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Trashley: Part Eighteen
Ridiculousness
At Big Sur, we started each day with a croissant and coffee from Big Sur Bakery, and took day trips to Carmel and Monterey. I must’ve fucked John Steinbeck in a previous life because I saw the beauty and draw to this part of California. We drove through Seventeen-Mile Drive in Pebble Beach, and I wondered what it would be like to wake up in a quiet neighborhood with the ocean in my yard and green grass under my feet. I’m white, but not that kind of white.
Ashley had asked if I wanted her to buy me a house, and of course, I had said yes. I’d dated several wealthy people before Ashley, and not one of them had ever offered to buy me a house. The most I ever got was a couple of fancy vacations around the world.
I was used to being financially independent. I had been paying my rent, bills, car, phone, and eyelash extension lady my entire adult life. And now Ashley was offering to go halfsies on a house in LA, something that is nearly impossible in this city, even for people who made good money. A house down the street from me burnt down in a fire, and it sold for two point four million dollars. For a burnt. Down. House. Splitting expenses was something I’d never done in a relationship, and it sounded enticing.
