Page 80 of Dear Ripley

“Then, please, illuminate me on what is,” I said, part of me certain I already knew, but unwilling to give in so easily.

“You and Ripley,” she whined. “Jesus. I thought Ripley was bad. I have no idea how Harlow’s been dealing with you. You’re a nightmare.”

“Thank you,” I deadpanned.

“Aren’t you at all curious about what she was doing before she left? You two sleep in the same room again for the first time in eight years, and you really have nothing to say?”

I had plenty I could say, but I really shouldn’t.

I sighed. “I don’t know, Morgan. Did she eat breakfast? Drink coffee? Take a shower?”

“Oh my god. I might actually hate you.”

“Be nice,” Harlow said, still amused.

Morgan rounded on her. “How am I supposed to be nice when she’s being this purposefully obtuse? It’s actually ridiculous.”

I sighed again. “Morgan, why don’t you just tell me what you want me to know, and put an end to all our painful suffering.”

She groaned. “You’re the worst and you’re no fun.” She turned back to me, adjusting her position now that she was half off the sofa. “Fine, if I have to be the one to spell it out. Ripley left you a letter.”

My heart swooped, seemed to stop for several seconds, and then took off running.

It made sense. It was Ripley’s turn to reply. I just hadn’t been expecting her to do it here, or for Morgan to be so weird about it. If anything, I’d have expected Ripley to quietly slip it to me when the others weren’t paying attention. I wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that Morgan knew and was this amped up about it.

Of course, there was the distinct possibility Ripley hadn’t wanted her to know about it. She might have attempted to slip me the note quietly. It was entirely feasible that Morgan had gone snooping around this morning, found the letter, helped herself to its contents, and sat around waiting to tell me all about it.

“Did you read my letter?” I asked, watching her with narrowed eyes.

She shook her head. “No, of course not.”

“Then how—why—what…”

She laughed. “I’ll just save you the time. I caught Ripley finishing it up this morning, asked what it was, and she told me. So, we’ve just been waiting for you to wake up so you can read it.”

My face burned. “You both know what’s in it?”

“Only in a general sense,” Harlow assured me quickly.

That was a little better but still weird. Especially since they were both clearly going to sit there, waiting for me to read it, so they could ask questions.

On the other hand, their excitement probably indicated good things. I doubted the pair who were on a mission to get us back together would be so excited over a rejection.

I wondered what Ripley had said to Morgan before she left?

I also wondered whether there was a polite way to tell them I needed privacy to read the letter, and that I might not want to discuss it afterwards. That one seemed unlikely.

Morgan slid off the sofa and approached me holding out one of those familiar yellow envelopes. I wasn’t sure whether Ripley had gone to get it specifically for this letter, or whether she kept some of them here. That would make sense since she was, apparently, staying here most nights at the minute.

I looked up at the pair of them, both staring at me. “I’m not going to read it while you’re watching me like that.” So, not polite, then…

“Why not?” Morgan asked immediately.

“Because it’s a private letter and I don’t want an audience.”

“But we know it’s good things,” she protested.

“I don’t care,” I said, even though it was a complete lie. My heart raced, while my stomach felt marginally less sick from the confirmation that there was nothing bad in the letter. “It’s a private letter, and I’m not reading it while you watch me.”

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