Page 89 of Unravel Me

We ended up staying, ordering appetizers, and laughing as Richard entertained us with horrible puns.

I didn’t even realize how bad I needed this.

“Okay, so I’m sorry to bring the mood down but I have to tell you something,” Penny starts, and I pause, nervous butterflies filling my stomach.

“This day is already one for the books, so just tell me.”

“Maybe it’s more of a request…but I need my rhinestone cowgirl boots back. I have a date this coming weekend, and I want to dazzle him with my unpredictable personality and insanely perfect legs.” Penny sucked her drink through the tiny red straw, waiting on my answer as my fingers dug into the seat cushion beneath me.

I exhale a tiny laugh. “Okay, so the funny thing is, they are actually at Rhett’s house.” Penny blinks, unfazed by my words because she already knew that. “But I will buy you new ones. Just tell me how much they are, and I'll send you the money. Or we can go shopping! I want to pick up a few new things.” Penny’s strained smile makes me stop talking.

“That’s so generous but I really need those ones.” Penny swirls her straw smugly in her glass. “They are my favorite shoes. I wouldn’t ask this of you if they weren’t important. I got them in Nashville for a concert and they aren’t replaceable.”

I cringe, covering my face with my hands.

“You weren’t going to leave everything at his house forever, right?” she asks, and I have to look away from her prying eyes.

“No, not forever. But he hasn’t texted me about getting my stuff…and I haven’t texted him asking for it either.”

Penny sighs. “This is insane Audrey, you realize that right? One of you is going to have to be the bigger person. You need closure.” She pauses, then murmurs. “And I need those boots back.”

“I know, I know. But it's complicated, Pen. I still love him. Even if he never talks to me again, I know a part of me will always love him.” My voice shakes, and the high I felt walking into this pub thirty minutes ago has completely vanished.

“I know you love him. And I have a feeling he still loves you.”

“Ha—no. If he did, he would’ve called me, he would’ve talked to me.” I turn away from Penny, quickly dabbing my eyes. Exhaling slowly, I try to steady my racing heart. “But I will text him. I will get your boots back. Promise.”

Throwing her arms around my shoulders, Penny squeezes tight. “Thank you! And hey, this may open up communication between you two, who knows?”

I hesitate, unsure how much I want to unload in this very public bar. But no one warned me finding yourself could hurt this much, or that self-discovery comes with grief. And grief comes in uncontrollable waves.

“I think he was right, Pen.”

“Hmm?” She turns so we are facing each other, knee to knee.

“When I first met him, I didn’t know what I wanted. I just knew I wanted to feel wanted. Was that so wrong?” I asked as tears well in my eyes again. Penny shakes her head, waiting patiently, as I rub my thumb across my trembling lips. “It didn’t take long to fall in love with him though. And I started to fall in love with who I was when I was with him…and for some reason that scared me.”

Penny places her hand over mine.

“I want to be that person all the time. Even if Rhett doesn’t…” I pause, suddenly aware finishing that sentence would break me in a way I wasn’t ready to confront. If Rhett never spoke to me again; it would shatter me. “I can’t go back to how I lived before. I want to be this version of me…for me.” I nod, sitting up straighter on the stool, feeling a metaphorical weight lift off my shoulders as I meet Penny's shining gaze.

“I’ve loved every version of you, but I have to say, this one’s kinda my favorite.”

We both chuckle, at the absurdity of us crying in a pub at six o’clock on a Monday evening. Right on brand for our friendship.

“So now what?”

“I think it starts with me getting back your rhinestone boots.”

Chapter fifty

Rhett

It’s a known thing among locals that there are twelves seasons in Roseville. After summer comes second summer or as my Meemaw used to call it: hell’s front porch. And as the middle of September approaches, we’re in the thick of it. Sweat runs down my jaw, dripping onto the instructions in my hands.

I hate instructions, I always have. They are insulting. It’s a dog door. If I can’t figure out how to install this on my backdoor, then what kind of carpenter am I.

After staring at the instructions for nearly fifteen minutes, with no progress to show, I throw them to the ground. The sound of an engine reverberates in the distance as Mabel's ears perk up, but she remains a puddle in the grass under the shade of the magnolia tree.