Page 75 of Love, Morgan

But Edith was still looking at me.

“Morgan, would you help me bring these things through to the kitchen?” she asked, smiling sweetly and gesturing to the plates we’d been snacking from all night.

“Sure,” I replied, my body already bracing. This was too much like a move Harlow had pulled on Ripley one time—corning her in my kitchen just to tell her how much she and Alicia should be back together. I didn’t mind it when it was being used on other people. On me, though? Unconscionable.

I dragged my feet as we headed into Dariush’s kitchen—a small space with a sloped roof and a skylight I usually adored. I wondered whether I could climb through it, slide down the roof, and run off into the night so as to avoid this conversation.

“I’m sorry about Freddie,” she said, getting straight to the point. Which was something, at least. “You know how they get—so excited and hopeful. Do you want me to tell them to stop? Explain what’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” I asked, my tone just a little too icy. However, if she noticed, she pretended not to.

She shook her head indulgently and I felt like a teenager, every part of me rejecting the idea immediately. I wondered whether she still treated Harlow like this, now that Harlow was a mother herself, or whether I was the unwitting replacement child, still in need of parenting.

“You put on a good show, Morgan, but I’ve known you a long time,” she said in that smug parental voice. I didn’t usually mind it, but I wasn’t usually the one being parented.

“So has Freddie,” I pointed out.

“True. But I think their romanticism is missing the way you brace yourself when we bring up Iona.” She turned to look at me. “We were all so excited when we heard you’d run into her on vacation. Excited to have her around Jackson Point, excited to teach her bridge, and, most of all, excited to see you happy and in love finally.”

“You know not everyone needs romantic love, right?”

She smiled at my fierce, petulant tone. “I know, and that’s great too, but, from the minute you started talking about Iona, we’ve all known she moved you. When we heard fate had conspired to bring the two of you together, well, I guess our hearts ran away with us.”

“I really don’t think fate was involved. It was just a weird coincidence.”

She shrugged, amused. “Maybe, maybe not. There’s an awful lot of moving parts to get the two of you to the exact same island at the exact same time, right next door to each other.”

“Thanks to Hell and the Devil, most likely.”

“Heartbreak is hard. But you’re not alone. And, if you want me to have a word with Freddie, just say the word. You can even say it through Harlow if that feels more manageable.”

“I’m not heartbroken,” I insisted, desperate to keep the fact that I probably was under wraps. I didn’t need to be another sad story for the Jackson Point rumor mill.

She placed a hand against my cheek. “Of course, dear.”

I stared after her as she walked back into the living room. How dare she? How dare she‘of course, dear’me? I was perfectly fine and I was doing perfectly fine, and I didn’t needof coursing.

I was suddenly overheating and desperately in need of the cool evening air. Usually, I would stick around longer to chat—especially after a vacation when I needed catching up on all the latest news—but, this time, I needed out.

I grabbed my coat, bid the others farewell, and fled down to the street. I needed space, and, this way, they could gossip about me and Iona and whatever they thought was going on without me being present. So long as it wasn’t leaving Dariush’s flat, I couldn’t bring myself to care what they said about me.

“There you are,” Ripley called as I stepped out onto the main road and caught sight of her sitting on a wall.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for a bus.” She rolled her eyes. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like you sound like me when you talk like that. You’re welcome.”

She laughed. “Well, I suppose there are worse things in the world.”

“Uh, yeah. Being like me is amazing, so literally everything else in the world is worse. Keep up.”

She jumped off the wall and began walking alongside me. “So, how was bridge?”

“Fine. I lost.” I said it partly because it made no difference to her, and partly because I wanted to feel the shame of it, to feel it burn in my stomach and my throat.

It honestly didn’t feel like anything at all.

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