that I never bothered to close the blinds last night.
A beautiful day beckons, and ranch chores wait for no man—or woman.
And now that I’m home, Mayo is only a short walk away.
If I ever needed a man who knows my heart, I don’t need to look any further than the stable block.
My sweet boy has always known me, from the very first moment we met.
He was a yearling, bred to show but never meeting the high standard of his owners.
He was sent to auction, and Grandaddy Smith, Mom, and I were there to look at another horse.
We brought three home that day, Mayo included.
A week ago, I came back to Texas to heal my heart, and what I found was the community I’d always been seeking, right here where I left it.
Ellison and her bakery; her award-winning scones, and evenings spent sitting in her kitchen, trading stories and perfecting recipes.
Savannah and her flower shop, and the fresh zinnias she gifted me that grace my breakfast bar with the brightest explosion of color.
Miss Celia and her milkshakes, Talia and her bright, warm smile that could end wars.
Jody and his cheeky grin, Brooks and his heart-stopping winks; the way he never fails to make me smile.
The way he’s always made my heart smile.
My brother and his wife: steady, constant, loving. My parents, who have always been my true north.
I thought New York would be a place that could become home, somewhere I could build community of my own.
But it turns out I was wrong about that.
My only relationships in the city remain surface-level, more acquaintances than friends.
But being back in Texas, even just for a few days… maybe this is what I needed.