Lose My Number

When Ashley’s Uber pulled up curbside, she sent a text.

A:Just pulled up, cant wait to see you <3

She waited on the sidewalk for a minute as the car pulled away, not really expecting a reply. Scott wasnt always the best texter, one of the downsides of dating an older man. 

A few steps down the sidewalk and Ashley was walking up the immaculate concrete driveway of one of the upsides, Scotts massive, modern house located in The Woodlands, Houston. She passed the sleek, shiny black Bentley in the driveway that signalled Scott was home and took a moment to smooth her hair and tug at the hemline of her red dress, which accentuated her long legs and flattered her chest via a plunging neckline. It was Scotts favorite look on her. 

She knocked a staccato one-two-three and fixed his favorite flirty grin into place. He liked it when she acted seductive and played hard to get, despite being together for a year. She had hoped today might be the day she had been wishing for, when they could stop being so secretive about everything and just be together like he always said they could be.

The door swung open and Ashley put on her sweetest grin and said “Hey baby…” before she stopped in surprise and shock.

Standing on the other side of the door was a woman a good two decades older than Ashley’s 23, with blonde hair cut to her shoulders and wearing a tasteful blue dress. 

Helen. Scotts wife.

Ashley had never met Helen, but Scott had said she was awful, that old age had turned her into an ugly, saggy, wrinkly hag that he could barely stand to look at, that she badgered him and annoyed him and demanded money constantly. Scott had promised that he had planned to divorce Helen when he and Ashley first got together, but then Helen’s father had died, and he couldnt just abandon her when she was grieving. Ashley had thought he was so sweet, and he had made it up to her with an incredible trip to the Bahamas the next weekend.

Helen didnt look surprised, or confused, or anything like you might expect her to look when her husbands mistress turned up at her front door. She was…smiling?

Helen turned to go back into the house, leaving the door behind her open.

“Come on in, honey.” she called.

And carefully, not knowing what else to do, Ashley did, shutting the door behind her.

…

Helen invited her to sit on the luxurious white couch Ashley and Scott had had many an encounter on and offered her a glass of wine, which Ashley shakily declined. A charcuterie board, artfully arranged with tons of fruit, crackers, meats and cheeses, sat in the middle of the low coffee table in the center of the huge rug that surely cost more than Ashleys college tuition.

Helen invited her to eat something, which Ashley slowly did, nibbling on a cracker spread with gruyere and trying to appear as unruffled as Helen, who was sitting across from her, sipping her own glass of white wine and flicking through a binder open on her lap.

“That should do it.” she declared, shutting the binder with a snap that made Ashley jump. “This is for you.”

She leaned across the table and handed Ashley the binder. A piece of paper was tucked in the clear front pocket, saying simply For Ashley.

“You’re welcome to go through it, if you’d like. Let me know if theres anything I forgot.” Helen sat back on her couch, propping her legs up on it, and looked out the floor-to-ceiling window at the pool sparkling turquoise under the blue sky.

Ashley slowly opened the binder and stared. The first page was headlined with a picture of a severe-looking old woman and labeled as Cheryl Walker, Scotts mother. A phone number followed, then notes including her birthday and what kind of gift she would like for that and Mothers Day, as according to Helen, Scott always forgets to call or buy a gift. You’ll have to remind him at least two days before. Helen had noted  under the list of appropriate gifts If she doesn’t immediately start crying that you hate her, you’ve chosen well. If she does start crying, send a bouquet of pink roses with a card saying how sorry you are within two days, or she’ll never stop talking about it. There were notes on how to dress around her, (she prefers pastels or neutrals, dresses or skirts only, heels are your best bet) how to address her (never call her just Cheryl, she prefers Mrs. Walker), what to wear on holidays (She likes seasonal colors and patterns with all the accessories. If you feel ridiculous she’ll love it) down to how she should apologize for everything done wrong, which apparently Ashley would be doing a lot of. 

Ashley turned to the next page. A woman a couple years younger than Scott scowled at the top of this page, labeled Amy Hall, Scotts sister, and a list of similar important dates and instructions. Then came his father, Michael, then a list of Scotts friends and business partners, all with a picture, a number and detailed instructions on their likes and dislikes. 

The last contact page was about Scott and Helens two children, 20-year-old Emily and 18-year-old Matthew. Helens note concerning her children was brief, simply stating Neither Em or Matt are in contact with their father, but a gift on their birthdays and Christmas would be appreciated. 

Ashley blinked. Scott had insisted that he was very close with his children, saying Emily would love how close Ashley was to her own age. He had promised he just needed more time to ease them into the idea: they wouldnt want to hurt their mothers feelings, after all. 

The next page was a bulleted list labeled Dietary Requirements, and Ashley could feel her eyebrows creeping slowly higher as she read it.

1. Scott cant really handle milk anymore, but he refuses to admit how badly it messes up his stomach. I buy Lactaid and pour it into a regular milk gallon, he has never tasted the difference. 
2. He cannot stand goat cheese and will throw it out if you buy it. Hide it behind the veggies, he never looks back there. 
3. Speaking of veggies, he doesnt like eating them. He likes potatoes, carrots, and corn, and occasionally asparagus but only if served with steak. If served anything other than those, he will not eat them and lecture you on his favorites again.
4. He will only eat your cooking, but he has very high standards. I’ll leave the number of a good personal chef who can help you learn under Any Help Needed at the back.

Ashley finally looked up. “I’m sorry, what is this?”

Helen looked over at her, features placid. “That is your guide to replacing me, honey. I assume once I remove myself from the picture, you two lovebirds will be all too eager to show the world how much you adore each other. I’m sure he’ll propose within…3 months? Perhaps shorter, if he thinks it will hurt me more.”

Ashley gaped at her. “But…how long have you known?”

Helen sighed and leaned back into the couch. “Darlin, I’ve known since the beginning. Scott was suddenly always on ‘business trips’ or ‘working from home’, and you kept leaving my couch and bedsheets smelling like your perfume. I dont wear Versace, though it does suit you.”

Ashley flushed. Helen gave her the same smile she had given her at the door, like she was about to pat Ashley on the head and pinch her cheek.

“I’m sure you two will be very happy together. However, there was a lot of things I had to learn when we first got married, and no one will appreciate how much work I put into this marriage but you, so I figured I’d give you a little boost. I was just going to leave it at your dorm, but decided I’d rather meet you face-to-face.”

“How did you even find me?”

Helen shrugged. “I looked up your phone number when I first saw it in his phone, and it came up registered to your mother, so I checked her Facebook. I knew Scott wasn’t texting your older brother, and your sister is going to college in New York, so I assumed it had to be you.” She gave Ashley a flat little smile. “He’s done this to me before, sugar. I know what to look for.”

Ashley felt that comment pass through her like an earthquake. “Before?” she choked out.

Helen’s look this time was almost pitying. “Yes, twice before. I stayed the first time because I was young and in love, and let myself believe him when he apologised and cried and told me he loved me. The second time he brought me flowers for the first time in seven years and took me on vacation to Paris. The kids were young, I didnt want to put them through a divorce. I told him if he ever pulled this shit again we were through. I guess he forgot.”

Ashley felt like the floor was crumbling beneath her feet.

Helen looked her over with a sigh. “Oh, honey. You really love him, dont you?”

Ashley managed a nod. 

Helen sighed, then rose and stepped to sit next to Ashley, putting a hand on her upper back and rubbing in little circles.

“I can’t really blame you. I fell in love with him too.”

Ashley pressed her lips together and struggled not to cry. “He said we were soulmates. We were going to have a beautiful life together, he was going to pay off my moms debts…” she closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath, the exhale coming out as a shaky laugh. “I want to say I cant believe he lied to me, but honestly I should have known. These kind of relationships almost never end well.”

Helen squeezed her shoulder gently. “You’re young, honey. We all do stupid things when we feel invincible.”

“I thought I had finally found love. I used to wish on stars when I was little for love.”

The corner of Helens mouth twitched. “Be careful what you wish for.”

Ashley closed the binder and slammed it angrily on the coffee table, sending the charcuterie board dangerously close to the edge. “Fuck this. Fuck him. I’m out. I’m better than this.”

She stood up, gathered her purse, and turned to face Helen, tears still wobbling on her waterline.

“We both deserve better.”

Helen, for the first time, gave her a real smile. “We sure do.”

Ashley gave her a short, sharp nod, and marched out, ordering another Uber. It pulled up 15 minutes later, and in those minutes, she thought of what she wanted to say to Scott.

A: I’ve spoken to Helen. Lose my number. 

She relaxed back into the seat as the Uber pulled away.