Page 12 of Dear Ripley

He reached back to flick me, not hard enough to actually hurt. “Don’t need to. Why would I go anywhere else when Abel’s are right here?”

Maybe because your ex-wife also happened to be in the same town as Abel and his pancakes? That might be one reason, perhaps. But I wasn’t about to start bringing my family down, not on my first full day back in Jackson Point, so I just laughed it off. “Fair point.”

Joel yanked the door open and I let my mom lead me inside.

It was the same inside, too. Pink and teal. Neon lights and a checkerboard floor. A retro jukebox in the corner that they either worked very hard to keep looking new, or they swapped out for an identical one when it needed it. Joel headed straight for it. Another thing that never changed. He always had loved that jukebox.

We’d brought him here just after he’d moved in with us. He was so young and lost, more than a little scared about what was going on in his life, and what he’d been through in just two short years, and Dad had brought him over to the jukebox, holding him up as they put the coin in together and chose a song. And Joel had relaxed, sitting in our dad’s arms and watching the machine do its thing. That kind of comfort, that sense of coming home… I wasn’t sure it ever truly went away.

“Counter or booth?” Mom asked softly.

My insides tensed. “Booth, please. If that’s okay?”

She nodded like she understood. Maybe she did. Nothing stayed secret for very long in Jackson Point, so she’d probably heard a million times that Ripley and I were in here, sitting at the counter, sharing milkshakes and fries. Just like the cliche, but a cliche I loved being.

I shook the thought off, following my mom and slipping onto the teal bench in the corner, my back facing most of the restaurant. I wondered whether she’d done that on purpose, giving me a little privacy from the rest of the room.

Elvis kicked in on the jukebox and I wanted to cry. I doubted Joel could remember it, but we’d heard the story a million times. Dad talked endlessly about how Joel’s tiny little hand had chosen this song, his eyes wide in wonder watching the machine cue it up. Joel loved the story, loved the jukebox, and loved our family, but he wasn’t typically the most sentimental of us. However, as he rejoined us, slipping into the booth next to me, and sending me the smallest of looks, I knew he’d done it on purpose. Joel’s way of welcoming me back, and trying to help me relax, was to do for me what our dad had done for him.

I wasn’t making it out of Jackson Point alive. Even if I didn’t see Ripley in person, this place and its people and her lingering presence in everything would absolutely do me in.

“Oh my god,” Davinia’s familiar voice called as she approached our table. “Alicia Burton, as I live and breathe.”

Despite the wave of panic that she was going to ask questions I didn’t want to answer, that the rest of the diner would hear her and want to talk too, I smiled. Davinia had always been good to me, and she felt like Jackson Point itself—as old and integral to the place as the ground it was built on. Davinia Johnson was practically a legend around these parts, every bit as vital to Didi’s success as Abel and his pancakes. And, honestly, part of me still couldn’t believe the pair were still working here, still running the place, cooking, and greeting customers like family members. There was something special about this place, and about the Johnsons, that made it difficult not to smile.

“Davinia,” I said warmly as she slipped into the booth beside Mom, and reached across to grip one of my hands in both of hers. Warm, just like always.

“How you doing, honey? Been a long time since you were back in these parts.”

I stiffened slightly, but the stroke of her thumb over the back of my hand was soothing. She expected an answer from me, but she didn’t expect me to be okay. She didn’t need me to pretend like this wasn’t hard, and I appreciated that about her more than I’d ever realized before.

I wondered briefly whether this should be easier. Whether what I should be hurt and upset by was the fact that I’d only recently broken up with my partner of five years. But, honestly, Gabe felt a million miles away, almost like a different life. I hadn’t thought about him since I left my apartment yesterday and that felt nice, it felt right. I was sure there was grieving to do, but it felt like I’d been doing it for months now, maybe years. Like I’d finally said goodbye to something I’d been trying to keep in my life, but that didn’t fit there anymore. Maybe he never had. Perhaps that was why it felt so easy. It was nothing like before, with Ripley.

“I’m okay,” I told Davinia honestly. “Pretty weird being back, and I’m not going to pretend it’s easy, but I’m glad to be here for Harlow.”

Davinia smiled, nodding like she understood. She probably did. She was the wisest woman I’d ever met, and the few wrinkles on her face and the grays that had made their way into her short hair only added to the effect. In truth, part of me was convinced of her infinite wisdom because of how impossibly young she still looked. She swore it was the food. Maybe that was part of what kept people coming back to Didi’s. Everyone was desperate to get the amazing pancakes and whatever magic it was that kept Davinia and Abel so young and sprightly.

Ripley had always thought it was the way they loved each other that kept them young. I’d promised her we’d always love each other like that too, that I’d do my best to keep her young with all the love I had for her…

Davinia squeezed my hand like she knew where I’d gone. “Well, I’m guessing you’re here for the amazing pancakes. OJ and a black coffee on the side?”

I laughed, infinitely grateful to her for more than her remembering my order. “Pretty much. But I take my coffee with milk these days.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she smiled at me. “Do you really?”

“Yeah...” I scanned my brain for any excuse that wasn’t me trying to switch everything in my life upside down after my divorce. “Just getting too old for it straight up, I guess.”

“Well, how about that.” She shot my mom a look that was so loaded I was scared to even think about it. I suddenly regretted asking for milk. I could have gone along with black coffee for the time I was here.

Mom hummed and I wanted even less to know what I’d done wrong. Neither seemed judgmental, but there was something going on that I really didn’t want to think about.

Luckily, Joel laughed, looked up from his menu, and said, “I’m going to get the pancakes too. Side of bacon. And a chocolate milkshake, please?”

“For breakfast?” Davinia said, outraged in that way she only did with the regulars. “Joel Burton, I know your mama didn’t raise you on milkshakes for breakfast.”

“Come on,” Joel pleaded in that way he’d been using on the rest of us for years. “It’s a special occasion, Alicia’s back in town. Plus, I am an adult. I could be off living in dorms somewhere, eating nothing but ramen and Snickers to get me through the day. One little breakfast milkshake won’t hurt.”

Mom and Davinia shared a motherly look, one filled with years of knowing each other and not needing to speak out loud. One filled with years of parenting and knowing your children. One filled with Jackson Point and small-town communities that knew each other inside out. It was hard and amazing to watch again. Odd the things you don’t realize you miss until you’re back in them again…

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