Page 3 of Love, Morgan

The bad part about being friends with someone as long as Ripley and I had been friends was that they saw right through you. They refused to be gently guided away from the things that were too embarrassing to admit, and, if you lied, they called bullshit on you. It was deeply inconvenient.

Sure, there were times it was good—the times you needed someone there in the dark moments, or the times you needed talking out of a genuinely terrible haircut—but, in times like these, it was infuriating.

“I don’t know why you won’t seem to accept that I simply didn’t want to and was waiting for you to show up and be a great friend.”

“Yes, because good friends pack for vacations they aren’t going on.”

“No, butbestfriends do.”

She moved to the computer behind the counter, preparing to email the pictures of the orchid to the clients, I imagined. “I’ve packed for you more than enough times. I think I’ve earned my best friend stripes.”

“You could earn another by coming over tonight to help me.”

She smirked, a dangerous look in her eyes, and I instantly knew I’d pushed too hard, but there was no way to take it back. “By which, you mean, I come over and pack your stuff for you, and you sit in the living room watchingThe Pretty Gifton YouTube, lamenting about how pretty she is, remembering the time we went to see her in person and she was ‘somehow even prettier in real life’, and basically just do nothing in preparation for your trip?”

I knew I was bright red, but I had the dignity to pretend it wasn’t happening. “I booked the trip. It’s not like I’ve donenothingfor it.”

She laughed, shaking her head as she fired her email off and leaned on the counter to look at me seriously. “And now, just like everyone else in the world, you can pack for your own vacation. It’s not like it’s going to be difficult. You’re going to a tropical island. Just throw some swimsuits, a few coverups, and some sandals in a bag, and you’ll be good to go.”

I loved Ripley, but she was ridiculous.

“Please. This is a nice place. I need outfits for dinner. I need to ensure I’m going to look good on the beach every single day. It’s not just grabbing the first things I come to and throwing them in a case.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re doing it yourself then, isn’t it? So you can have all the outfits you actually want.” She walked over to me, gesturing to the door. “If you start now, you’ll be done in no time, and then you’ll have time to watch The Pretty Gift again before you need to be in bed. Which, by the way, I know is what you were doing last night instead of packing.”

“How could you possibly know that?” I demanded, my voice hitching and far too screechy.

Ripley grinned, bending so we were at eye level. “Because, for basically the entirety of the last year, you’ve been in love with the women behind it, and that’s what you doeverynight. And, because I know you, and, if the choice is between packing or watching a hot woman wrap gifts online, I know which one you’re going to choose.”

I sat up straight, refusing to be intimidated, or to give in to the uncomfortable squirming in my stomach. It wasn’t my fault Iona, the woman behind The Pretty Gift, was so interesting and adorable—and, yes, hot. “Maybe you should come pack for me so you can choose things that will help me find a partner while I’m away. Then maybe I’ll stop talking to you about Iona and The Pretty Gift.”

Ripley laughed, reaching out a hand towards me to pull me up out of the chair. When I obliged her, she pulled me straight into a tight hug. “I love you, Morgan, and I think you’re a great catch, but you’re coming back from that island every bit as single as you are right now.”

“Ouch! Rude,” I said, right into her ear, making sure she got the message.

She giggled. “Going to another country isn’t going to change anything about you other than how tanned you are. You’re going to sit on the deck of your jealousy-inducing overwater bungalow, with the ocean stretched out before you, and you’re going to watch The Pretty Gift just as much as you do at home.”

I harrumphed and sagged against her. Some friend she was.

I was going to prove her wrong. I was going to prove them all wrong. And then we’d see who got the last laugh.

Chapter 2

Iona

Coming home, even briefly, always felt like the most relaxing thing in the world. I’d always known there was something magical about my dad’s house, but, like a great many teenagers before me, I’d been eager to get out into the world and see what it had in store for me.

Perhaps predictably, the real world had somewhat eaten me up, spit me out, and sent me crawling back home with my tail between my legs.

My twenties wererough.

Now, though, I was smack bang in the middle of my thirties and doing well. Mostly.

Looking back, I remembered when social media became a thing. I remembered when we all learned about YouTube. I remembered learning HTML to make it rain tiny bows down my MySpace page, my top eight carefully curated and looking great. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. Now, it was a little cringy to think back on, so maybe my teens hadn’t been great either, but isn’t everyone a little cringy at that age?

The point was, when all of that happened, it had never occurred to me that I’d now be making a living posting gift-wrapping content on social media. I’d started it as a way to calm my anxious hands in the breakdown of life as I knew it, and the loss of all the dreams twenty-something me had ever had. The first video was more of a joke than anything else, done in the middle of the night in a weird bid to prove to myself that I could still surprise people, I could still do anything I wanted, even if it was terrifying.

Perhaps it would have been more surprising if I’d actually told anyone about it.

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