Page 35 of Unravel Me

That was borderline stalkerish and downright weird. He didn’t even live nearby, so I couldn’t pretend I was ‘in the neighborhood’.

As I press the bone-shaped cutter into the blueberry dog dough, I decide it was absolutely an unhinged idea.

I attempted to unpack, but the tiny walk-in closet in Penny’s guest room is barely a fraction of what I’m used to. While I’m grateful, it makes unpacking feel pointless. Even my favorite trashy reality shows can’t distract me from my unfolding life.

Right at noon, as if he somehow knows I’m spiraling, my phone lights up with a text from Jackson.

Jackson: Did you see my email yesterday? The attorney drew up all the paperwork for the house, you just need to sign it. By the end of the week, it’ll be in your name.

Audrey: What? I never saw an email. I never asked for the house, Jackson, why would you think I wanted it?

Jackson: You’re welcome? It’s paid for, so you’re coming out on top here, Audrey. I get the apartment; you get the house. I could’ve left you with nothing, remember that.

I have to fight the urge to chuck my phone at the ground as I read the texts, imagining his degrading tone. It makes me nauseous.

Audrey: Just tell me where and when to sign the paperwork.

The little black cloud which was Jackson Tippins was always showing up at the worst moments. The thing was, I didn’t really want the house a year ago when we bought it. I thought it was too much, and I still do. But Jackson always gets his way, and frankly I didn’t have it in me to fight this. It didn’t fully make sense to me why he insisted I take the house, though nothing he has done lately made sense.

I sit down to open my email after we stop talking, and indeed see a glaring email from him, the attorney cc’d. It’s a multi-million dollar home that’s now mine. He’d expect me to move into it, and so would my parents. But what if I sold it? What if I sold it and moved to New York, as a big fuck you to Jackson?

It could be my small act of rebellion.

But my bigger act of rebellion was the other man blowing up my phone.

Rhett: Hey, I really enjoyed last night. Hope you finally got some sleep.

Instantly, my shoulders relax from where Jackson’s words tensed them.

Audrey: I did, thanks. It was great. Tell Mabel I said hi

Rhett: Maybe you can tell her yourself sometime. I’d love to see you again.

Audrey: Yeah, I’d like that. Let me check my calendar and get back to you.

Wow, could I sound any lamer?

Rhett: Sure thing. Just text me!

Audrey: I actually baked a bunch of cookies. Penny and I won’t eat them. I’ll be in the area. I could drop some off?

Immediately I regret it, but before I can redeem myself, three dots appear.

Rhett: Are you kidding? You’ve made my day. I’ll be busy working, so swing by whenever.

He sends me his address and before I know it, I'm getting ready, and loading up three dozen cookies, and dog biscuits into my car.

First though, I made a pit stop in Forest Hills to check on the progress of the house Jackson insisted be mine. Walking through the front door, I stopped to talk to the contractor, and as he filled me in on an update, I glazed over; thinking about the months spent picking out finishes and floors, wall colors, and landscaping plans. It all seems like a blur now, and I can’t believe Jackson and I had spent a week deciding between two shades of beige for a bedroom we’d never even sleep in.

The contractor told me I could take a walk through to see the finished second floor, but I politely declined and walked as fast as I could back to my car. Pushing the thoughts of that foreign life from my head, I drove straight to Roseville.

I keep wondering how truly unhinged this is. I mean, maybe a neighbor would do it, right? But I'm not a neighbor. And I lied when I said I'd be in the area. Forest Hills is nowhere near Roseville.

But before I can convince myself to turn around, I find myself turning down the narrow street that leads to his winding driveway, my stomach turning abruptly with it.

The plan was simple: drop the cookies on the doorstep and go straight back home. It’s nearly dinner time anyway, and I had a bubble bath, and a new bottle of red wine waiting for me. It would be fine.

Carefully walking up the loose front steps, I placed the containers on his worn out door mat and texted him quickly.