Page 24 of Dear Ripley

“How is it not? You finally come back to town, have a weird encounter with your ex, and then, a few days later, she secretly sends you a single, long-stemmed flower? It’ssuperromantic.” She looked up at me and I could already tell her brain was running away with itself. “Does this mean you’re going to get back together? Oh mygod. Imagine if my baby is the catalyst that gets you and Ripley back together. That would be amazing. You’d come back to town, be around all the time…”

I held out my hand. “Hold on there. It’s not romantic, and we’re not getting back together. She didn’t send me something like a single red rose. It’s a little different with other flowers.”

Harlow pouted. “Not that different. It’s still so sweet and lovely. Maybe she just really likes carnations?”

I stood up, pacing across the thick, comforting rug of the living room. It might have an oddly aggressive lime green pattern on it, but it sure was comfortable.

I pointed to the flower, my fingers clutching tightly to the note I didn’t want to let go. I knew it wouldn’t be good, but I couldn’t let Harlow see it first. “Ripley likes basically all flowers—she always has. It’s hardly surprising that she’s a florist now. But she’s also an expert in floral communication and meaning.”

I wasn’t sure what about my tone or demeanor implied that this whole thing was positive, or that I had good news, but Harlow looked up at me, expectant, and happy, and like she was already playing out mine and Ripley’s imagined second love story in her head.

“Okay,” she prompted eventually. “So, what do carnations mean?”

It was like having to tell a kid Santa doesn’t exist. I didn’t know if I felt worse for myself receiving the flower, or Harlow for having all of her new-found dreams crushed. I hadn’t realized until this very moment that she was even remotely invested in the idea of us getting back together.

I took a deep breath. “Well, usually, love, devotion—”

She let out a squeal of excitement. I cut it off quickly.

“Yellow carnations, however…” I stared at the flower, unable to look Harlow in the eye. I didn’t want to crush her dreams, but, more, I didn’t want to see her face when she pitied me. “Well, they mean disappointment and rejection.”

The room was quiet for a few moments. I was glad nobody else was home to see this, but, even with just the two of us there, the place felt claustrophobic, like the words had left my mouth and, instead of just fading into a memory, they’d decided to take root and grow. They were unavoidable, all around us, suffocating me as I waited for Harlow to speak.

The seconds until she did felt like hours, but, finally, she opened her mouth and a noise came out.

So tense was the build-up, and so ridiculous the noise, that we both simply stared at each other with wide, bemused eyes until, at the exact same moment, we both broke, laughing hard.

I collapsed back onto the couch, wheezing. “What was that noise?”

“Oh, my god,” she gasped, gripping her stomach. I wasn’t sure whether she was attempting to protect the baby from our laughter, or whether it was already big enough to cause stitches and discomfort when her body went head-to-head, baby-versus-laughter. “I have no idea.”

The laughter subsided and, as the awkwardness threatened to creep back in, I was glad we’d laughed. Receiving a singlefuck youcarnation from your ex had the potential to mess up everyone’s day. This way, we knew it was bad, but at least we could still laugh about it.

“Do we want to know what’s on the card if that’s the flower?” Harlow eventually asked.

I hummed, looking down at it. It was still tightly held in my grasp. It wasn’t long, but neither had my note to her been. Still, whatever Ripley had to say in return, she’d fit it onto the front side of a note card. Perhaps she’d simply defined yellow carnations for me. I doubted she’d expect me to remember.

“Probably better to rip the Band-Aid off, right?” I asked, looking up at her.

She was watching me with an almost maternal look. I’d always known she’d be a good mom, but if her kid could look forward to this level of support, and all of the laughs, they were a lucky one indeed. “Probably. But it’s okay if you just need to keep it hidden for a while longer too.”

I wanted to. I wanted to keep everything hidden; to pretend Ripley and I weren’t in the same place again for the first time in years; to pretend nothing terrible had ever happened between us. I wanted to pretend she hadn’t sent me a floral rejection in the post. But none of that was going to make it go away.

Perhaps it would have been the height of petty success if I didn’t look at it, if we ran into each other and I revealed I hadn’t read it. But we’d never been like that. We didn’t really do petty, and I didn’t want to make it something we did now, either.

“Nah,” I said, preparing myself. “Better to get it over and done with now.”

“If you don’t know, it’ll only fester in your mind, making it worse than it probably is.”

I laughed. “Not sure what could be worse than a yellow carnation as far as messages go—shame, really, since they are very pretty—but yeah, basically that.”

Harlow knew me well. We went so far back I’d lost count. Of course she knew I couldn’t leave it be. I had to know.

I was certain Ripley knew that too. Perhaps that was why she’d sent it.

I flipped the card over.

Steer clear? What, like I’m a fucking disease? That’s what you’ve got for me after eight years?! Well, fuck you, too. Enjoy the flower.

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