Page 85 of Dear Ripley

Much like this situation.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Doing so wouldn’t help anything. I wasn’t sure I’d fully understood, until this moment, just how much Ellie had trained Harlow to deal with and accept, how many of her behaviors Harlow had come to anticipate and excuse. It wasn’t okay, and I worried about Harlow, but I also realized I didn’t have the strongest leg to stand on. I had, after all, been with Gabe for years, and that wasn’t exactly a healthy relationship either.

Healthy relationships, it turned out, were easy to want and difficult to find. Something that seemed healthy on the surface could easily lead to places you didn’t want to be. Unless both people were committed to being the healthiest versions of themselves they could be, I was sure unhealthy parts would sneak in. Everyone didn’t need to be perfect, but they needed to be trying. And I wasn’t sure Ellie was trying anything other than controlling Harlow.

“This situation is pretty serious,” Morgan said, a levity in her voice that I didn’t feel.

Harlow sighed. “I know. I know it is, and the whole thing honestly makes me feel weird, but, despite everything, I do know a thing or two about Ellie, and I’m certain I’m not in any actual danger. If, after I speak to her, things don’t seem to be getting any better, I promise we can do this your way.”

It wasn’t what I really wanted, but this wasn’t my relationship. I couldn’t push Harlow into something she didn’t want—well, I probably could, but I wouldn’t want to. She was a fully grown adult, perfectly capable of making her own decisions, and I had no interest in being another Ellie in her life.

Plus, she was correct, she did know Ellie better than the rest of us. I no longer wondered why Ellie had always kept a cautious distance between us when she and Harlow were married.

I nodded reluctantly. “Fine, but we’re all going to be nearby when you talk to her. We’re not taking any chances.”

“I can agree to that.”

“Well, at least that.” I rolled my eyes this time, exaggeratedly, so she knew it was, mostly, a joke.

And that was how Ripley found us—having reached a détente of sorts. Any calmness that had entered my body at making a deal with Harlow fled the minute Ripley walked through the door. I realized I’d been half expecting her not to come back until I replied to her letter—raw, honest, and exposing as it was—but she was stronger and braver than that. I should have known she’d face this head-on.

Of course, she was probably here for Harlow, not me.

“How’re we all doing?” she asked as she pulled her coat off. It wasn’t difficult to notice the way she avoided looking in my direction, even with a question seemingly addressed to all three of us.

Harlow laughed and filled her in.

As she did so, I couldn’t help watching Ripley. She really was so beautiful. Once upon a time, I’d told her I felt like the sun shone out of her pores, like the world would make no sense without her in it. Nothing had changed.

I’d thought it had for a while, but being around her again was like remembering the sun existed after years of cold, dark winter. It didn’t matter that the actual weather was colder now than some of the summers I’d experienced without her, she was still the warmest, most vital thing on the planet, and the world felt so much warmer with her in it.

Which was a deeply problematic thing to feel. Friends didn’t feel like that about one another. Not if that was all they were.

I wasn’t going to pretend there weren’t huge swathes of friends who were secretly in love with one another, but I also couldn’t pretend the way Ripley made me feel was anything close to platonic. Problematic, but not platonic.

When I hadn’t been discussing with Harlow how to proceed with Ellie—or spending time being grateful for the flexible work hours I currently had—I’d spent huge chunks of the day attempting to reply to Ripley’s letter. Getting anything done for work was nearly impossible anyway, given everything that was going on, but especially with Ripley’s words in my hands.

Not that I was doing a better job on that.

She’d given me so much that it felt impossible to know what to say in return. In truth, I think it was fear holding me back—a silly emotion in the face of the honesty she’d given me, but still one I couldn’t control. Feelings were tricky like that. The only thing we could have a say in was how to respond to them. I wanted to be brave and honest and open, but time had told me doing so was fraught.

Ripley made me want to take the risk, and that should always have been a sign I wasn’t over her, but still, I felt blank in knowing what to say—afraid that I’d push her too far, that I’d misunderstood her letter, that I was going to ruin everything by still wanting her.

She finally looked at me as Morgan was telling her about the food delivery she’d ordered earlier—seemingly a ploy to get Ripley to cook for us all. I was happy to volunteer to do it, but I had to admit I was curious about Ripley’s cooking these days.

I was curious about Ripley’severythingthese days.

How much of a fool I’d been pretending I was over her, that I didn’t care, that I could handle being around her, and pretend not to want her. The last few days had been painfully illuminating. Ripley was the kind of person that, once you let her in, there was no getting rid of her. I didn’t want to get rid of her, but the lifetime of pining I had ahead wasn’t the most appealing prospect.

The feeling of her gaze on me, though… Something about having her attention set me on fire. I wanted all of it, all the time. I knew that wouldn’t be practical, even if she happened to be interested, but it was how she made me feel. It was how she’d always made me feel. The completely overwhelming rush of Ripley’s gaze on me made every bone in my body sing and strain to get at her. I didn’t understand how anyone made it through the day around her without wanting every last little bit of her. How could people interact with her and not want to be her everything?

How could I have had all that and let it go?

I wished I knew the answer to that question.

I might be struggling with how to reply to her, but, in my own mind, I knew if getting her back was even remotely on the table, I wasn’t going to squander the chance for even a second.

And maybe it wasn’t, maybe we would only find friendship in the future, but, if I got the chance to be with her again, I’d spend every minute of the rest of my life adoring her. Just as I was going to do from afar if we didn’t find that path back to each other.

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