Chapter 9 - Chloe’s Business Address
Chloe’s candle business became my next problem.
Three delivery vans arrived on Tuesday.
The first driver carried twelve boxes.
The second had glass jars.
The third had commercial fragrance oils and wax.
All addressed to:
CHLOE CARTER.
CARTER HOME SCENTS.
My address.
I refused every delivery.
An hour later, Chloe called screaming.
“Those are customer orders.”
“No.”
“They’re supplies.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You registered a business at my address without permission.”
“I needed a stable location.”
“Use your apartment.”
“My landlord doesn’t allow commercial deliveries.”
“Then rent commercial space.”
“Do you know how expensive that is?”
“Yes.”
I said.
“That’s why you don’t get to make it my expense.”
She became quiet.
Then she said the sentence everyone eventually used.
“You have room.”
I looked toward the blue bedroom.
It was empty by design.
I liked emptiness.
After years living in small apartments, I liked opening a door and seeing a room I could decide what to do with later.
Apparently unused space was offensive to my family.
“Chloe.”
I said.
“My having room doesn’t create your entitlement to it.”
“You sound like a lawyer now.”
“Maybe I needed to.”
She hung up.
Later that afternoon, Daniel called.
Chloe had done more than update an address.
She listed my home as the principal business location on an LLC amendment.
That meant customers, vendors, and possibly debt collectors could associate her company with my property.
Daniel filed corrections.
I sent Chloe formal written notice that she had no authority to use my address for business.
She responded with one line.
YOU’VE BECOME COLD.
I stared at it.
Then another message arrived.
From Madison.
SHE’S MAD BECAUSE MOM PROMISED HER THE GARAGE TOO.
I called Madison immediately.
“The garage?”
“She wanted shelves.”
“How many?”
“A lot.”
“For candles?”
“And shipping.”
I laughed in disbelief.
My two-car garage had apparently become Chloe’s warehouse.
My office had become Madison’s bedroom.
My downstairs guest suite had become Mother’s retirement plan.
My front bedroom had become Brianna’s divorce recovery center.
I wondered what part of the house I was allowed to keep.
Then Madison sent me a photograph.
It showed Mother’s clipboard.
A hand-drawn floor plan of my house filled with names.
Only one room had my name inside it.
The master bedroom.
Beside it, Mother had written:
AUDREY - TEMPORARY PRIVACY UNTIL NEEDED.
I read those words four times.
May you like
Temporary privacy.
Inside my own house.
