Page 70 of Unravel Me

Rhett stands, too, a humorless chuckle filling the air and disappointment painted on the face I’ve fallen in love with.

“I’m beginning to doubt that.”

“It’s only been a few months,” I blurt out, and immediately inhale. Because that’s not fair and I know it. He introduced me to his family almost immediately.

That stops him in his tracks as he glances at me.

“I see.” His voice is somber, matching his walk as he walks out of the living room, leaving me scrambling to regain control of the situation.

But it’s pointless; I’m trapped in my own paralyzing silence.

I always knew this day would come, where Rhett would ask about meeting my family. But I had hoped by then, things with my family would be smoothed out, and everything would finally make sense to me.

How horribly, horribly naive of me.

Sleep never comes, no matter how long I spend with my eyes shut in this bedroom. Rhett fell asleep almost instantly, or maybe he is faking it. I think about waking him to talk, my hand hovering over his shoulder, but pull it away for one reason or another, and silently slip out of bed, feeling my way in the dark to the door. I step over Mabel who lifts her tired eyes, but decides she can’t miss out, and silently follows me out of the bedroom.

I don’t bother flipping on the light in the kitchen. The moonlight is enough to illuminate the space so I can find my shoes. I snatch my sweater off the bench by the back door and wrap it around me, because even though it’s still warm outside, I’ve had an icy shiver since our talk.

“You coming?” My whisper reaches Mabel in the dim kitchen, and she slips around my legs, trotting quietly into the backyard.

At the edge of the grass, I stand, arms tightly across my chest, the dog sniffing the ground not far from me. The worn tree swing becomes my stopping point, and I sit, lazily rocking back and forth, dragging my toes in the sandy soil under me.

The humid air fills my lungs as I tilt my head back, peering up at the stars. I haven’t seen the stars this bright since the night on the rooftop. The night that was both a definite end and a definite beginning.

I have no plan. No plan as to what I'm doing out here at midnight. No plan for this future I've been carelessly carving.

A lump forms in my throat, one I can’t get rid of by swallowing, so I let the tears fall softly. Tears I’ve been holding in for weeks, if I'm being honest with myself. Mabel pads over, tired and confused, her nose pushing into my thigh until I pet her.

“You’re a good girl, you know that?” I ask her and her tail thumps a few times against the hard ground.

Mabel decided she loved me the first time she met me, and that was that. She didn’t falter or stop. She probably always assumed I’d be coming back, never doubting one day I might not come back.

What the hell kind of person does that make me?

She lets out a groan when I stop petting her ears to wipe my misty eyes. “Okay, okay, I'm sorry.”

Is this truly impossible or am I just being stubborn? As I ground myself in the moonlight of the backyard, I try to imagine Rhett meeting my family. If not at my parent’s Labor Day soiree, perhaps we could go home for Thanksgiving. Though they usually spend it at their mountain home, so it would be a big production of travel. Perhaps Christmas. But I’m sure Rhett wants to spend Christmas here with his nieces and mom, and I would want to help make Christmas dinner…

My breath quickens at the vulnerability of that truth, the truth that slides so simply into my mind. I want to be here for Christmas. With him. With them.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I can’t go to New York,” I whisper to myself, and the words feel so heavy in the air around me. But I repeat it as Mabel slowly slides down to lay at my feet.

“I don’t want to go. I don’t want to work in a high-rise and live in an apartment again and start over. I want to stay here.”

There, it’s out there.

Those words lift away the dark cloud that’s been just a few feet behind me all summer.

With blurry eyes and a heart pounding so hard, it echoes in my ears. I push off the old tree swing. The ground feels uneven beneath me as I make my way back toward the house, my steps hesitant but determined. Through the window, I catch the soft glow of the little lamp by the kitchen sink, its light spilling out like a quiet invitation.

I pause for a moment, taking it in—the warmth of the light, the stillness of the house—and tilt my head down, drawing a shaky breath. The back door creaks as I push it open, my pulse racing as I step inside. I’m ready for this. Ready to let the words out before my mind has a chance to twist them into doubt, before fear takes over, and convinces me yet again that saying it is a mistake.

I’m not doing this for them. I’m doing it for him.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I murmur in the dim light, my eyes meeting Rhett’s over the kitchen island. I circle it, coming closer to him. His shirt is too worn and thin. You can see his tattoos through it, but I know how soft it is. I know why he wears it, why he won’t throw it out.