by Ivy Smoak
I lifted up a slice of pizza. At least there was the promised food. And presents. My eyes landed on the pile of presents next to the couch. “Can I open those?” If I’d known that getting divorced meant I’d be getting a pile of presents, maybe I would have dumped Joe a long time ago. Way before I found out he was cheating on me with an instamodel.
“I thought you’d never ask.” Chastity tossed me the first present.
It was a self-help book titled “You Are Not Worthless” from Madison. Um, I know that. Why did people assume I was depressed because I got divorced? I was happy. Next up was a definitely re-gifted bread maker. Followed by three sets of wine glasses, two pieces of divorce-themed wall art, and a bunch of stuff from Hallmark. There was a set of lacy black lingerie that I assumed was from Chastity. “Thanks, Chastity.”
She shook her head. “That wasn’t from me. I got you the stripper.”
Right. I turned over the card. It said it was from Aunt Carol. Ew. I felt dirty again. Almost as dirty as when my body was in the dumpster.
I quickly lifted up the last present. It was a six-month subscription to Match.com. Great. Whoever gave me this must not have realized that I couldn’t be trusted around men and fire.
“Perfect,” Chastity said and snatched it out of my hand. “Let’s get you signed up tonight!”
“What? No way.”
“Why not?”
“You know I can’t date right now. Not after…” I looked both ways like someone that didn’t know about it would overhear. But they all knew… “The incident.”
“Would you stop whispering that?” said Chastity. “It’s not a big deal. You set some guy’s dick on fire one time. That’s not a reason to give up dating!”
“It was more than just that. I stripped in the public restroom and he caught me nearly naked drying my shirt under the hand dryer.”
“And on your next date you’re not going to do either of those things.”
“I was also late.” The worst of all the things. I poured myself a glass of wine to distract myself. I didn’t want to relive that date right now. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. I gulped down a huge sip.
“If you go on time to a date you look desperate. Come on guys, help me out here.”
Liz snored.
“I think it’s great that Ash is taking some time off from the dating scene,” Madison said. “She needs time for just us girls right now. We don’t need men to be happy.”
I laughed. Madison had always thought Joe was an ass, and he always thought that she had a big lesbian crush on me - his words, not mine. The fact that she loved watching the Yankees and talking about the players’ hot little butts did not influence his opinion of her. Because she’d never had a boyfriend. And she had a penchant for making penis mutilation jokes. Either way, she was my friend. She had been since before I ever met Joe. And now I needed everything pre-Joe more than ever.
“You’re seriously not going to sign up?” Chastity asked.
I shook my head. I didn’t need to date right now. I had my stalker. The last thing I needed was for him to get jealous. He was probably crazy, after all.
“Well there goes that plan. I was definitely going to have you sign up for a dating app tonight. But fine. Onto more important matters. Let’s discuss the Single Girl Rules instead, because there have been a few modifications since the last time you were single.”
“We’re 28 years old. We’re not following those silly rules anymore.” God, the things she’d tried to make me do in college with those damned rules. I’d even almost gotten arrested one time thanks to her.
“Here’s your official membership card.” She handed me a little credit card that said SINGLE GIRL RULES at the top and then had dozens of rules broken into various sections. First were the 10 commandments:
1. Boys are replaceable. Friends are forever.
2. Girls’ night is every Friday. No exceptions.
3. Never let a friend go into a bathroom alone.
4. You can never have too many shoes.
5. Have wine in your purse at all times.
I stopped reading at #5. “Chastity, how many times do I have to tell you that you have to get rid of rule #5? Having a flask of wine in my purse almost got me arrested!”
“I didn’t make up the rules.”
I laughed. “Of course you did.”
“Nope. They’re well-known sacred laws of single ladies all over the world. Ask any single girl.”
“I’d never heard of them before meeting you,” said Madison.
See. But I didn’t have time to protest anymore because there was a loud knock on the door. I threw myself onto the ground. “Not more strippers!” I hissed.
Chastity laughed. “If it is strippers…I didn’t order them. Must have been Madison.”
“I’d never degrade someone like that,” Madison said. “Even if it is a man.”
I rolled my eyes. Was it really degrading someone if they were getting paid? Wait…that didn’t make sense.
“You should answer it,” Chastity said. “It’s probably for you. It is your Divorce Day party, after all.”
Oh God… I got up off the floor and hesitantly peered out the peephole. There were no strippers. Just an empty hallway. Weird. I opened the door and looked down the hall just in time to catch the sight of a well-built FedEx man stepping onto the elevator. He hadn’t left any packages - just a little black envelope about the size of an iPhone.
“Who was it?” asked Chastity.
“FedEx guy. He left this.” I held up the envelope for them to see. It felt more like silk than paper, complete with black lace detailing and gold trim. The back was sealed with a runic symbol pressed into gold wax. “Well this is fancy,” I muttered. Please be cash. Please be cash. I knew I was starting my new job next week, but I could really use the money before my first paycheck came in.
“Open it!” yelled Chastity.
I broke the seal and pulled out the contents - a single piece of thick white parchment. I read the message out loud:
Congratulations! You have been nominated to become a member of the Society. To join, please fill out this form in its entirety and mail it to PO Box 157.
Below that, there was only one question:
What is your first wish?
The Society? What the heck is this?
Chastity gasped. “No. Freaking. Way.”
Chapter 4 - The Invitation
Tuesday
I stared at her. “Um…what?”
She looked like she was in shock. Or maybe she was pretending like she had with her broken ankle. But playing along with that had led to me falling into a dumpster. I wasn’t falling for her tricks again.
“Really, what is this?” I held up the invitation.
“I’ve heard rumors about the Society.” Chastity shook her head as she eyed the invite. “I can’t believe it’s actually real.”
She was really milking this. “So what is it? A club of some sort?”
“A sex club,” Liz said.
I jumped. I hadn’t realized she’d woken up.
“The most exclusive sex club in the city. Or at least, that’s what my students say about it.”
A sex club? I laughed. Good one. But Chastity actually looked genuinely surprised now. Maybe she hadn’t sent this invitation. But then…who the hell had? Chastity had invited lots of people to this party tonight apparently. Most of whom I probably didn’t know because my only friends were still sitting on the couch. Which weirdo gave me this invitation? Whoever it was must have spent hours designing and handcrafting the silky envelope and figuring out how to seal it with wax. Of the people I actually knew, my first guess was Aunt Carol, but she’d already given me lingerie. Gag. That left Liz as my top suspect. She was always doing weird artsy shit with her boyfriend when they weren't too busy shopping for antiques or dressing up as furries. And she hadn’t given me a present. Although, she never gave me presents. Not even at my wedding. What kind of monster showed
up to a wedding empty-handed? And she’d heard the rumors about the Society too…
“Did you give me this?” I asked her.
Liz shook her head. “No, I didn’t bring any gifts.”
No surprise there.
“This is a big deal,” Chastity said. “It’s more exclusive than any other sex club in town.”
She seemed to know more than she was letting on. Because I’d never heard of the Society…or any sex club for that matter. I changed my mind. It was definitely from her.
“What are you going to wish for?" she asked.
The invitation wasn’t real, so my answer didn’t really matter. "I think I'm going to wish for this girls’ night to end before more strippers arrive."
"Well that would be a waste of a wish. I only hired the one."
I laughed. Maybe I should wish for my new job to go well. I was really starting to get nervous. Yes, I loved marketing and it was a dream come true to be working for one of the top firms in New York. But I didn’t love the idea of having to interact with other humans from 9 to 5 every day. Or having to wear pants. I preferred only dressing up on Tuesdays and Thursdays for my stalker. Why was I even thinking about this? The invitation was clearly a joke. Right? But that did remind me… “I got the job. At BIMG.”
“Ah!” Chastity screamed. “That’s awesome. But back to the Society invitation real quick. You should wish for a new man.”
Wow, I thought she’d be a little happier about the fact that I’d be working with her. Madison worked there too. I turned to her. She’d congratulate me for acing the interview.
"Oh!" said Madison. "You should wish that Joe gets his dick torn off in a meat grinder!"
I laughed. "I'm not going to wish for that.” I couldn’t believe that even Madison was more excited about the invitation than my new job. But now I had no choice but to humor them and play along. “I guess revenge on Joe would be pretty sweet.”
"Well of course you’re going to get revenge.” Chastity pointed to my single girl membership card. “Rule #37: The best way to break up with a guy is to fuck his best friend.”
“But that would violate Rule #21: No kissing uggos.” Yes, I knew the rules by heart. And I was pretty sure this was the first time one of them had actually come in handy.
“Let’s just beat him up instead,” suggested Madison.
“Hmm…” I said. “Maybe we should leave the specifics up to the Society. Or Santa Claus. Or whichever one of you gave me this weird letter.” I grabbed a pen and wrote on the parchment, "I wish for revenge on my stupid cheating husband." I probably should have written ex-husband, but whatever. They'd get the point.
As soon as I wrote it down though, I regretted it. There was only one thing I really wanted. The man at One57. My stalker. But I couldn't say that out loud. No one would understand. I was worried that as soon as I told someone they’d make me feel weird about it. What we had wasn’t orthodox. But it worked for us. And honestly, I’d kind of been living for Tuesday and Thursday nights. I mean…he’d been living for those nights. Since he was stalking me.
"While you’re at it, you should also wish for shoes," said Chastity.
"Okay, shoes too then." I grabbed the paper and added, "And some free shoes, please." Technically it was two wishes. But none of that mattered, since nothing I wrote down would come true. Wishes? Yeah right. If wishes came true I wouldn’t accidentally set men on fire on blind dates and I’d be happily married to my stalker. I held up the paper for everyone to see. "There, my wish has been made. Now it's cake time." And then it's time for me to go home. I needed to take at least three more showers before I’d feel truly clean again.
We had some cake, and then I left. I debated taking my wish so that I could mail it later. A fake wish for a fake invitation-only sex club wasn’t worth the postage when I was drowning in debt. If only wishes really came true. I slid the paper with my wishes back into the envelope and left it on the coffee table. And even though I didn’t believe in wishes, I wished that my stalker would talk to me on Thursday.
***
PO Box 157. I hadn’t thought anything of it when I first read that I was supposed to mail my wish there. But now, as I lay sleeplessly in my bed at 3 in the morning, it was all I could think about.
Was it a coincidence that the letter was supposed to be mailed to PO Box 157 and my stalker happened to live in One57? Maybe. But then factor in that the FedEx man who delivered it had been about the same height and build as my stalker, and it suddenly seemed less like a coincidence. Had my stalker delivered that letter? If only I had gotten a better look at that FedEx man…
Not that any of it mattered. Because I’d left the invitation at Chastity’s apartment. It was all a joke anyway. Secret societies didn’t exist. Well maybe they did. But not for people like me.
I rolled over and tried to find a colder spot on my pillow. I almost apologized to Joe for being “so wiggly” (as he had frequently called me), but then I snapped back to the reality where Joe had cheated on me with Sierra the Instagram model. Was he sleeping with her right now? Gross.
I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and checked Sierra’s Instagram. Nothing new since I had last checked. Which had been right before I’d climbed into bed. I had a ritual. Wash my face, brush my teeth, check my Instagram to see what Joe and Sierra were up to, and then go to bed.
Yes, I knew I had a problem. I bit the inside of my lip as I started scrolling through all her pictures again. She looked perfect. According to GQ.com, she was the hottest redhead in New York. Which was total bullshit. Because she didn’t even have real red hair. It was clearly dyed. Was she trying to be me to steal my husband?
Ha. She wished she could be like me. Then she could be stalked by my stalker instead of spending time with Joe. Joe and Sierra were both total losers. They belonged together.
I didn’t check their Instagram accounts before bed because I was sad or jealous or anything crazy like that. I just liked to know what was going on with people who used to be in my life. It was normal. Oh God, I really am a stalker. I pushed the thought aside. Am not.
I needed something to distract myself, so I forced myself to get up and do something productive. I stared down at my list of new things to try now that I was single. The only things on the list were finding my favorite smoothie flavor and my new addition from this evening – go for a run. I wasn’t trying to get mugged, so running was off the table in the middle of the night. Getting blackout drunk wasn’t on my list. But it was something I’d never done before. And I’d just gotten some shiny new wine glasses at my party. I wrote it down so I could cross it out later, and then climbed out of bed and filled up one of the glasses with vodka instead of wine. Cheers to me.
Fine. Maybe I was a teensy little bit sad. But it was my divorce day. I was happy to have finalized the divorce. Truly. And I was thrilled about my new job. And that my stalker was being extra stalkery.
I just…I really hated Joe and Sierra. So much. I was only a little sad because I’d wanted my marriage to work. Not that I wanted it to work out with Joe. Commitment was a big deal for me. I never expected to make such a terrible choice.
Happy divorce day. I took a big sip of vodka. And cheers to blacking out for the first time ever. I loved crossing things off my list.
Chapter 5 - A Million Dollars?!
Wednesday
Ow. I put a fresh ice pack on my head and sat back down on the couch. I hadn’t blacked out like I’d planned. I remembered everything about last night. Checking Sierra’s Instagram a dozen more times, trying to google my protein predicament to no success, and researching rich people in NYC in an attempt to find my stalker. Spoiler alert – I couldn’t find him. I also took two more showers because…dumpster. I hadn’t even blacked out a little bit. Which meant I couldn’t cross anything off my list.
And apparently now that I was almost 30, I couldn’t drink vodka out of a wine glass at 3 in the morning and expect to feel okay when I woke up. Getting old sucks.
> Now I was nursing the worst hangover in the history of hangovers, while also stressing out about my new job. I adjusted the ice on my forehead. I didn’t know how to act at work. Or with coworkers. Or what to talk about at a watercooler, if those were even still a thing. I hadn’t had a real job since my freshman year of college when I worked at Sears. Ever since then, I’d put every working hour into saving Joe’s family cupcake business. Until he divorced me and took 100% of the business.
Stressing out probably made my headache worse. It was like a never-ending cycle from hell.
I pulled my laptop onto my lap and squinted at the bright screen. I needed a new wardrobe of work-appropriate clothing. Even though I didn’t know how to behave at an office, I could at least look good trying. Maybe a nice pair of slacks could be a conversation starter. I wanted to vomit at that thought. Slacks and conversations both sucked balls. And now I was starting to get sweaty just thinking about socializing.
I was officially spiraling. I slapped the side of my face. Focus, Ash. Work-appropriate clothing. I googled it. Yep, I didn’t have anything appropriate. It wasn't that all of my clothes were too slutty or anything, they just weren't fancy enough for a major marketing firm. Yoga pants and T-shirts were my thing. I was a workout aficionado now. And yoga pants were also really comfortable for curling up on the couch while nursing a vicious hangover.
My head hurt too much to sift through Amazon and determine what was actually legit and what would arrive at my doorstep three months from now looking like a twelve-year-old Thai girl had sewn arms onto a trash bag and called it a "Women's Fashion Blazer." I’d try again tomorrow. I curled up in a ball with my ice pack and promised myself I’d never drink vodka ever again.
***
I was staring at my screen again the next morning, still trying to determine what would come in time. And honestly…I had no idea. I just needed to make a decision. But decisions were really hard to make sometimes when you didn’t have a sounding board.