14. Ashley
FOURTEEN
ASHLEY
I spend Sunday holed up on my couch. Doing anything feels overwhelming, even basic tasks like cleaning up the mess Sebastian and I left in the living room last night or thinking about dinner.
My brain is a fuzzy mixture of rage at Clint and post-sex hormones that leaves me unable to focus on anything except videos of top ten underrated show tunes and compilations of cute animals.
The girls check in later, but don’t ask any questions about my date.
I texted this morning that it was disappointing and I’d tell them the rest later.
I don’t want to talk about Clint. I’m still so mad at myself that I don’t have the energy to deal with their reactions and assure them I’m okay.
It’s enough to keep telling myself that.
I start sweating when I consider what they’d say about Sebastian if they knew.
I may have told Sebastian I might not tell them, but they have a way of dragging things out of me, and they won’t be wrong in thinking it’s dangerous territory.
But surely we can keep our physical relationship separate from our friendship. Right?
I open my text thread with Bash for the tenth time this afternoon. I keep typing a message, then deleting it. Should I check in?
Oh right. Not dating. We’re just friends who hook up. I’m sure I’ll get my bearings soon.
He phones later to talk about the next steps, leaving me with even more on my mind. As much as it warms my heart that his whole team is on my side, I hate knowing Clint won’t get called out publicly like he deserves. Still, hearing my friend go into Dark Sebastian mode was pretty sexy.
Afterward I find myself longing to talk to my mom. Not to tell her what happened with Sebastian or with Clint, but just to hear her voice.
She picks up on the first ring. She doesn’t ask much. When I’m not particularly chatty, she gives me a rundown of her mundane weekend tasks. “And Samantha and I had coffee this morning. She asked how you’re doing.”
My sister would know if she ever bothered answering my texts with more than a word or two. The last one just got a thumbs up.
“We haven’t been great at keeping in touch.” The last thing I need is for Mom to intervene to make my sister answer my messages. “I’ll text her.”
“Are you sure you’re all right, Ashley?” Mom’s voice is full of concern.
I wish I could teleport myself to her couch and unload everything.
But she’d be upset if she knew about Clint, and the last thing I want to tell my mom about is this friends-with-benefits arrangement with Sebastian.
She’d probably need smelling salts, or whatever the modern equivalent is.
“I’m fine. It’s been a hectic weekend. I had an early run yesterday and a late night with a friend.”
“Oh, a friend,” Mom says pointedly. “Is this a new development.”
“No, no, a platonic friend.” One who tore my sleep shorts off and tossed them next to the dishwasher this morning, but she doesn’t need to know that. “Anyway, I just need more sleep. I’m going to take a nap.”
We hang up and I stare at my phone, wondering if I should text Sam.
We used to talk about boys all the time, back when we were teenagers.
It was mostly her relaying various dating adventures and me moaning about unrequited crushes, but we shared everything.
She always listened, even when it was painfully obvious that nothing would come of my obsession with Evan, the older boy who starred in our school’s production of Guys and Dolls.
In retrospect, he was more interested in Nathan Detroit than me.
Hey Sam, Mom said you guys had coffee today. How’s everything?
Samantha:
It’s good.
I wait for some elaboration, but apparently that’s it. Maybe she only asked Mom about me out of politeness.
I was just thinking about how we used to paint our nails when we talked about boys, back in the day.
She had a theory about choosing the right shade to signify what we were hoping for with our object of affection, or disaffection if it were that. She was obsessed with a shade called Revenge after any nasty breakups.
We should get manicures one day, maybe. When I’m in town.
Weekends are busy with house stuff, but give me a heads up if you’re coming and I’ll pencil it in.
Wow, glad to know I need advanced notice to see my own sister. I thought maybe she’d read between the lines a little with the boy thing, but it’s clear we aren’t as close as we used to be.
I get back to my television and order some takeout. I’m in the middle of a Scrubs marathon when Laurel calls me.
“Oh my God, are you okay? I saw the statement online about Miss Midtown.”
My eyes well up again, but I don’t have the bandwidth to relive everything right now.
“I’m fine, thanks, but don’t you have to get back to Cal?”
I didn’t mean for that to sound bitter, but I hear her sharp intake of breath.
“Ash, it’s a four-hour drive, and we’re only halfway through. I’m sure Cal can manage without my scintillating conversation for a while.”
“Especially since you’ve been asleep for most of it,” Cal says in the background.
I can’t help but crack a smile at that. Laurel really can sleep anywhere.
“Listen, it was a late night. It’s not my fault your friends drink like fish.”
“I’m okay, I promise.” It feels almost true this time. “I don’t want to talk about it on the phone. It was a rough night, but Sebastian took care of things. I’m good.”
There’s a pause, then she says in a small voice, “Oh, you called Sebastian.”
I try to play it cool, like it was no big deal that Bash came over, hoping Laurel won’t stress about what I’m not telling her. “I knew you were out with Cal’s friends, and I didn’t want to bother you. Plus, I had to loop him in since the social media accounts were sure to get tagged.”
“Of course,” she says with a hint of false cheerfulness. “Anyway, do you want to talk tomorrow, then? We could run together, or you could come over and hang out.”
“Sure, let’s touch base tomorrow. I’ll let you get back to driving. Or sleeping.”
Laurel chuckles, then hangs up. I try to distract myself with more television, but nothing quiets the buzz in my mind. Even though I go to bed early, it takes me a long time to fall asleep.
The following afternoon, Laurel pulls me into a hug, looking me over appraisingly like she can tell I’m barely holding it together. I’m at her apartment after work, or I guess I should think of it as her and Cal’s place. It’s still weird to wrap my head around.
“You’re okay?” Laurel asks, and I shrug.
I’ve tried not to look at social media, but it’s unsettling having something so difficult and personal up online, even if people don’t know it’s about me.
No matter how much I try to forget Saturday, I can’t stop thinking about what could have happened if Clint and I hadn’t been in a crowded club.
Laurel and I drink herbal tea on her couch since she’s detoxing from the weekend, and I tell her the whole story, up until the point where Sebastian and I kissed. She lets out a set of curses that would make my grandmother drop dead. I place a hand on her mug before she throws it across the room.
“I cannot believe what a fucker he is. Ash, I’m so sorry. I should have been here.”
Her eyes are filled with tears, and I’m touched but also a little angry. Logically, it’s not her fault she was out of town when this happened, but I’m still hurt that when I needed her, she was out with Cal’s friends. Like they came first in her life somehow.
I shake it off. I’m being stupid. There was no way to know how the weekend would go down.
“I’m fine,” I assure her, even though I’m not.
She looks at me with her big green eyes, not fully believing my assurance but letting me lie.
We sit in silence, sipping our tea. I don’t know how to put all the emotions of the past two days into words.
It’s not only the disappointment and fear from what happened with Clint, but everything with Sebastian too—the way he’s been protecting me, how our friendship feels different.
Before I can start talking, Laurel pulls me up and says, “Come see our random haul of items from Cal’s parents’ house.”
Maybe she wants to distract me, but it feels like a brush off.
I don’t particularly care about Cal’s stuff.
Still, I follow her to the corner of the living room where they’ve stacked some boxes.
There are photo albums—okay, maybe I’m a little curious to see photos of baby Cal toddling around—next to vinyl records and a guitar.
On the small table, I spot what looks like a decent turntable, not that I’m an expert. I say the first thing that pops into my brain and immediately regret it. “Oh wow, Sebastian would love this.”
Laurel’s eyebrows raise as she looks at me with a knowing expression. “Oh. My. God. You slept with Sebastian again.”
I almost drop a framed high school graduation photo of Cal. I wasn’t sure how to tell her, but I guess there’s no hiding it. “How did you know?”
“The way you looked when you said his name just now spoke volumes.”
“It’s no big deal. He came back with me on Saturday night to make sure I was okay, and I sort of threw myself at him.”
Her mouth opens—I cut her off because I know what she’s going to say. “I swear, it was my idea. He didn’t want to take advantage of me, but I guess I’m, er, persuasive. We’re doing a sort of friends-with-benefits thing.”
I can see she’s biting her tongue, not wanting to seem judgmental. “And you’re fine with this?”
“Sure,” I reply in a blasé tone, like I haven’t been overanalyzing the situation for twenty-four hours already. “We’re good. He doesn’t want a relationship, and I’m still looking for something more permanent, but I’m not in the mood to date anyone in the short term.”
“I get that,” she says, enveloping me in another hug. “Don’t rush yourself.”
“It’s temporary.” I pull back and pretend to be interested in an old Deep Purple album. “Until I find Mr. Right.”