Page 31 of Love, Morgan

I wrapped gifts for a living, was guessing that I’d pack a mango in something other than a gift bag all that momentous?

“I knew you didn’t send it,” she finally said, relaxing further into the couch. “I told Ripley as much. She thought I should send you an orange back, just to test the waters. Though, of course, this is the woman who thought sending her ex-wife ayellowcarnation was a good idea. I mean, it was an amazing idea, but still,quitethe scandal.”

My head was spinning. I had no idea who Ripley was. I didn’t understand why she was sending carnations to her ex-wife. I didn’t understand the stress about them specifically being yellow carnations. And I didn’t know what was scandalous in any of this other than the fact that Morgan had climbed onto my balcony, with a mango in her mouth, and was now sitting on my couch, reaching over and helping herself to my drink from where I’d placed it on the coffee table.

She sipped it, clearly testing what it was, before taking a larger mouthful, and placing it back on the table like she hadn’t just helped herself to a perfect stranger’s drink, in their house, where she had invited herself.

It wasn’t my house, but that didn’t matter. For the next week, it was, and that wasn’t really the part I cared about.

“Who is Ripley?” I finally asked, staring at the drink.

“Oh,” she waved a hand through the air. “She’s my best friend. Has been for years. But, she’s terrible at advice. Especially since she got back with her ex-wife and hasn’t been paying me nearly enough attention, and, when she does, she seems to be trying to set me up like someone from a Jane Austen novel.”

She talked ridiculously quickly, and I still had no real idea who Ripley was, or how their relationship functioned, but it wasn’t unpleasant having Morgan here. Not when I got used to the constant feeling of sickness that I’d come to associate both being around her andnotbeing around her with. It simply intensified when she was here.

Also, hadn’t she just been describing something as scandalous like she’d just walked in from a period novel? Was she really that surprised that her best friend acted similarly?

“Your best friend?” I asked slowly, struggling to keep up and needing clarification like a confused child.

“Yes.”

“The one who is back with her ex-wifeandsent carnations to her ex-wife?”

“Yes.”

“Same ex-wife?”

“Yes.” She drew the word out, looking deeply amused. “I won’t tell Ripley you implied she’s got a closet full of ex-wives.”

“I didn’t mean—” I broke off, not knowing how to explain any of this. “She thought you should send me an orange?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why not? You sent me a mango. An orange is hardly that bizarre in comparison.”

“I already told you, I did not send you a mango.” I paused. “Youalready toldmethat. You didn’t think I did.”

“I know. Ripley’s just… romantically compromised.”

I pressed my eyes together. I had no idea why romance was relevant at all here, but I had even less idea what that even was. “What does that mean?”

She giggled, leaning forward to take another sip of my drink. “It means she’s become soggy since she got back with her ex-wife, Alicia.”

“Soggy?”

“Yes.”

I frowned, looking around the room for guidance I knew would never come. “Does it… rain a lot where she lives now?”

“Now? She didn’t move.” She tilted her head as if I was the one confusing things here. “No, she still lives in Jackson Point, and it’s perfectly pleasant weather there. It rains sometimes, but Ripley’s not made of cardboard. I’m sure she’ll survive.”

“You’re the one who said she was soggy,” I protested, gesturing at her helplessly.

“You’re a lot… pluckier in real life.”

“Plucky? That’s the word you’re going with?” I fought the recoil in my stomach that sprung up every time someone made a comparison between my regular self and The Pretty Gift. There was a reason I kept the two as separate as possible.

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