Page 51 of Dear Ripley

She ordered all of her favorites, adding two of mine, I assumed to avoid annoying me any further this evening, and I managed to smile at the server despite my inner turmoil before they turned and walked away, leaving me alone with the world’s worst best friend.

“So, where were we?” Morgan asked, lacing her fingers together and resting her hands on the table as if we were strangers in a business meeting.

I rolled my eyes. “You know exactly where we were.”

“You think I have the mental capacity to remember the conversation when I was ordering food? On a day where I’ve barely slept, and I had a big presentation? Do you even know me?”

I wanted to ask her the same question. I wanted to believe she wouldn’t do all of this to me if she truly knew me, but she was Morgan, of course she would.

“My apologies that my traumatic divorce gets in the way of you ordering food.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it doesn’t.”

I glowered at her, hating that all she did in return was smile wider. She knew exactly what she was doing and I didn’t like her reasons.

“Look,” she said, reaching across the table to pat my clenched fist, “yes, it’s been eight years, and you and Alicia haven’t really spoken in that time, but it’s not like you’ve moved on, either. You’re still hung up on her, and now, she’s back. The two of you were so great together for so long, don’t you want that back?”

Of course I did. I’d spent eight years wondering where it had gone, and how I could have stopped it from going off the rails. Eight years was a long time to spend reimagining every tiny interaction that led in a negative direction, and mentally trying again with what I wish I’d done. But it didn’t matter. We hadn’t made those choices, we’d made the ones that led to our divorce. You couldn’t take it back just because it hurt when it fell apart.

It didn’t matter that I’d never gotten over her, or that I’d never been able to entertain the idea of being with anyone else. That was just who I was, and, someday, eventually, I would get over her. I just needed more time.

Outright insisting that not one part of me still wanted Alicia wasn’t going to work. I needed a more compelling argument.

My brain buzzed with the knowledge that she was still here, across the restaurant. Too far away to see or hear, and, thankfully, behind me, but she was here, and I wanted to look at her. I wanted to see her and know the answers I was searching for, just as I had once upon a time.

But I didn’t need to see her to find an answer this time.

I looked seriously at Morgan. “It doesn’t matter either way. What matters is that this is about two people who both decided they needed to get divorced, and Alicia has moved on with her life. She isn’t interested in going back.”

“But you are.” Morgan leaned across the table eagerly, as if getting me to admit this was the real reason we were having this conversation.

“No,” I replied immediately. I didn’t care if it was a lie, it was the lie I needed to be true right now, and that was going to have to be enough. “No. I’m perfectly happy as I am, and I have no interest in reliving that divorce again.”

That part was true.

Divorce was so much harder, sadder, and more exhausting than I ever could have imagined. Even now, years later, it still felt like this rock weighing me down, something I was forced to lug around with me all the time, stealing energy from other things. I might want to be with Alicia again, but I couldn’t add a second rock to the pile. I knew I’d never survive it.

Morgan watched me with a pained expression, and I knew that everything I was feeling was written across my face. I hated that I worked like that. Wasn’t I entitled to some privacy for my pain? Couldn’t my face at least give me that?

“I’m sorry—” she started, but I cut her off. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t do emotion and feelings and run the risk of crying in the middle of a restaurant my ex-wife was also at.

“It’s fine.” I shook my head, attempting to shake every thought and feeling away, and searching for a topic I could handle. “How are you and Harlow suddenly such good friends?”

It wasn’t quite the change of subject I’d been hoping for, but it was good enough. Interesting and amusing enough to distract my brain, and something I was definitely curious about.

She laughed, the seriousness dropping away immediately, and I was immensely relieved.

“Well,” she said, her voice slightly sing-songy. “Edith brought her to bridge, we got talking, remembering the good old times, and realized we both had… well, a similar goal, I suppose? Similar interests.”

And that was why I’d needed a bigger change of subject. Every conversation led back to Alicia. She was ineverything.

Attack was the best form of defense, right? Even when it was unfairly pitched against your best friend? Probably not, but it was the only path I had.

“I know you’ve got your whole thing about the wrapping paper lady—”

Morgan gasped, outraged. “She’s not awrapping paper lady. How dare you?”

I laughed. The feeling was like sweet relief. “My apologies. Your fancy lady on the internet.”

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