Page 92 of Unravel Me

“Nothing sounds right. Like, ‘Hi it’s me, your ex-girlfriend. I left half of my possessions at your house, but I just need to pick up one item. Burn the rest’.”

“Oh my god, you can’t let him burn your Celine bag!” Penny gasps and I wince. No, I’d never let him burn that bag.

“Penny, focus! He’s not burning my stuff. Unless he already has? Maybe that’s the reason he hasn’t reached out.” Our heads jerk toward each other, eyes wide. “Okay, give me the phone. I’m going to send him something cordial and professional.”

Plucking the phone from her hands, I type out something I’d send a coworker and hit send. Quick enough that I can’t even think about it. She hovers over my shoulder.

Audrey: Hello Rhett. I apologize for bothering you with this, but I am in need of the rhinestone cowgirl boots I left at your house. They belong to Penny. Could you kindly put them on your porch, and I’ll pick them up tomorrow? Please let me know a time that is convenient for you. Regards, Audrey.

“You signed the text with your name...” Her mouth is open as she continues to stare at my phone.

I flip the phone over, placing it beside me, and pick up a cracker with cheese. “Yeah, I know. But what if he deleted my number? He’ll need to know who’s texting him.” As the words leave my mouth, regret creeps right in. This is a disaster.

“Because a lot of girls leave their boots at his house…” Penny teases, but the vibration of my phone has us both jumping in our seats. A wave of nausea rolls through me, my hands growing clammy.

“Read it, I can’t.”

Penny reaches for the phone, and I lower my face into my knees as she reads it aloud.

“I’ll put them on the back patio at 8 a.m.”

I wait in silence, with bated breath, for Penny to continue.

Surely, there has to be more.

“That’s it? That’s all he said?” I croaked, glancing at my best friend.

“Sorry, babe.” Penny frowns sympathetically, and refills my glass, handing it to me silently. I take a mindless sip. I really thought he’d have something to say after all this time.

It’s been three days since I quit my job. Technically, I had given my two weeks’ notice. Even though I hated the place, I wanted to do the professional and right thing. I was finishing out the two weeks remotely, deciding not to show my face in a place where people saw my last name and decided they already knew everything about me.

Those days were decidedly behind me.

I knew it was only a matter of time before my parents found out about my shameful resignation from the firm, so I had decided to call them and rip off the bandage.

My father barely said anything when I told him, but the disappointment seethed through the phone. Not one bit surprising.

My mother, however, reminded me quitting in such a fashion was clearly a violation of unspoken family rules. I stifled a laugh and kindly thanked them for helping me get that job, and finished the call letting them know there would be no further discussion about my career.

But that’s behind me, and it’s a new day. An early morning thunderstorm woke me right before my alarm at 6 a.m.; the lightning bright enough to cause flashes of light through my blackout curtains. Rolling over, I pull the covers off, reaching for my phone.

I don’t know why I’m still expecting something that is never going to happen.

Hope is a bitch.

Slipping my feet into slippers, I throw my silk robe on and trudge out to the kitchen. I move through the kitchen, letting the heavy rain be my only soundtrack. Within twenty minutes, I have the dough formed and the oven preheated. Using a heart shaped cookie cutter—I left my bone shaped one at Rhett's—I cut out three dozen blueberry dog biscuits.

Just because Rhett and I aren’t together doesn’t mean Mabel should suffer.

While they baked, I quickly showered and threw on shorts and a college sweatshirt. I second guess my outfit choice, wondering if I should try to look nice, but the truth smacks me as I ruffle through my dresser drawers.

You’re not going to see him.

I knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t be home this morning. If he was avoiding me through text, he’d surely go out of his way to avoid me in person.

The blacktop of the highway greets me as I leave the city. It’s me and a few cars heading out this way. Everyone else is leaving the country, commuting into the city for work. It only adds to the bizarre, anxious tightening in my stomach. With every streetlight, stop sign, and cornfield passed, my heart hammers harder and harder.

Then the old familiar oak tree comes into view, the one with the tree swing that greets you as you pull into the long gravel driveway. I turn down my music, like that will help me as I drive slowly past the white house, stopping in front of the garage. My hand lingers on the shift knob as I put the car in park, wondering how the hell I got here.