Page 43 of Dear Ripley

“Ugh. Are we still on that?” she asked as though the topic was beneath her.

I laughed. “We are because you’re being incredibly weird about it.”

“I’m always weird,” she deadpanned, finally looking at me and gesturing to her own outfit. To her credit, she’d been correct when she said she looked good today. Also to her credit, she did still look like herself—a barrage of colors and prints. And, well, she always looked good, but some outfits—such as dress shoes with pajamas—were just a little more quirky than others.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way.” I smiled. “But I still want to know what it is you’re being weird about.”

“Nothing. I’m not being weird about anything.”

“You’re being super weird about it, and that means it’s juicy. So, spill.”

She took a concentrated gulp of her coffee before she threw herself back in the chair, all pretenses gone. “I was up all night again.”

I winced. “Working on your presentation?”

She paused. “What? No? I’ve had that thing planned for over a week.”

“Oh. Okay. So… what was the problem?”

“Everything,” she wailed.

I patted her knee gently. “Going to need a little more detail and specificity than that, Morgan.”

“You’ll think it’s silly.”

“I promise I won’t.” Chances were, it would be silly by a great many metrics, but it was affecting her, and it was part of her life, so I wouldn’t think it was silly.

“I was up watching YouTube videos all night again.”

I smiled, mostly to myself this time. “Another rabbit hole?”

She hesitated. “Not… exactly.”

“Interesting.” I watched her eyes dart around the room, failing to land on anything for more than a split second. “Then, what?”

It took longer than I expected, but, eventually, she let out a heavy sigh and whispered, “The Pretty Gift.”

My mind whirled for a moment, placing the name. “Again?” I was careful to keep my tone neutral—confirming, not judging. She still scowled at me.

“Yes.Again.”

“Cool. New influx of videos?”

She shifted in her seat, her hand scrubbing carefully over her face again and again, somehow managing to display her discomfort and avoid messing up her makeup. “No. I was watching the old ones. I have notifications turned on so I know when a new one goes up, and I always watch it immediately.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, wondering where exactly this conversation was supposed to go. “Are you telling me you have a problem?”

“What kind of problem?” she asked, her hands gripping the seat so hard her skin stretched taut over her knuckles.

“Like a video-watching addiction problem?”

She relaxed slightly. “You think I have a problem with media consumption?”

“No. I don’t think anything. I’m asking if you think that.”

“Of course it’s not that.”

I waved my hands helplessly through the air. “What do you mean,of course it’s not that? It’s a serious problem, and I’m just trying to be here for you.”

---