Ashley

Seriously?

Fuck my life and fuck the suburbs.

I mean, come on – what the are odds that we’d have just bought a house right to her? Her who, as Matt told me from the second I met him, broke his heart. After four years of high school, four years of college, and three years of grad school, dumped him when she got her dream job in Nashville. I know the story like the back of my hand, but I told myself it didn’t matter. He couldn’t have her, she didn’t even live in the same state, so he’d have to be happy with me. Besides, who wouldn’t be happy with me? 

Five foot nine, tan in January. Six-year-old boob job, I don’t even own a bra. I’m as hairless as a baby seal, brush my teeth the second I’m done drinking coffee, and I haven’t missed a day at the gym in ten years. I’m more distracting than the diamond on my left hand. Not that Matt notices right now.

He says, “I still can’t believe it, Ash. I’m shaken right now.”

From the other side of this delipidated fence, painted an offensive brown, peeling from the sun, I hear Ashley respond, “I know! This is crazy. I had no idea you were back in Atlanta.”

What does that mean? When did Matt leave Atlanta?

“Yeah, I never left,” he answers. “I had that interview and they liked me for it, but I couldn’t bring myself to drop everything and leave. You know, with my mom – ”

“Right! How is she?”

She’s a bitch, that’s how she is. 

“She’s doing great, really. We didn’t know how the treatments would affect her mindset, but she’s really strong and determined.”

Yeah, a little too fucking determined.

Ashley whimpers, “I can’t believe you’re all going through this, ugh, and especially after your dad – I’m so sorry to hear what happened.”

“Thanks, thanks. We’re getting through it.”

His dad died a year ago, I keep telling him to get over it. Good God, life moves on, there’s no need to dwell on the past. Ashley’s a psychologist. You’d think she would know that. I roll my eyes and flick a bug off my shoulder. 

The gate beside me creaks and Matt calls out into our new, overgrown backyard, “Olivia! Hey, Olivia, come meet Ash!”

Olivia. Not Liv, or Livvie, but Olivia. She’s Ash and I’m Olivia.

Un-fucking-believable.

My tongue checks my teeth, manicured nails glide back the honey-colored highlights Geoffrey put in yesterday for summer, and I march my Tory Burch sandals over the grass toward the open gate separating our property from the neighbor’s. The gate that will be removed promptly after this torturous introduction.

“Hi, Ashley,” I begin. My jaw drops. I’ve seen this woman before. Not seen in person, but behind the reflective glass of picture frames on a fireplace mantel, a round entryway table, a painted blue desk.

Now, my blood boils. God damn Matt’s sister. And his mother. And his grandmother. This woman’s face stares back at me from no less than five – five! – family pictures in their homes. I thought she was a cousin; I swear Maggie told me she was a cousin. I did wonder about Matt’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist in each photo, but I figured she was the hot cousin, he was the horny teenager. Big deal. 

You cut the old girlfriend out of family photos. Everyone knows that.

Her chocolate brown hair bounces without a speck of frizz, the sun reflecting shiny golden strands, and her petite nose crinkles with a smile. She doesn’t get lip injections, she doesn’t need it. Her smooth, thin arm stretches out toward me. “Oh my gosh, Olivia, I’m so happy to meet you. Congratulations on the engagement!” 

I take her hand. It’s soft and warm and tiny. I feel like the skyscraper towering over her charming little cottage.

Then, I’m startled as she laughs, clapping her delicate little hands. “Oh – and on the house! Big couple of months for you guys!”

Matt runs his hand through his hair, fanning the short gray sides. He exhales, long and slow. “Yeah…big changes on the horizon.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I snap. Then, I realize I’ve done it. I didn’t mean to say it out loud, not like that. They both pause, frozen expression on their natural, beautiful faces. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he leaned a little toward her.

I force a smile. “We’ve been living together and planning this engagement for a few years now, things won’t change that much,” I save. “Right, honey? Babe?”

Matt stares blankly at an anthill a few feet away. “Yeah. Though it’s only been one year.”

I cock my head. Is he really doing this right now?

“Yeah, Martha told me you’d been together about a year,” Ashley says.

“You talked to my mom?” Matt’s head snaps upright. He blinks against the afternoon sun.

She smiles a sheepish grin, displaying a pair of dimples with nauseatingly perfect symmetry. “Maggie and I keep touch on Instagram, so I was able to get your mom’s new number and chat a few times.” The thin strap on her tank top slides off her shoulder. Matt watches as she quickly slides it back into place. He drags his eyes down her to short, bony torso, and the lean muscle of her legs. 

I’m thinking, ‘Is he seriously eyeing her like this right in front of me?’ but also, ‘does she do pilates? Barre? Yoga?’

Followed immediately by, ‘Does she have a ring?’

I clear my throat, taking a step closer to Matt, wrapping my arms around his. “This is such a cute house, Ashley. I love what you did with the…you, know, where you put the…trashcans.”

“Thanks,” she answers wearily.

She’s an idiot if she thinks I’d give her a real compliment.

“Do you live with her husband?” I continue. “Boyfriend? Committed partner? Girlfriend? Illegitimate children?”

“Olivia,” Matt growls under his breath.

“What?” I demand. “I’m just getting to know her.”

Ashley laughs and scoops up a pudgy gray dachshund. “It’s fine, Matty.” She scratches the dog behind the ear. “And no, I live here alone. I had a relationship break apart back in Nashville, so Lucy and I returned home for a fresh start. We’re enjoying our girl time, our independence. Aren’t we Luce?”

Matt gives the dog a scratch on the head, his and Ashley’s fingers meeting for the briefest of moments.

“Ew, Matt, stop.” I pull his arm back to my grasp. “I’m deathly allergic to dogs,” I explain to the appalled expression plastered on Ashley’s face. “Deathly. Allergic.”

“Oh…I’ll just pop Lucy inside then.” She makes a motion to head back to her rusted screen door.

“No need,” I stop her, taking a step back to the gate. I nearly stumble over a plastic pink flamingo staked in the ground. “We’re going to head inside, anyway. We have some measurements to take. Right, babe?”

Matt hesitates. “You go on ahead, I’ll stay a bit longer and catch up with Ash.”

“You want to come inside?” she asks him.

I’m practically invisible.

A smile curves his plump lips, pink prickles the skin above his beard. “Yeah. I would.”

I clutch his hand, aware that my nails dig into his palm, that he hates when I do this. “Honey,” I threaten in a sing-songy voice. “We just got the keys to our brand-new house today. We need to go inside and enjoy this. You can – ” I swallow, barely able to speak the words, “catch up with Ash, later.” 

His hands jam into his jean pockets. A butterfly wafts in between the space between he and Ashley, beckoning him toward her, and I contemplate trying to snatch it mid-air. I could do it. I have that kind of tenacity and cat-like reflexes, it’s the reason I’m such a ruthless lawyer, and if this skinny little girl thinks I’m going to let her seduce my man, she better have a different thought.

It's dead silent among us. The sheer fact that Matt hasn’t walked off with me, into our half a million dollar home, means he wants to go with her. 

Ashley probably would let him eat whatever he wanted. She’d probably let him wear shoes in the house or play basketball every Wednesday with friends or host Thanksgiving. She probably says all the right words and kisses his ass. But, you know what, she left. She left him. You don’t get do-overs on that kind of thing. Matt proposed to me, not her, and although he did it in a way I didn’t approve of, he never got any of my friends to photograph or video tape it so we will be having another proposal next Saturday, I win. 

Two proposals for me, none for her.

I’m not letting this woman make me feel small. 

“Let’s go, Matt,” I insist, taking him with me, wrenching his hand out of his pocket. He trips over his feet and rights himself, gripping the fence for support, dragged like a child from a birthday party.

He fights me, ripping his hand from my grip. God damn it. “Ash,” he calls over his shoulder. “Do you want to see the house?”

If I could kill him with my mind, I’d already be planning the funeral.

“Sure,” she responds. Her porch door swings closed. She makes no sound as she trots from her manicured lawn into our jungle.

Their eyes lock into this you-and-me stare and I swear, if we had knives in this house – 

“Olivia,” Matt yells to me. “Tell Ash your plans for the kitchen. She’s got a great eye for design,” he tells her.

I sigh. It’s about time I received a little positive attention. “Oh, okay.” I lead her through the French doors into the white-walled, wooden-floored living room. “We’re going to knock this out,” I say, palming the wall. “That opens up this space into an open concept, living and kitchen area. I’ve been looking at quartz countertops and like two-toned, top and bottom cabinets in white and pea green. I’m obsessed with butler’s pantries. We’re going to turn these cabinets into doors and it’ll be like a surprise entrance into the pantry, I’m so excited. That’s so hot right now. We need to replace those windows…”

I hear my words bouncing around the empty space. My feet tap, lonely, along the floors. I spin around, noticing Matt and Ashley haven’t moved from the back entrance. He’s curved into her, shoulder leaning against the glass door, eyes sparkling with admiration. She girlishly plays with her necklace, biting her lip, speaking softly.

She says, “Why did you interview for a job in Nashville?”

He answers, “Why do you think?”

“It’s been so long, Matty.”

“Not that long.”

His hand reaches toward her face, tucking back a strand of hair. His thumb drags down the length of her jawbone.

“Hello?!” I scream.

They flinch. Their eyes slowly waft toward mine.

My arms cross and hip juts out. I believe actual smoke comes out of my nostrils. “Are you fucking kidding me with this?” I shout. “In my own home? You’re doing this today, in my new house?”

Matt licks his lips. “Technically it’s my home. My name is on the deed.”

Your name’s about to the on the gravestone, asshole.

“I’m sorry,” Ashley breathes, flustered. “I need to go.”

Matt spins his body around the door, standing with one foot inside and one foot out. His chest heaves, watching her jog out of the yard, then his gaze focuses on the ground.

I taunt, “Go after her. I dare you.”

His eyebrows weave together. “It’s amazing, Liv. How one second can change everything.”

He better not say it. 

“I’ve just had an epiphany.” Air escapes his lips, a soft laugh following its trail. “I almost made the worst mistake of my life.”

From behind the bathroom door beside me, water drips, smack, against a hard floor. The sticky, hot air settles on my skin. Matt’s eyes focus forward, aimed at Ashley’s house. 

“She doesn’t want you,” I remind him. “That’s what it means when people leave.” She loses. I win.

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t brave enough to go with her. I should have gone to her. I should have left with her.” He peels his hand off the door and meets me with a passionless, obsolete expression. “Keep the ring.”

Then, he’s gone.

I’m alone in the hot, dusty, empty house we chose together. The leaky ceiling and smell of bleach waft out of my conscious mind, and I focus on one fact. One thing I know for certain.

I win. I always win. Even when I don’t win, I don’t give up until I win. I’m a winner.

They’re probably in that tiny house right now, wrapped up in each others’ arms, professing how they’ve never stopped loving each other, not once in the ten years they’ve been apart. That’s not my story – that’s not how this ends.

I kick off my shoes. I don’t want them getting dirty. I stomp across the kitchen and living room, through the still open door, and toward the gate. That hideous gate. This hideous fence. If I’m not going to be the one to take it down, someone will, that’s for sure. 

I breeze through the gate. I pause, listening for their voices, wondering if I’m going to step on clothes strewn all over the kitchen floor.

My hands reach down and grab the neck of the hot pink plastic flamingo. I rip it out of the ground. The sharp metal end sways lightly.

I always win.