The Invitation by Adriana Locke

Georgia

Ripley’s hand rests on my thigh as he drives me back home. Every now and then he gives my leg a little squeeze, almost as if he’s quietly confirming I’m still here.

“It feels wrong to take you home,” Ripley says.

I rest my head on the window. “I know. It feels wrong to go home.”

“So don’t.”

I trace a muscle along his forearm and wish I didn’t have to.

“This is new,” he says, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. “But is it, really? It’s not like we met at a bar and went home together. I’ve known you for years.”

“And we’ve hung out for years, even if we stayed on opposite sides of the room.”

“Biggest mistake of my life,” he says, pressing his fingertips into my thigh.

I’ve thought about this a lot—all night while Ripley slept with a death grip on me. I’ve wasted so many years of my life holding on to perceived infractions against me. And, by refusing to let go of those things, I’ve kept myself in a holding pattern. My dreams died. I couldn’t progress, couldn’t continue with my life because I’d blocked my own blessings.

My blessings were designed to come through Ripley.

I believe that with all of my heart, even if it scares me shitless.

I don’t know what I’ll do if this doesn’t work because he already has my heart. I don’t want to admit that out loud, and I’m not sure if I even want to admit it to myself in a let’s act on this way. But that doesn’t change the facts.

I’m fucked—in more ways than one.

There’s still a little voice in my head warning me that his intentions might be cruel, and he might leave when things get inconvenient. And both things are possible. But I’m choosing not to let that small voice overpower logic … or my heart. I’ve done that my whole life. Look where it’s gotten me.

“I need to find a way to talk to my mother about this,” I say, my heart growing heavy.

“She really hates my whole family that badly?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I think it was a perfect storm of things that hit her hard. My dad left her, pretty much overnight. One of her closest friends was married to Dad’s best friend, so Mom lost her in the divorce, too. Then your dad really broke her heart.” I sigh sadly. “I think she put all of her hopes into a future with him—believed the things he said and really thought it was her happy ending, only to get crushed a second time on the heels of the first.”

She’s never been the same since.

Ripley frowns.

“She’s a very …” I bite my lip, trying to find a way to describe my mother without being disrespectful and sounding harsh. “She has main character energy. She is the star of her—everyone’s—show in her mind. You can argue with her and try to explain that her self-image doesn’t translate into other people’s worlds, and she wouldn’t understand. That concept doesn’t exist with her.”

He glances at me with many questions on his mind.

“Even if she’s dramatic and her feelings are extreme … even if we don’t understand them all the time, it doesn’t invalidate them.”

“I understand. But do you really think she’d want to keep you from being with someone just because their dad fucked her over?”

“Simply put? Yes. I do. I know that will happen.”

“That sounds selfish as hell.”

I sit up and sigh again. “She is selfish. She doesn’t understand boundaries. She has flaws like everyone else. But she’s a good person, Ripley. Even though she frustrates me to the edges of the earth most days, I love her with all of my heart.”

He squeezes me again.

“She’s the only family I have,” I say. “I haven’t spoken to my father since the night I was telling you about when he called me over my tuition.”

Ripley’s jaw sets and he stares at the road ahead.

“My mother sort of raised herself, and then my father took over parenting her when they married, really, and now … I guess it’s me in that role.” My heart sinks at the realization. “I know she’s going to throw a fit when she finds out about us. I hope not, but I know she will. But if I can sit her down with a bottle of wine and catch her on a good day, I might be able to smooth it over enough not to worry about it anymore.”

“It’s whatever you want. Whatever you need. You know that I’ll never come between you and your mother. Family is the most important thing in the world to me.”

“I know.”

He looks over his shoulder at me. “And you. You are quickly becoming number one on that list.”

A wave of emotion cascades over me, crashing in soft, beautiful splashes in my heart and soul.

I’ve avoided hoping for much in my life because hope never pans out. It’s a setup to being burned. It’s akin to the universe laughing at you. Here, see this thing? Want it so you can never have it.

But maybe that’s my experience because I’ve always hoped for the wrong thing.

Maybe hope only works when you hope for the right thing.

Admitting that I’m considering, maybe even dreaming of, a future with Ripley scares the bejesus out of me. My stomach churns and my fight or flight reflex kicks in. But, for the first time, flight feels like a scarier option than fight. Because, if I fight, I have a chance to win. If I fly away, I leave him behind. And I can’t think of a worse scenario than that.

“Do you know why this is so easy?” I ask.

He hums, turning back to the road.

“It’s easy because this is the way it’s supposed to be.”

“You’re damn right it is.”

He turns onto my street and rolls through my middle-class neighborhood in his fancy car. People turn to look, little kids wave, and it’s an experience that I don’t know how to handle.

“When can I see you again?” he asks.

“I start my new job next week. It was supposed to be two weeks out, but I accepted their offer, and they emailed me back asking if I could start sooner. So I need to get a few things to the dry cleaner, clean my house. Stuff like that.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh.” I laugh. “I was assuming I could see you tonight.”

“Thank God. And then you can tell me more about this amazing job.”

His relief makes me smile. “You bet.”

We turn onto my driveway, and Ripley puts the car in park. I lean over the console to kiss him and gasp.

Oh, no. Please, no.

I fall back into my seat, fumbling with my seat belt.

“What? What is it?” Ripley asks, his brows pulled together. “You’re scaring the shit out of me.”

I force a swallow and try not to cry. This is not how this was supposed to happen.

“My mother’s sitting on the steps,” I say, my voice eerily calm.

“And why would she be sitting on the steps?”

“Because I won’t give her a key. She just shows up when she wants to hang out or talk, which is fine, except … it’s not.”

He takes a deep breath. “What do you want to do?”

I glance at the porch. My mother stands and makes her way slowly to the car. It’s as if she senses something is wrong.

My heart races. My brain screams that this is the time to choose flight, but I know I can’t do that. Not to Ripley. It’s too late to try to hide it now. All I can do is be thankful Ripley has some context before all hell hits the fan.

“I have no idea what she’s going to do or say,” I say quickly. “Please, please don’t judge me for whatever happens.”

“Of course not.”

“Let’s just say hello and pray she doesn’t completely lose her shit.” Even though I know she will.

I open the door and Ripley opens his moments later. I hear his shut right after mine.

“Georgia?” Mom asks, holding a frozen pizza and a bottle of wine in her hands. “What’s going on?” She turns to Ripley. “Who is this?”

She looks Ripley up and down. It’s harmless, at first. But, upon her second pass, a cold shield slides over her face.

Fuck.

“Remember how I told you I was working with Sutton?” I ask, my voice too bright. “Well, it’s for a fake-dating show called The Invitation. We’re shooting the pilot. This is my … counterpart.”

She lifts her chin at Ripley. “Hello. I’m Felicity Hayes. And you are …”

“Ripley Brewer, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The pizza box slides from my mother’s hand and hits the ground. Her face goes from shock to absolute fury in a half a second. She glares at him before turning to me.

“How dare you?” she says, her voice bone cold.

“Mom, listen⁠—”

“Ripley Brewer?” She spins back around to him. “Who is your father?”

He swallows. “Reid Brewer, unfortunately.”

“Really?” She turns back around. “Really, Georgia? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Hurt colors her face, and that punishes my heart. I don’t want to hurt her, but I don’t want her choices to hurt me, either.

“Ma’am,” Ripley says. “I⁠—”

“Don’t ma’am me,” Mom sneers. “I have no idea how you weaseled your way into my daughter’s life, but you can see yourself right out.”

“Mother!”

“I know what kind of people you are, and I don’t want you anywhere close to my child. Do you hear me?” she asks.

Ripley’s jaw tenses and I know he’s pissed. He’s ready to fight. But it’s the way the blues in his eyes change to a dark, almost gray color that tells me that her words are hurting him, too.

He’s no more his father than I am my mother.

“That’s not fair, Mom,” I say, tears filling my eyes. “Don’t talk to him like that.”

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me, especially when you know what a rotten week this has been for me! I’ve lost my friends. Now I’ve lost you.”

“Ms. Hayes⁠—”

“No.” She glares at him, shaking the wine bottle in his direction.

I’ve never seen her like this. I’ve never seen her this unhinged. Never this close to losing it.

I don’t know what to do. Do I calm my mother down and try to be rational? Do I take Ripley’s side and tell Mom to stop it? I don’t know.

“Just leave,” Mom shouts, her voice cracking. “Get in your car and go. You’re just another boy in her life that will be forgotten in a week. Just because your last name is Brewer doesn’t mean you’re special! Someone like you would never be good enough for my daughter!”

Ripley pales. I know she just hit a direct wound, and he has to be reeling from it right now. My heart shatters for him, but I need to show him I’m on his side.

That I believe in him.

That she’s fucking wrong.

“You don’t have the right to say terrible things to him,” I say, yelling back. “You can’t talk to him this way. You don’t even know him.”

“And I apparently don’t know my own daughter, either. You’re betraying me just like your father. Just like his father! Just like my friends.”

“Get over yourself! I’m not betraying you!”

“The hell you aren’t.”

“And don’t you dare compare him to his father,” I say, my voice shaking with fury.

My neighbor to the right sticks his head out of the door before ducking back inside.

Great. We’re the neighborhood Maury Povich show now.

Tears flow down my cheeks. Ripley reaches for me, but my mother jumps between us.

“If you see my daughter again, you’ll be taking her away from her mother,” Mom says, crying, too. “Because I won’t stick around to watch you hurt her. I won’t watch you take her away from me.”

Ripley looks to me. He doesn’t look like the confident, slightly arrogant, self-assured man I know. He’s sad, frustrated, and slightly broken … just like me.

“Can I call you later?” I ask him softly.

“If you call him, I’ll never speak to you again,” Mom says, throwing down the gauntlet. “I won’t stand for it. I won’t have you running around with him when I know exactly what he’ll do to you.”

“Mom, that’s not fair.”

She shrugs as if she doesn’t care if it’s fair or not. And that’s probably true. She doesn’t.

Ripley nods at my mother, as if he can’t help but show some sort of respect—because he’s such a good man—then he turns to me.

The pain in his eyes stabs me in the heart. Tears stream down my face, clouding my vision. But, I know I see a shine of tears fog his gorgeous blue eyes, too.

He bows his head, as if he can’t look at me, and gets into his car and drives off into the afternoon sun.

“I raised you better than this, Georgia Faith.”

I wipe my face, sniffling back snot. I don’t even care. “You raised me not to trust anyone. You taught me that the odds of being happy weren’t great. Because you had bad experiences with men, you taught me I should be wary of them, too.”

Her hand shakes around the wine bottle.

“I know you love me and were just trying to help protect me, Mom. But you just pushed away a great fucking guy because you are scared. How fair is that?”

“You don’t want him. You just think you do. You’ll be fine after a couple of weeks.”

I laugh angrily, taking a moment to pull myself together before I speak. “I know Ripley and I will be fine. It’s me and you that I’m not sure about.”

“What does that mean?”

I throw up my hands, exasperated. “I am thirty years old. Thirty!” I yell it entirely too loud, but I don’t care. “I don’t want to be mean to you, but you’ve left me no choice.”

Mom takes a step back.

“I am an adult—a grown-ass woman who’s capable of making my own choices. As a matter of fucking fact, I have a great life because of my choices. I have a job—which, you don’t know about because you haven’t asked. It never occurs to you to think about anyone other than yourself.”

“That’s not true,” she says, her bottom lip quivering.

But I don’t care. I don’t care that she’s sad. I don’t care that she’s upset. I don’t give a flying fuck that I’m about to hurt her feelings because she doesn’t care about mine.

“Look at your life,” I say, refusing to back down. “You don’t have a boyfriend. You don’t have a job, aside from a part-time gig at a consignment store. You don’t have friends now—and that’s your fault, by the way.”

She gasps.

“You come to me for everything and give me nothing,” I say, boring holes into her. “I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about support. Camaraderie. Friendship. Motherly advice.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?” I ask, my voice squeaking. “What’s my favorite color? Food? Movie? Cookie? I’ll wait.”

She stares at me.

“Exactly. But do you know who knows? Ripley has a jar of my favorite cookies in his house just in case I might swing by. He bought me purple gloves when we went ice-skating because he knows it’s my favorite color. He knew I’m not adventurous when it comes to food, and when we went to this really ritzy place and I panicked, he ordered food I liked for me. And you just ran him off!”

I hold my temples, feeling a migraine coming on.

“I’m tired, Mom. I’m exhausted and I can’t do this anymore. I’ve felt happier and more alive the last couple of days than I ever have, and you just ruined that for me.” I lift my gaze to hers. “It’s like you want me to be as miserable as you are.”

Tears fall down her cheeks, and I can’t find it in me to care.

I leave her with her pizza and wine and storm into my house. The image of Ripley’s face—the pain of being compared to and judged for being the son of the monster Reid Brewer—rips my heart in two pieces.

Ripley has protected me throughout my life. Now is the time I protect him.

Even if it kills me.

With the door locked behind me, I sob.