11. Ashley

11

ASHLEY

I double-checked my reflection in the mirror for the hundredth time as I stood in the executive suite at the Wolfe Hotel, thanks to the generosity of Stella Wolfe. After finding out that I got the interview, she insisted on putting me up in her hotel. I figured that I would be staying in a regular room, but this place was fancy with a capital F. It was a hundred times nicer than anywhere I’d ever stayed before. There was a separate room with a king-sized bed, a Jacuzzi tub, a stone waterfall walk-in shower that was larger than my apartment in San Francisco, and plush robes and slippers I couldn’t wait to put on after my interview.

My reflection stared back at me, and I had to admit that I wasn’t looking too bad. The room wasn’t the only gift Stella had graciously given me. She’d surprised me with an all-expense-paid trip to the salon connected to the spa downstairs. The ladies gave me a blowout, and I’d gotten my makeup professionally done. I was wearing a navy dress that fell just above my knees; it had a scoop neck, was form-fitting, and featured inch-thick straps on my shoulders. It accentuated my curves and was by far the classiest dress I owned. I’d thought about going business casual or even casual, casual; but I figured cocktail attire was more appropriate. My shoes were simple black heels with an ankle strap, but they went a long way in showcasing my toned calves, so I felt like I looked as good as I was going to get.

Suzie Q made the five-hour drive with no issues, thanks to Mr. Stick Up His Ass. I was glad that I’d gone ahead and thanked him for all the work he’d done, even though I hadn’t asked him to do any of it. And that I’d offered to have him deduct the amount from my salary, even though he’d declined. So, my conscience was clean, which was a big thing for me. I don’t know how people could look themselves in the mirror when they’d taken advantage of or hurt someone…I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

It was hard enough for me to stay in this room and get my hair and makeup done for free. I felt like it wasn’t right, but Stella had not given me a choice. And she was not a woman to argue with.

“Okay, you got this,” I told myself before grabbing my clutch purse.

My fingertips grazed the doorknob when I realized I didn’t have my key. I doubled back and grabbed it. My appointment was at 4:00 this afternoon. It was three-thirty now. The address I was going to was only one block away, so I had plenty of time, but I didn’t want to be late, or rush while walking in my heels.

When the elevator doors opened, I glanced up and saw a woman standing in it. I smiled and stepped inside, then glanced down to see that the lobby floor button was lit up. It wasn’t until the doors closed and I saw her reflection in them that I recognized the person standing beside me.

“Fatima?” I said as I turned toward her.

She lifted her head and blinked at me. “Ashley?”

Fatima had been a senior at San Francisco State and had lived in the apartment above me the first year I lived in California. She was studying hotel management at the time.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, looking visibly shocked to see me.

I was equally surprised. “I’m actually going to interview for the show Married by the Matchmaker. ”

“Oh, wow! I love that show! That’s amazing!” She smiled brightly, but then the smile dropped. “Wait, so did things not work out with Garrett?”

Fatima knew how serious things were with Garrett. He had moved with me to San Francisco. The two of them quickly bonded over their love of the board game Settlers of Catan and the video game Stardew Valley, both of which I was never into.

“No. We broke up. Well, he broke up with me. He said he wasn’t ready to be serious.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“So, are you living here now? In Atlanta?”

“Close. My sister moved to Firefly Island, so I transferred to SCAD last year. What about you?”

“I’m actually just here for the week. I’m doing some training. I work for Wolfe Hotels, but I manage the Central Park location in New York.”

I was about to tell her that I worked for Wolfe clothing when the doors opened and a call came over the radio attached to her hip. She picked it up and responded, saying she’d be right there, then clipped it back to her belt before giving me a quick hug.

“Good luck with your interview. Let’s try to get a drink tonight. I’m off at eight.”

“Okay!” I nodded and watched her disappear behind an employees-only door.

It might sound crazy, but I felt like seeing Fatima was a good sign. Maybe this interview or audition or whatever it was would go my way, and I would get cast on the show and meet the man I was meant to marry.

A surge of confidence swelled in me as I left the hotel and headed down the block. On the way I was feeling very Carrie Bradshaw, a la Sex and the City, walking on the sidewalk montage. Which fit since I had been labeled the Carrie of my friendship circle. I was a creative who was actually working in fashion now, and Carrie had always been the most fashionable one of the group. I was a hopeless romantic and clearly unlucky in relationships.

Zoe, who was currently dealing with the movie being made of her late husband, was the Charlotte of the group. She was dependable, family-oriented, loyal, and definitely believed in her one true love. It was just so sad that he had died at such a young age. I hoped she would find love again.

Nadia was a textbook Samantha. She was confident, always dating a new person, sarcastic, and said what was on her mind. She was my spirit animal. I wanted to be Nadia when I grew up.

And Daphne was Miranda. Her character option was more by default since she was the latest member of our group, but it actually fit, and she wasn’t mad at it. She was very driven, Type-A, career-oriented, and successful.

Speaking of my SATC girlies, I promised I’d send a pic of my OOTD before my interview. I scrolled through the photos I’d taken in the hotel room mirror and sent one to the group chat. I looked up and realized that I’d reached the address I’d scouted out earlier when I’d driven into the city before checking into my hotel.

I put my phone back in my purse and glanced at my reflection in the glass door before taking a deep breath and heading inside. This was it. This could be the first step to meeting my happily ever after. Maybe I would find my very own Mr. Big. I walked into a lobby area that served the entire building and stepped up to the large reception desk.

“Hi, I’m here to meet with Carmen Connor.” I relayed the name of my contact person to the stunning young woman behind the desk with striking blue eyes, full raspberry-tinted lips, a hoop nose ring, a jet-black pixie cut, and a colorful tattoo peeking out of her long-sleeved crew-neck shirt winding around her wrist and hand.

“Name?” she asked without sparing me a glance.

“Ashley Thompson.”

The dark-haired stunner typed on her keyboard and asked, “I.D.?”

I pulled out my driver’s license and handed it to her.

She wasn’t the friendliest of people, but she was efficient.

“Tenth floor.” Her voice was monotone as she handed me my I.D. with a lanyard.

“Thank you.”

For the first time, her gaze lifted to me. “Good luck.”

I smiled, and since she’d acknowledged me, I was tempted to ask how many other women had been in today. Actually, I was even more tempted to ask about the men. Part of me had wanted to stake out the place and see what the eligible men who walked in looked like. Not that I was shallow or anything. But I hoped that if I was chosen, whoever they matched me with, I would at least be a little attracted to.

It wasn’t the most important thing, but it would help.

I didn’t ask, though. I didn’t want to do anything that might hurt my chances of getting chosen.

The ride up to the tenth floor was a blur. I was a bundle of nerves. When I stepped off, I walked into an empty waiting room. There was a woman behind a large, oval white desk. She glanced up at me and, unlike the woman in the lobby, greeted me with an open, friendly smile. If the woman downstairs was alternative Barbie, then this woman was librarian Barbie. She wore cat-eye glasses, a slicked-back brunette bun, and a gray crewneck sweater layered on top of a white collared shirt. “Ashley?”

“Yes.” I nodded.

“Take a seat.” She held out her hand. “Carmen will be with you shortly.”

I nodded and did as I was instructed.

As soon as I lowered down into the plush waiting room chair, my phone dinged. I opened my clutch and exhaled a huge sigh of relief that I’d gotten the notification now and not in the middle of the interview. In my nervousness, I’d forgotten to turn it off.

Before I was even able to get my phone out, it went off two more times. I assumed it was just my SATC girls wishing me good luck, but when I pulled it out and looked at the screen, I saw I had two texts from people I went to high school with and three from people I went to middle school with, all of whom I hadn’t heard from in years. They all said basically the same thing. They were checking in and asking if I was okay.

Why would they need to check in with me?

Why would they ask me if I was okay?

Before I could answer that question, a couple more messages popped up that were alarmingly similar from two other classmates. My mind was racing, trying to figure out what was going on. As I was puzzling it together, a few of the pieces clicked into place, and I realized the one thing all of these friends had in common with me was that they were all friends with Jenny, too.

Alarm bells went off in me.

Something happened to Jenny.

Was she in an accident?

Was she hurt?

Was she alive?

We’d lost contact after high school. She’d taken a gap year and gone backpacking abroad, and we never really stayed in touch after that. I’d tried, but she’d been distant. I pulled up her phone number to call her when I saw a text message from her. It was ten words.

Jenny: I’m so sorry… I’m here if you want to talk.

She was sorry .

What could she possibly be sorry about?

“What is going on?” I said under my breath.

“Excuse me?” the receptionist asked.

I glanced up. “Oh, um, nothing.”

My heart was going a mile a minute. My palms were damp. I had a sick feeling in my stomach. My breathing was shallow.

When I looked back down at my phone, I saw a notification of a text with a new voice note from Garrett. I pulled my AirPods from my purse and put them in my ear. Well, I tried, but when I put the left one in, my hands were shaking so much, it fell to the floor. I picked it up and managed to put it in on the second attempt. Then, I pressed play.

“Hey Ash, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. If you want to talk, I’m here.”

Find out this way?

Want to talk?

I’m here?

What the fuck was going on?

My mystery was solved when I opened the text from Stasia, who was mine and Garrett’s college roommate. She answered our Craig’s list ad the first week we moved to San Francisco.

Stacia: What the actual fuck?!

Below that there was a link to an Instagram post.

I clicked on it and saw that it was a combo engagement and pregnancy announcement for Garrett and Jenny.

Jenny. My best friend since kindergarten, and Garrett, my first love. He was my first handhold, first dance, first kiss, my first…everything. I thought I was going to marry him and have his babies. He broke up with me because I was too serious about marriage, and he didn’t think he wanted kids. He was marrying my best friend, and they were having a baby.

I clicked through the other pictures in the post and saw photo after photo of the two of them together. One caught my attention. It was from the New Year before Garrett and I broke up. I knew it was because he’d broken his wrist, and I painted on his cast, which was in the photo of him kissing her. He’d gone back to Seattle to spend the holidays with his family, and I stayed in San Francisco because I had to work.

They’d already been secretly seeing each other for a year behind my back.

Moisture filled my lower lids before spilling over and falling down my cheeks. I wiped them away, but more followed.

“Ashley.” I looked up and saw a tall woman with long blonde hair. “We’re ready for you.”

I stood and took a deep breath. When I started to follow her, more tears began to fall down my face. “I’m…I’m sorry, I can’t…I have to go.”