Page 61 of The Invitation
“That’s what she said.”
He laughs and shakes his head.Actor Ripley is back.“You just never know what you’re going to say.”
“It’s a part of my charm.”
“Something like that. Are you ready to get on the ice?”
I glance out and over the skating surface. “I’m nervous.”
“You haven’t skated before?”
I start to remind him that I just told him that, but then I remember that the studio audience won’t know we went to high school together. Still, I see the question in his eyes—the curiosity about why I didn’t go way back then. If I don’t answer now, I’ll look suspicious.
Besides, who cares?I can say it and we can move on. It’ll probably get edited out, anyway.
“I was supposed to one year,” I say, putting on the gloves. “Dad had planned an entire outing for Christmas—a trip to a ski slope, ice-skating, a sleigh ride. I was so freaking excited and told everyone about it. As you know.”
Pain hits my chest at the memory, making me wince.
Ripley shifts from one foot to the other as he listens.
“A couple of days before we were set to leave, he got the bill for my tuition at Waltham Prep and he went crazy. He called me like it was my choice to go there and screamed at me for ten straight minutes while I sobbed.” I inhale a long breath. “Needless to say, we didn’t go on our trip. And I never heard from him again.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
My cheeks are pink, and I’m not sure if it’s from the cold or the way he’s looking at me. His concern is genuine, and it wallops me right in the chest.
Why am I so emotional today? I must be starting my period.
“If I know anything in life, I know all about asshole fathers,” he says softly. “I’m sorry he did that to you. If he was capable of that, you are better off without him.”
Tears fill my eyes, clouding my vision.
He’s not wrong, and to make matters worse, he now knows about my mom and his dad, yet another way his father fucked his family.
I hope he realizes he’s better off without his father being a part of his life, too.
“Dammit, Ripley. You aren’t supposed to make me cry.”
He chuckles.
“Say something mean,” I say, wiping my cheeks. “Add a jab. Something.”
He pulls me to my feet. “You’ll probably fall out there, and I’ll laugh at you. Does that help?”
I move to punch him, but my balance gets wonky, and I teeter on the thin blades of the skates. I yelp, grabbing his forearms and steadying myself.
“Don’t forget we’re on camera,” he whispers in my ear. “Now, come on. Let’s get out there and skate.”
“I don’t think I can do this.” My movements are short and jerky as I step onto the ice. “I’m going to fall.”
“I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
His words light a cord that burns into my core.I want to believe him. I really, really do.But Actor Ripley doesn’t mean it. It’s all for the show.Real Ripley would probably let me fall … and most definitely laugh at me.
Still, it’s hard not to let his words make me feel good. It’s nice to hear a man give you assurance. It’s usually the other way around.
