Trashley: Part Three

There’s always money in the Nintendo Switch

The person who told me she loved me over the phone, sight unseen, was sitting in my car. She was real and coming to stay with me for the weekend. Ashley’s outfit was J. Crew chic. Her light blue shirt was tucked into her khaki pants, and her white leather shoes didn’t have a scuff on them. “I can’t believe you’re here; this is finally happening,” I said, trying to drive and talk at the same time.

“Yup, I’m a real boy,” she assured me.

As I drove, I struggled to keep the conversation alive. Ashley wasn’t as talkative or animated as she was on the phone. She seemed robotic and distant, as if I was just the Uber driver. The hour-long commute back to LA was just about as awkward as you could imagine, but I passed it off as nerves.

When we got to my place, I gave her the grand tour. I’d spent the previous week Ashley-proofing my home because she gave me a long list of things she was allergic to. I bought a new hypoallergenic comforter and new pillows because she was allergic to down. I gave away all of my hand soap, lotion, body wash, and any product that contained nuts. I bought an egg substitute because she couldn’t eat normal eggs. And I poured out the almond milk I used in my coffee and replaced it with oat milk. I tried my best not to kill her.

We spent the next three hours sitting on my couch as far apart as humanly possible. I practically needed binoculars to see her. I asked what she wanted to do…