Page 91 of Unravel Me

“Thanks for the food, Mom.”

“Love you, honey.”

“Love you, too,” I add, and she quickly kisses my cheek, pats Mabel on the head and heads back to her car, leaving me alone to stand next to my house in the blazing sun.

“Alright, Mabel, let’s get this damn door installed.” I kick aside the directions and grab the drill.

An hour later, there’s a hole in my door. Well, technically it’s a door. A swinging dog door I already know Mabel is going to abuse. This was never part of the plan either.

But a few nights ago, I found myself scrolling through my phone, when I came across photos of me and Audrey. A random night in late July. We were rocking on the front porch swing, her legs across my lap, when she looked up at me and said “You know what would make me happy right now? Strawberry ice cream.” That’s all she had to say. Minutes later, we were bouncing down the old country road to the pink ice cream stand my mom used to take me to after my baseball games as a kid. Audrey got strawberry ice cream on a waffle cone, smiling ear to ear, as we sat at the edge of the field on the back of my truck.

I remember everything.

The way a summer storm came out of nowhere, soaking us in seconds. Kissing in the cab of the truck while the rain pelted the window. The white sundress, her hair falling around her face, the way her lips tasted like sugar. I felt like the luckiest man in the world that day.

We waited out the storm together, my arm lazily draped around her as she leaned into the crook of my chest. We drove home in a happy daze, only to find Mabel sitting on the front porch, soaking wet. Audrey nearly jumped out of the truck before I could even put it in park, running across the front yard to Mabel, who was completely fine. She probably rode out the storm under the porch. But I should've known better. Audrey quickly became Mabel’s mother the moment she met her.

Minutes later, Mabel was on the kitchen floor, wrapped in towels as Audrey spoke sweetly to her, feeding her blueberry biscuits. I said nothing because those two were in their own world. ‘Girls Club’, Audrey jokes. We spent the next hour sitting on my couch, researching the best dog doors, because god forbid Mabel ever get stuck outside again. Audrey found one she thought was perfect. It was high tech, way too expensive, and completely unnecessary.

“Rhett, you have to get this.” She’d shoved the phone in my face, her arm still wrapped around the sleeping hound dog.

“Mabel doesn’t need a seven-hundred dollar dog door.” Mabel lifted her droopy eyes my way as I said it.

Audrey set her phone down. “Okay, let me buy it for her then. You can install it, right?”

I stared at her with wide eyes. “Of course I can install it! But no, I'm not letting you spend your money on that. I’ll build her one, and it will be even better.” I wasn’t rolling in money, but business was steady over the summer, and I was comfortable. But I still didn’t need to spend that much on a dog door.

And I never truly knew how much money Audrey had. I knew it was a lot more than I’d ever see in my lifetime, but she didn’t talk about it, she never flaunted it, and I never asked. She simply offered to pay for certain things, things she knew I wouldn’t spend money on, like a freaking dog door. But I didn’t want her to do that; not when I could build it myself. Or so I had thought.

Because here I am now, two months after that conversation, and I ordered the expensive dog door she wanted. That’s the thing about Audrey. She plants herself deep, infiltrating every corner of your mind. Even when she’s gone.

“Try it out, Mabel. Go on, go inside, girl.” I instruct as my dog eyes the door skeptically, drool hanging from her jowls.

Out of patience, I step inside, grab a treat, and squat down on the other side of the dog door, calling her inside.

“Come on Mabel, I got a treat.” I hold out the beef stick treat in my hand. It’s a bit stale, I will admit, but it should do the trick. She’s a bloodhound, she should smell this a mile away.

Mabel cautiously pokes her head through the door, nose twitching, eyes locked on the treat in my hand. Eventually, all four of her clumsy and muddy paws are inside the kitchen, where she turns her nose up at the beef stick, and lets out a small huff.

“You too good for store bought now? It’s pure protein, it’s good for you.” I wave it around like a mad man trying to talk reason into my dog. I try to give the treat to her again, but Mabel lets out a loud bark, eyes locked on the tin on the counter.

The tin that’s been empty for two weeks now.

“Those treats are long gone, dog. It’s just me and my beef sticks. You’re going to have to deal with that.”

Mabel grumbles the only way a dog can, turning around and waddling into the living room, before she drops herself dramatically on the floor in protest.

“Whatever, you’ll get used to this. Things are going back to how they used to be!” I holler and toss the treat into the trash. Then I get in the shower, turning the water as cold as it can go to shock myself out of thinking about everything.

Chapter fifty-one

Audrey

Penny and I curl up on opposite ends of her pink velvet sofa, with a smorgasbord of snacks and charcuterie in front of us, and a 90’s rom-com we’d seen a hundred times playing on the TV. I type out a text, read it, and delete it, grabbing more snacks, avoiding the inevitable. All while secretly hoping Penny will just let me buy her a new pair of boots.

Penny grunts, ripping the phone from my hands while balancing a very full glass of wine in her other hand.

“Dude, you have to just send it.” She swipes my screen. “Let me see what you’re working with.” She stares at my screen for several seconds while my patience wears thin.