24. Ashley
TWENTY-FOUR
ASHLEY
I take a personal day from my marketing firm so I don’t have to check in with my work the day after everything hits the fan with Sebastian. I thought I was too old to need my mom, but when I show up at her doorstep, her hug brings a surge of relief and peace.
“You don’t have to tell me, but you can,” she says.
All I’d said last night was that a man broke my heart and I needed to get away for a few days.
She promised to start a batch of cookies in the morning and get out the stash of nineties romcoms, because of course my mom still has a DVD player.
My stepdad is at work, so we curl up on the couch watching Notting Hill and eating chocolate chip cookies.
I tell the gist of what happened, omitting most of the sex parts because when I allude to it, Mom covers her face with her hands.
Sometimes I suspect she was relieved that I was deeply uncool in my teen years so she didn’t need to worry about me dating.
When I brought boys down to the basement, it was to practice our tap routines for the school revue, not fool around.
“I always liked Sebastian, but he seemed like a lost boy,” she says in a sad tone when I’m done explaining.
“Lost boy?”
“You know, like in Peter Pan. He was scared to grow up.”
I laugh. “Mom, he’s thirty-two with a business and a condo. He’s an adult.”
She shakes her head. “Ashley, when you’re my age, you realize those things don’t make a person an adult. Plenty of people have houses and cars and kids but still act like teenagers, afraid to be vulnerable, chasing after the next thing that feels good instead of deepening what they have.”
Her words remind me of how Laurel and Cal have worked through their baggage together, dealing with each other’s quirks and flaws, and how much happier they both seem.
Sebastian thought that sounded boring, but it’s been beautiful to watch my friend bloom from being known and loved like that.
My heart aches for Sebastian, that he’s so afraid of what someone might find in him, he’d rather not take a chance.
He tries not to be like his father, but in some ways, he’s ended up exactly like him.
“I guess you’re right, Mom.”
Mom and I spend the rest of the day hanging out. We go out for a walk in the fresh air, then make lasagna. My stepdad heads downstairs after dinner to watch baseball and let us connect.
In the evening, I check in with Laurel and Stevie to assure them I haven’t gone off the rails and had a one-night stand with a lifestyle guru or motorcycle gang member.
Stevie, of course, says a motorcycle gang member would be a fun choice for a rebound as long as I don’t get arrested.
I shake my head, then put my phone away to watch television with my mother.
We rarely get one-on-one time together. Last year I was here all the time because of Sam’s wedding, and usually when I’m in town there’s a holiday or a party or some reason to drive in.
It’s a comfort to have this time alone with her.
Even if we aren’t having deep conversations, just being together is a balm on my bruised heart.
My parents are busy the next day with a pickleball tournament they committed to weeks ago, but Mom sends my sister over to keep me company.
I’m hesitant after we’ve barely connected in recent months, but Samantha envelopes me in a huge hug as soon as she enters.
She insists on taking me to the nail salon where we can talk about boys while getting pedicures, like old times.
I’m initially hesitant about leaving the house, but the relaxing music and aromatic herbal tea that meet us when we enter the spa make me thankful I listened to my sister.
“I don’t want to go through the whole story again, Sam.” I lean back on the massage chair, contemplating how much one of these chairs costs and whether I can fit one in the living room of my tiny apartment.
“You don’t have to. Mom told me some of it. Apparently, you had sex with Sebastian and he’s a bastard. That about it?”
“Mom told you that?”
“Well, not in so many words. She said you were spending time with him, and I inferred.” Sam laughs and almost spills her coffee. “I’m convinced Mom thinks our kids will come about through immaculate conception.”
I snicker, then close my eyes. “That’s the gist of it. I was so stupid. I know he’s not into relationships, but I thought it was different this time. He seemed different. But I got played.”
My sister won’t understand Bash’s brokenness the way my mom does. She’ll just call him an asshole, so there’s no point in going down that road.
She reaches over and takes my hand. “You could have talked about this with me, you know. I’m still here.”
It feels a bit rich considering my sister hasn’t exactly been available. “You were so busy with Chris, and your house, and it all felt insignificant. And the times I tried to reach out—”
She drops her hand and looks away. I don’t have to say it because she knows she hasn’t been a great correspondent lately.
“I’m sorry, Ash. I should have been around.
I got so caught up in the house, like I was supposed to have everything perfect now that we’re married homeowners.
I know it’s silly, and Chris thinks I went overboard stressing out about getting things perfect.
We had a few arguments about that. It hasn’t helped that I’ve been working extra shifts to cover the moving expenses. ”
“It felt like you were too busy being married to answer my messages,” I admit, blinking back a tear.
“I’m sorry for being distant,” she says remorsefully. “I told myself you were having fun living your life. I didn’t think that maybe you were texting because you needed me.”
She looks over at me, and I shrug. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out, Sam.”
I’m still hurt that she pushed me away, but I get it. I also assumed her life was sunshine and rainbows, and I didn’t want to butt in.
She gives me a small smile. “Well anyway, I hope Sebastian’s dick falls off.” And with that, we move on to other topics.
Samantha has a shift at the hospital later but comes back with me to Mom’s first. I feel so much lighter after our girl time. We laze on the couch with our lunch and watch a baking show.
The doorbell rings while we’re critiquing cake decor as though we know the first thing about fondant.
Sam doesn’t get up. “Probably someone offering yard work.”
It rings again.
“Maybe it’s a package?” I suggest. “What if it needs a signature?”
“They’ll leave a slip. Don’t answer. It could be a murderer.” She should hang out with Tess some time.
“Of course, because murderers ring the doorbell.”
After the third ring, Sam huffs and gets up. “I swear, it better be someone telling us we’ve either won a million dollars or there’s a dead body on the lawn.”
I’m wondering about the protocol for dead bodies when I hear the door open and her voice says coldly, “Get the hell off of my mom’s porch.”
Now I’m intrigued. Is it a murderer after all? Tabloids? Religious zealots?
“Who is it, Sam?”
“No one!”
There’s some mumbling, then she repeats, “Get. The. Fuck. Off. The. Porch.”
I hear a familiar voice, and it cuts me to my core. “Please. Can I have five minutes?”
I hurry to the door to find Sebastian standing shyly on the doorstep, holding my umbrella.
His expression is one I’ve never seen on him—almost anguished.
He has bags under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in two days.
My heart doesn’t know what to do. I am equal parts shattered, hopeful, and glad that he looks worse than I feel.
“I’ll give you three,” I hear myself say.
My sister steps aside, and I go out onto the porch next to her. The first thing Sebastian does is hand me the umbrella I left in the pub, like that’s somehow going to fix things.
“You forgot that,” he says in a contrite voice.
I stare at it, confused. Surely he didn’t come all the way here to give me something I could have replaced for twenty bucks. “Try again.”
He reaches for my hands and I flinch back, causing his face to fall even further. “I’m sorry, Ashley, I’m so sorry. I was an idiot. I don’t deserve you.”
“No, you don’t.” I’m not making this easy for him.
He smiles sadly. “I had a whole song ready, a whole grand gesture, but I’m a terrible singer and I can’t dance and you probably don’t want the neighbors or your sister to see this mess. So maybe we can just talk?”
I arch my eyebrow and gesture to Samantha. “Oh, absolutely not,” I say. “We want to hear the song first.”
Sebastian groans and pulls out his phone, and soon Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” is blasting at full volume.
He tries gamely to sing along, even shuffling around in an attempt to dance.
I can see my sister is dying to laugh, but she’s holding on to her expression of dignified rage.
I can’t help smiling a little. After a minute or so, I put him out of his misery.
“Okay, I’ve seen enough. I didn’t think you knew a single Cher song, Bash.”
He blushes even harder. “I might have spent a lot of time reading lists online like songs to say you’re sorry and songs about regret. It was this or Phil Collins, but I’ve got a whole playlist.”
The idea of Sebastian listening to a bunch of cheesy apology songs is endearing, but I’m not ready to let him back into my heart yet. “Well, I’m disappointed you didn’t wear fishnets or bring a shipload of sailors, but it’ll do.”
“How do you know I don’t have fishnets on under my jeans?” He raises his eyebrows, and I let out a snort of laughter.
Dammit, how does this guy manage to make me laugh even when I’m still angry at him? Also, the mental image of him in fishnets is unexpectedly hot, and I don’t want to unpack that right now.
“I guess you can come in.”
My sister gives me a skeptical look, but it’s my decision.
“Sam, if you need to go to work, I’m okay. I’ll text you later.”
“You better.” She glares at Sebastian, then reaches to give me a hug. “Don’t let him walk all over you.”