Page 90 of Dear Ripley

So, moving carefully so as not to wake any of the others—especially Morgan who clearly didn’t enjoy having her sleep disturbed—I pulled the piece of paper towards me.

All day, the only thing I’d managed on it was about three sentences of inane pleasantries. Sense would dictate pulling out a new sheet of paper and starting again from scratch, but I was trying something new. I was trying honesty again.

It felt like it had been a very long time since I’d last been completely honest with someone—probably since Ripley the first time around. I hadn’t realized I’d shut myself up so much, but now, I couldn’t avoid it. It wasn’t the way I wanted to live my life, so the paper was staying, original words crossed out and all. And, under them, all the things I actually wanted to tell Ripley now.

Dear Ripley,

(Take two.)

Yes, I’ve been attempting to write this letter all day. As you can see from the above, I didn’t have much luck. But, no matter the embarrassment, I’m choosing honesty tonight.

Fear is an interesting concept, huh? You’d think, given that you named it in your letter, I’d have been better able to face my own and say the things I wanted to you. Alas, that’s not quite how it works.

However, alongside fear—no matter how debilitating it may seem—there’s hope and bravery. You chose them in your letter, and I’m so grateful that you did. We both chose them tonight, in those whispered, stolen moments. And I’m choosing them again now.

You’re right, of course, that the breakdown of communication is what got us. And I didn’t know what to do in that situation. I didn’t know where to look, or how to help. You were the safest place I’d ever known, and, if I couldn’t tell you about the problem, I couldn’t tell anyone else. So, I locked it up, and let things die in the dark.

If it happened to us now, I think you’re right, we’d be better equipped to handle it, to notice the signs that something wasn’t aligned. And I like to think we both have the support systems to figure it out. We’re both in therapy now. That probably would have helped us back then, too, both individually and as a couple.

I never wanted us to die in the dark. I didn’t mean to do that. I’d never imagined a life without you. And, since we’re being honest, I haven’t imagined one without you since. When we were together, I’d think about things twenty years down the line. Without you, it’s barely a year ahead at a time. I know what I’m doing right now, but, for the future, I have no idea.

Being around you is terrifying precisely because of that future. The past, too, but, more so, the future. Even if we were only ever friends, being around you makes me think about ten years down the line again. I don’t know what life will look like then, but what I do know is that I don’t want to be avoiding you. I don’t want to be around Jackson Point pretending we don’t know each other, pretending we don’t have the history we do, or pretending not to know each other like we do.

You asked if what I can give you is something less than friendship, and the answer was no. The answer is no. It will always be no.

Friendship doesn’t encapsulate the things I can give you, because that’s not what you give me. I have a best friend. I know what being around her is like. And I know what being around you is like. Friends are important and help with the future, but you’re the only one who feels like the future. You’re the only one that makes me feel like it’s filled with possibilities, ones I can’t wait to explore.

So, no, Ripley, I can’t give you something less than friendship. I can, however, give you something more than that. That’s terrifying to admit, and you aren’t required to accept it, but I needed to be honest, to be myself again, and at least send those words and that knowledge out into the world.

They are yours now. Do with them as you choose.

With love,

Alicia.

Chapter 32

Ripley

Going to work on a Tuesday was new, but with Ellie running around, ruining all of our lives, taking a day off wouldn’t have felt right. If she’d shown up at the store to interrogate Ekundayo and I left him alone for it, I’d never have forgiven myself. So, instead of lying in and having a break, I was up at my usual time, out the door, and off to work.

The other new thing was the letter from Alicia gripped tight in my pocket. I wasn’t sure how she’d managed to move—or why she’d been willing to risk it—with Morgan lying between us, keeping us in line, but she had. At some point in the night, she’d finished her letter and managed to leave it right beside me as I slept.

She wasn’t awake before I left, and I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. Now that we were talking to each other in person again, I wanted to see her. I wanted to watch her talk to me, wanted to see the way her gaze struggled to settle on my face without a blush coloring her cheeks.

I also knew we needed to take this slowly—as if eight years wasn’t slow enough? That wasn’t really the point. If she and I were going to be in the same space again, both admitting that we felt something more than friendship for each other, we needed to be careful.

I had a hell of a lot of stuff to talk about in therapy this week…

Ekundayo was already there when I arrived. I’d told him I’d be about all day, and why, but I wasn’t going to kick him off the schedule when he was as desperate to come in as he seemed to be. What kind of kid didn’t want a paid day off?

“Good morning,” he said, something suspicious and cheeky in his voice.

“Good morning?” I replied, looking back at him, my hand still firmly in my pocket.

“Oh my god. Did you and Alicia kiss?”

“What?”

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