Trashley: Forty-One

Lil’ Knifey

Cecelia and I were in constant contact while Ashley was in Minnesota. We shared notes, journals, texts, photos, facts, and the one thing Ashley was incapable of sharing: the truth.

Since meeting, Ashley had been leading a double life: lying to Cecelia about dating me and living with me in Los Angeles. And lying to me about being a divorced physicist. Talking with Cecelia felt like untangling a necklace. We worked together to unravel Ashley’s lies and piece together what had actually happened to us.

Until we began communicating, I had no idea how horrible Ashley treated Cecelia. There’s only one type of girl I don’t like, and that’s a mean girl. Ashley, her mom, and her sister Claudia could have taught at the Bakersfield campus of Mean Girl University, where Ashley would have also minored in FiZziKs.

Cecelia was nothing like the person Ashley or her family had described. I found her calm, warm, and kind. For months, Ashley’s family had dragged her through the dirt, and I wanted to do what I could to protect her from them So I gave her proof of Ashley’s spending so she could use it as evidence during their impending divorce.

I pictured Ashley’s mom and her mini-me, Claudia, sitting around their living room, slurping diet cokes and snarfing Del Taco, congratulating each other for lying to a pregnant woman.

So proud.

So untouchable.