Page 26 of Dear Ripley

I stared at her. I couldn’t believe she was already throwing her child at me like that. Entirely unfair.

She looked at me with puppy dog eyes, pleading, unrelenting. I hated every part of it.

As the kettle boiled behind me, I couldn’t take it any longer.

I sighed. “Fine. I’ll write the letter. But you can’t use your baby to manipulate me into anything else where Ripley is concerned.”

“I make no such promises,” she replied, head held high and clearly proud of herself.

“Some best friend you are,” I muttered.

“That’s right. I am. And you’re going to like me even more when you’re in Jackson Point all the time with me and baby.”

I couldn’t see that happening anytime soon. I also couldn’t see myself actually sending a reply to Ripley. But writing it didn’t hurt. I could put the feelings down on paper, and, once Harlow was gone, burn them to the ground. I got them out of my head, Harlow got to feel like she’d done something, and Ripley never got to see them. Win, win, win.

Chapter 10

Ripley

Ismiled as Morgan met me at the corner of 5th and Western. In true Morgan style, she was wearing a hoodie, dress shoes, and pajama pants. Not just any pajama pants, either. Expensive ones, with animal patterns.

“Good morning, Morgan,” I said, not expecting any explanation for the outfit.

“Is it? I feel like someone stole, like, seven hours of my sleep last night,” she grumbled, which might actually have been an explanation for the outfit. Not the shoes, but the rest of it.

“Rough night?”

“Yes.” She sighed dramatically, like she was trying out for ‘Swooning Woman’ in a Victorian production. “I fell down a rabbit hole on YouTube and was watching videos of people gift wrapping until four a.m.”

I laughed. “Gift wrapping? I don’t think you’ve ever wrapped anything beyond shoving it in a gift bag.”

“You think I don’t know that?” She gestured wildly. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was convinced someone had forced her into watching the videos. “But other people make these videos that are just so mesmerizing, and, once you start, you can’t stop. Different types of paper, different finishing accents, challenges to use the least amount of tape.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you know you can origami your way into a perfectly gift-wrapped present?”

“I absolutely did not,” I replied, barely concealed humor in my tone.

“Yeah, well, neither did I until the middle of last night.”

I stepped around a puddle on the ground, wondering whether I should simply go with the conversation or try to locate some sense in it. “You do realize nobody forced you to watch gift-wrapping videos all night, right?”

“That is not true,” she replied forcefully, stumbling slightly as she looked at me, eyes wild. “That damn woman on YouTube made me.”

I pursed my lips, fighting hard not to laugh. “Which woman?”

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes as if she didn’t want to think about her. “The Pretty Gift.”

“Is that her name?”

“Are you being purposefully obtuse? Because I’m not going to spend my day off hanging at the store with you if you’re being mean to my plight.”

I took a deep breath, fighting my amusement. “Of course. My apologies. Please, carry on.”

She scowled at me for a moment, barely paying attention to the direction we were walking in, which was fine when you knew the path so well. “Fine. Her name is Iona. Her channel is The Pretty Gift. And she’s so annoyingly perfect, and pretty, and put together. Wrapping massive gifts with one piece of tape, a sprig of plant, and a wax seal, or whatever.”

I pulled out my keys, Petal and Pebble coming into view. “I don’t know whether I should be annoyed that you’re best friends with a florist and just said ‘sprig of plant.’ What does that mean? Flowers? Twigs? Greenery?”

---