Page 102 of Dear Ripley

Tears came in earnest. I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed to face that part of my past. I hadn’t realized—or hadn’t wanted to acknowledge—the damage that incident had done to me. Part of me felt silly—worse things happened every day. But, I’d been in therapy too, and the thing I had learned was that it wasn’t a competition, and the things that hurt us were tied to a million other things that had happened in our lives. Ripley was right about activation. Perhaps it was time for me to dig a little deeper in therapy, to face all the things I didn’t want to. I wanted to be healthy. For me and for her.

Ripley moved closer still. “I never needed you to be perfect. I didn’t want that for you. You were perfect to me just by being you. And, you know, people fail at things. We have to, otherwise, there’s never space to grow, and watching you grow has always been the most beautiful thing in the world to me.”

“You think so?” I sniffled.

She smiled a teary, radiant smile. “Yeah, I do. And, you know how you needed to be at Harlow’s side as she faced Ellie this morning? Well, I wanted to be by your side, too, facing everyone who ever dared to challenge or belittle you. I wanted to be there, building you up, to show them what you’re really worth, to show them who you really are. And, sure, sometimes, that’s learning how to do the project, but, sometimes, that’s knowing when to walk away. I wouldn’t have judged you for either. I’d have…” She waved her arms wildly, sniffling. “I don’t know, made you tea and food, read every book that’s ever been written that was even remotely relevant to your project, reminded you to get the sleep you needed.”

I laughed, sniffling too. “You always were wonderful.”

“I’d have been there to catch you,” she said seriously, taking the last step towards me. “I shouldn’t have given up so easily either. I’m sorry for shutting down and giving up, for getting scared and running away. I’m sorry for suggesting we were on different paths and needed different things, that we weren’t looking for the same things in life anymore. I was wrong.”

“That’s okay,” I said, shaking my head. “It wasn’t your fault. I didn’t give you a choice.”

“I’m not sure either of us had a choice, but we also both had choices.”

I laughed, confused. “You sound like the Cheshire Cat.”

“I know.” She laughed and took my free hand. “What I’m saying is that the world was coming at us and we both reacted in the ways we’d been programmed to. We couldn’t do anything about that. We should have been old enough to notice the unhealthy patterns and choose healthier paths, but we both made bad decisions, and we both lived with the consequences.”

“And now?” I asked, my voice brittle and fragile.

She squeezed my hand, her eyes warm and inviting. “Well, from what I can tell, we’re both making healthier choices. We’re choosing to communicate with one another, even when it’s hard. We’ve had our time apart, we’ve grown, we’ve grieved, and we’ve, somehow, made our way back to one another. So, we have some more choices to make, I think, and better skills to make them with.”

In the aftermath of losing her, choices had felt awful. They’d been bad choices with bad options, nothing I wanted at the end of them. But, when she said it now, they sounded freeing. They sounded like the kinds of things I wanted in my life again.

“Yeah?” I prompted after a moment of staring at each other in the low light.

She grinned, tears glistening in her eyes. “Well, first, we get to choose whether we’re happy not having the other in our life? And, I’ll go first, to take the pressure off. I’m not happy without you in my life. I’ve enjoyed the life I’ve built over the last eight years, but there’s been a gaping, you-sized hole in it every single day. I tried to get over you, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move on, I couldn’t want anyone else. I just… couldn’t. And I don’t want to keep pretending that I don’t miss you, that I don’t want to try again and do better this time.”

I was shaking and laughing and crying. She was the only one who ever made me feel so many things, and who ever got to see me this way. And she was everything.

I chewed my lip briefly. “I did try dating someone, but it was… not so great. It was… contained and careful and, yeah, not great. I was just going through the motions—he was too, in his own way, so, it wasn’t great of me, but I didn’t break his heart. Not that that’s any kind of excuse. I was horrible and I’m sorry, and I hated the way it always felt like I was cheating on you, even if I couldn’t admit that at the time.”

“It’s okay,” she soothed, her thumb rubbing the back of my hand. “You’re allowed to make mistakes and be imperfect. You’re allowed to make bad decisions and make amends. You’re allowed to be forgiven.”

I didn’t think I fully believed her, but I wanted to. I wanted to live in a world where I could be imperfect and still be loved. I wanted to make all the mistakes I’d made and still be good enough for her. And she was looking at me like all of that was true.

I took a steadying breath. “I was going through the motions because I missed you, because I didn’t know how to grieve. I didn’t know how to accept that I’d lost you, and I didn’t want to have to accept it either. And I don’t want to spend another day not having you in my life. If that’s okay?”

She sniffled, laughing and nodding, tears rolling down her cheeks. Something about them made it all seem real, like this was actually happening, not just the dream I’d been having for the last eight years.

“I’m going to need to move back to Jackson Point,” I said, the truth that had been bubbling up inside of me for weeks now, finally breaking free.

Ripley laughed. “Well, that’s your next choice to make.”

“No, it’s not. It’s already a done deal. I’ve been making my way back here since the moment I left.” My head felt dizzy as I shook it. “Sorry I took the scenic route.”

She reached up to take my face between her hands—soft, warm, and achingly familiar. “It’s okay. We both needed to take the scenic route for a little while. But we’re here now.”

I nodded. My breath came faster, matching hers, as she moved closer in minuscule movements.

“Which brings us to our next choice,” she murmured.

“What are we moving forward as?” I whispered back, her face so close to mine, my words ghosted over her lips.

She nodded. “We could just be friends. Or, we could be something more.”

I felt as though the ground had given out beneath me. I knew that, in the years to come, I’d never be quite sure how I stayed standing. I wanted to laugh and cry and tell her she was ridiculous for suggesting we were anything close to just friends.

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