Page 9 of Dear Ripley

From somewhere deep inside myself, I pulled my customer service face, the one I’d learned a long time ago. Owning a store, you needed one. It didn’t matter what was going on with you, the customer needed to feel like their order was your highest priority and the only thing you wanted to be doing. It was a strategy that landed me a lot of business, and it came almost naturally now, even in the face of… Edith and everything she currently symbolized.

“Of course,” I said, hoping I sounded less like lead than I felt. “When do you need it?”

She giggled in that way I’d come to learn meant someone wanted a rushed order because they’d neglected to come in when they should have. “Um. I’m really sorry, Ripley, but as soon as you can get it done would be great. I should have come in sooner…”

“No, no,” I replied, shaking my head as if she really shouldn’t have. We both knew she should have, but it was done now. And we also knew I was going to do it and do it soon. Something about her connection to Harlow and, by proxy, to Alicia made me want to keep the woman happy. It had always been like that. If anything, it had only gotten worse since the divorce. There was probably something there that needed unpacking—intense need to please people connected to my ex, the fear that news might get back to her about how well or how poorly I was doing, and the need for any reports to be that I was doing great and was, clearly, the world’s best florist ever.

My therapist was going to love that…

I shook the feeling off. Breathing half a laugh at myself. “What’s the occasion?” I asked, knowing I shouldn’t. I knew the occasion. She probably knew that I knew. The whole town probably knew that I knew. But here we were—playing silly games and winning silly prizes.

But winning silly prizes was still winning, and I loved that.

Ugh.My therapist was going to love that too.

Edith’s smile faltered the tiniest bit, but she recovered quickly—probably the panic of wondering whether she was really going to have to be the first one to tell me, right before she remembered I definitely already knew. Gossip traveled fast in Jackson Point. There was zero chance I hadn’t heard. I might be named Stone and own a shop called Petal and Pebble, but I didn’t actually live under a rock.

She took a deep breath. “Oh, well, um, Harlow’s getting back in tonight.” She fidgeted awkwardly. “I’m sure you’ve heard she’s moving back…”

I had heard, and I’d thought of nothing else since. I’d spent every day walking around imagining the pair of them jumping out from behind a rock like a weird, human jack-in-the-box. Which would be the oddest way to run into your ex-wife.

I nodded. “I did hear. Congratulations on the baby, too.”

Edith beamed and, for one wild moment, I wondered whether it might not be all that bad having Harlow back in town. Then I remembered it wasn’t actually Harlow I was afraid of.

“I can squeeze your order in today,” I said quickly before she could initiate any further chat. “If you come back around four, I’ll have it done for you.”

Edith clapped and it felt familiar in a terrible way. It was how she’d clapped at the news Alicia and I were getting married, how she’d clapped at our wedding, how she’d clapped when she heard about us buying a place together. It was odd the things you could put away in your life. I’d seen her clap like that in the last eight years. We didn’t spend a lot of time together, but Jackson Point wasn’t big enough for us to never be at the same events. Not once in all those years had Edith’s excitement made me flashback to Alicia. Until now.

“Thank you so much, Ripley,” she said, bouncing on her heels. “I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I insisted. The last thing I needed was for this to seem like a big deal. Big deals were talked about. Talking about this meant it would get back to Harlow that I’d made the flowers in a rushed, same-day order. Harlow knowing meant it would get back to Alicia. I did tons of same-day orders. It wasn’t a big deal. “It’s no problem at all.”

I moved to sweep her out of the store, insisting that she must have lots to do before Harlow’s arrival. She nodded, a far-off look entering her eyes as she allowed herself to be led from the store, and I knew she was somewhere else, planning something else. And that worked for me.

Once she was out of the store and I was moving around the space, selecting the flowers I wanted to use for Harlow’s welcome home bouquet—knowing I wanted to do my best work, just in case it did get back to Alicia, and refusing to think about the rationale in that—it occurred to me that I didn’t even know whether Alicia was aware I owned a flower shop. Eight years ago, we were different people, living different lives. I might still live in the apartment we’d bought together, but everything else in my day-to-day life had changed. New job, new routine, new favorite breakfast food… Inevitably, much of it had been a bid to help forget about her, to move on with my life, to make new dreams for myself, ones that existed without her, and I’d done a good job of it.

I’d also spent eight years not hearing about Alicia and what she was up to. Of course, bits and pieces reached me, but I didn’t know where she lived or what she did. I didn’t know how much of her life and her personality she’d switched up. And I had no idea whether people avoided telling her information about me, just as they avoided telling me information about her.

Perhaps it was arrogant to imagine Edith or the Burtons caring enough to pass information along—since I doubted she stayed in touch with anyone else—but part of me was always curious about her, so, maybe, part of her was curious about me. Curious enough to ask what I was doing? I wasn’t sure.

Either way, I hoped she wasn’t in the mood for flowers while she was in town. I could make Edith a nice bouquet for Harlow, but making my ex-wife flowers? That sounded like a very specific and unique form of torture. Remembering all her favorite flowers, the colors, and styles she liked, wondering whether they were still her favorites, and whether me giving her flowers would still light her up the way it once had… Come to think of it, I was certain I’d had that nightmare once or twice.

But, in good news, at least I knew when she was arriving now. There was something soothing about knowing, the release of wondering whether I was going to see her every time I stepped out of the house.

I realized as I gathered up some flowers and a vase, that Alicia and Harlow arriving tonight meant this was my last day to be free. I’d been tense for so many days that it hadn’t occurred to me to actually do anything. I’d gone to work and done my groceries, but I hadn’t allowed myself the opportunity to go anywhere, for fear of running into them. First time back in town for eight years, there was no doubt that Alicia would be getting the tour—seeing all the places and people she knew, meeting the new ones, seeing what had changed. It was just what you did. So I’d avoided everything. With less than a day to go, I figured I could enjoy my town one last time before the panic really set in.

I texted Morgan and laughed when she immediately called me, putting her on speaker phone as I began assembling Edith’s order. “You couldn’t have texted?”

Morgan huffed. “Are you asking if I have the ability to text? You know I do. However, if you’re asking whether this specific incidence would have sufficed with a text, the answer is no. You’ve been going all hermit on me for the last week. I was worried about having to explain your sudden disappearance to the bridge crew.”

I rolled my eyes. “I can’t imagine they pay enough attention to me to notice or care.”

“Have you forgotten where you live?” she asked after a loaded pause.

I opened my mouth to reply before the reality hit me. “Yeah, okay, fair point. So, anyway, you free?”

“Of course I am. It’s pastries. Don’t you have work to be doing, though?”

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