Page 52 of Dear Ripley

She groaned, collapsing forward onto the table dramatically. “That’s even worse. And you sound about ninety.”

“Hey, you’re the one who plays bridge. I’m just trying to speak your language.”

She lifted her head to scowl at me. “Bridge is a great game that more young people should be playing. I will not stand for this ongoing bridge slander.”

“Of course you won’t.” I laughed again. “But, my point is, if you and Harlow are getting along so well, I’m pretty sure she’s single. Why don’t you just—?”

She looked at me like I’d grown a second head, right before she laughed too. “No. Definitely not. I like Harlow, and she’s a good friend—good-looking too—but she’s just not my type.”

“Right. Because your type is unattainable women on the internet?”

“Yes,” she replied without a trace of irony.

“Well, I guess you really are going to have to reach out and—”

Whatever I’d been planning to say disappeared instantly the moment I saw Alicia again. Ostensibly, she was returning from the bathroom, at least that was where she appeared to be coming from. However, the path between her table and the bathroom did not require a detour by ours. She’d made it to the room without passing us, so why was she coming by us now?

As she got closer, her eyes flicked up, meeting mine for just a second, still long enough to flood me with feelings. My body itched to get up, to run, to fly, to do something to get rid of the excess nervous energy just one look from her sent racing through my veins.

“Hello?” Morgan asked, waving a hand in front of my face when Alicia was mere steps away. Evidently, she was unaware of what was happening and was only seeing me mentally disappear mid-sentence.

My mouth made a valiant effort to make sounds but nothing came out.

Alicia slipped her hand into her pocket.

Despite all sense and reason, I wanted her to stop, to speak to me, to join us—even when I didn’t want that, when I knew it was a terrible idea that I wouldn’t actually be able to handle.

She looked away, focusing on where she was heading, and I knew she wasn’t going to stop.

My heart sank, foolishly, and I wondered why she was even passing this way. There was no need for it. Was it solely designed to torment me? Even at the end, she’d never been cruel. I couldn’t understand why she’d be being cruel now, but that was how it felt.

I forced myself to look at Morgan, sitting across from me, all bright-eyed again. She’d worked out what was going on and was using it as evidence that her plan was a good one.

Every muscle in my body tensed, time seeming to slow down, as, in my peripheral vision, I monitored Alicia passing our table. If I hadn’t been so intent on taking in everything about her, so attuned to her every movement, I would have missed the flash of white that tumbled purposely out of her pocket and onto our table next to my arm.

She kept walking, every muscle in my body achingly tight as I slapped my hand on top of the envelope.

Morgan squealed loud enough for Alicia to hear, but I didn’t have the wherewithal to tell her not to.

Alicia had received my letter. She’d read it. And she’d replied again.

Chapter 17

Alicia

Iwalked across the hardwood floors of the empty apartment, heading straight for the massive, sundrenched windows on the back wall. I liked this one. Something about it felt like a place Harlow could be happy. I could see her sitting on the floor, laughing in delight as her baby took their first, tentative steps.

And the view wasn’t making it any less agreeable.

The apartment somehow had that perfect combination of being close to everything in the center of town, while also having a view that looked mostly out over garden squares, houses at angles that prevented you from being able to see into each other’s homes, and, right there on the horizon, the water.

Maybe it wasn’t that hard to see why people stayed in Jackson Point—or came home to it. I paid three times as much for my place, and the only view it had was straight into the opposite apartment. I loved it, and it wasn’t a lie that it sat over a courtyard. It was just that the courtyard was about the size of a postage stamp, and that meant spying on your neighbors—whether you wanted to or not—and very little natural light filtering down through the tunnel created. Though I shouldn’t complain. Given that I was high up, I knew I got significantly more light than those on lower floors.

Of course, I could get a place here, move back, and be around my friends and family, but the lower price tag came with an infinitely more costly emotional one. Running into Ripley last night had demonstrated that with painful accuracy. And maybe even this view wasn’t worth the torment.

Though, the fact that I’d walked by her table and dropped my letter for her suggested I liked playing with fire, so who was I to question whether living on the edge emotionally was the right thing to do? A sensible person wouldn’t have been carrying that letter around with them, constantly looking for an opportunity to get it to her. A sensible person would not have dropped it at her table after the world’s most awkward pre-dinner conversation—did that trainwreck even count as a conversation? I really wasn’t sure.

Harlow popped up next to me, waving a hand in front of my face. “Hello? Earth to Alicia.”

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