Page 40 of Dear Ripley

“You’re a shit best friend sometimes.”

“Hey! No, I’m not.” She leaned further over the table, almost standing now. “You’re still avoiding the question.”

“I’m not the one avoiding anything. You’re the one avoiding reality.”

She rolled her eyes hard. “Alicia. If Ripley showed up at your door, interested in getting back together, would you say yes?”

My instant reaction was to say no. It was almost automatic at this point. Eight years of training myself to say it, to prove to people that I’d moved on, and that I was doing great. But, before I could get the word out, an annoying little twist in my stomach demanded attention.

It was that burning coal that had never really gone away. It got buried under years of life, of me ignoring it, and wishing it would go away so the answer could stop being a lie, but it was still there, and Harlow was demanding a real answer.

We all lied to people sometimes—sometimes it was the kinder thing to do, sometimes a secret really needed to stay that way—but I didn’t like lying to Harlow. I didn’t want to lie to her.

Worse, I hated lying to myself, no matter how many years of practice I’d had.

I sighed. I could say it once, let it out into the world, and let it go. Maybe then, I’d finally be able to actually move on with my life.

“Fine. Yes, if Ripley came around wanting to try again, and all the problems we’d had before had changed, then yes, I’d want to try again. She was the love of my life, Harlow, and eight years post-divorce suggests that’s not going anywhere, so yes, I’d be interested.” I thought I might throw up at saying it out loud, at letting it in, and telling someone else and being heard, at someone knowing how pathetic I was to still be pining after my ex-wife, eight years on. “Happy now?”

Despite the despair I felt, Harlow truly did look delighted. I wasn’t sure I liked it.

I’d like it even less if she exploded from excitement, as she seemed to be threatening to do, and I was left cleaning up my parents’ kitchen and attempting to explain how I’d accidentally murdered my best friend by still having the hots for my ex… Not the best story in the world.

She very purposefully took a steadying breath. “Then I think I have something for you.”

For one, wild, ridiculous moment, as she reached into her coat pocket, where it hung on the chair behind her, I genuinely thought she was going to pull Ripley out of it. It was then that I realized I might actually be losing my grip on reality being back in Jackson Point.

On the table between us, rather than Ripley, she placed an envelope. Though, I wasn’t too far off since the handwriting on the front was Ripley’s.

My heart pounded painfully. More messages of hate and rejection? It was a weird approach to send them through my best friend, who seemed incredibly happy about playing the messenger. Didn’t she know there was a whole saying about not shooting the messenger?

“What’s that?” I asked, cautious.

“An envelope,” she replied serenely, knowing exactly how frustrating she was being.

“I can see that.” I nodded at it. “Why is it here?”

She smiled. “Because you said some things Ripley wanted to reply to.”

“I didn’t say anyth—”

My blood ran cold. Surely Harlow wouldn’t have done that to me? She was my best friend. She absolutely could not have sold me out like that.

But what other reason could there be? I hadn’t been able to locate the letter I’d written Ripley—one I’d never meant to send. I’d truly been hoping I’d just misplaced it, and someone else had thrown it in the trash. But it wasn’t that. Of course it wasn’t.

Harlow, in all of her wisdom, had stolen it from me. She’d taken it to Ripley and, for reasons unknown, Ripley had decided to reply.

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to murder Harlow or myself more.

If I’d known Ripley was going to read the message, I’d definitely have written it differently.A lotdifferent.

Getting air into my lungs—already difficult—became impossible as I fully registered what Ripley had read, what Harlow had done, and the fact that Ripley had replied.

I braced myself, certain it was going to be another message designed to get rid of me, to make me stay away from her, to quash any teeny, tiny hope I might have had about us ever being in a good place.

“Go ahead,” Harlow prompted, seemingly unaware of how monstrous her betrayal had been.

I shot her a look, hating how excited and happy she looked. The envelope was sealed so she had no reason to think anything remotely happy lay within it.

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