Page 54 of Dear Ripley

“What? No, I didn’t.” I wasn’t really sure why I was arguing. It was the truth and there was no shame in that. There was just something inside of me that rebelled, that needed to push back.

“Yes, you did. Tell me what happened.”

I shook my head, attempting to slip out from between her and the wall. “Nothing happened. We both just happened to be at the same restaurant last night.”

She stepped back, thinking that through, and allowing me to get away and into the master bedroom.

Just like the rest of the apartment, it was perfect.

After a moment, she followed me in. “Ripley went out last night?”

“Apparently.” I made a show of inspecting the window frames. As if I had any knowledge whatsoever on how to tell whether window frames were in good condition.

“Huh. Seems like Morgan’s doing great.”

I whirled, looking at her with narrowed eyes. “What does that mean?”

She leaned back against the wall, watching me with amusement. “It means you and Ripley need to learn to be around each other. If you’re not going to figure that out for yourselves, Morgan and I are going to do it for you.”

“I thought you were my friend.”

She laughed. “I am your friend. That’s why I’m doing this. If I’m going to be here, you’re going to be here. Ripley’s not going anywhere. So, you know, you need to learn to be around one another. We’ve been over this.”

“We don’t need anything, thank you very much.”

She raised her eyebrows. “The fact that you still refer to yourselves aswesuggests otherwise.”

I groaned. “That doesn’t mean anything. That is literally the plural way to refer to the fact that Ripley and I don’t need you and Morgan meddling.”

“Yes, you do,” she said, scoffing.

“Says who?”

“Says me and Morgan.”

I rolled my eyes, wrapping my arms tightly around myself. “I’m pretty sure you and Morgan don’t get to decide what’s best for two grown adults who are capable of making their own decisions.”

“No, you’re not,” she said immediately, her tone full of judgment. “If you were, you wouldn’t have broken up, you’d have spoken to each other in the last eight years, you’d have gotten over each other, and you wouldn’t be avoiding each other the way you are right now.”

“Wehavegotten over each other,” I insisted, more willing it to be true than certain it was.

Ripley was angry with me, sure, but I was certain that was just from me fumbling our first interaction so badly. And, sure, maybe I wasn’t completely over her if that was my default when we saw each other again, but I was over her enough. Our marriage was over, and that was all that mattered.

“If you believe that, you’re more foolish than I thought you were.”

“How are you my best friend if you talk to me like this?”

She laughed. “It’s preciselybecauseI’m your best friend that I get to talk to you like this. Only real friends see through all of the bullshit layers you build up to convince everyone else you’re fine and have your life together. And only the very, very best friends are the ones who call you out on the fact that you are very clearly still in love with your ex-wife.”

“You can’t be in love with someone you don’t know.” It felt like the only defense I had—for Harlow and for myself. Deep down, I knew my feelings for Ripley never had gone away, but we’d made our choice, and, eight years later, we didn’t know each other. That was true. And you couldn’t really be in love with someone you didn’t know. I didn’t care what I’d said when Harlow asked the other day about us trying again. The truth was, we didn’t know each other now.

Harlow sighed. “Look, putting aside the last eight years, you and Ripley have known each other longer and more deeply than almost anyone else in either of your lives.”

“You don’t know that, she might have gotten really close with someone in the last eight years.”

“Trust me, she hasn’t.”

“How could you—”

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