The Invitation by Adriana Locke

Georgia

I collapse onto the sofa with barely enough energy to even hold the phone up to record my confessional. I’m not sure why I’m recording it in the first place. Maybe it’s a habit.

Or maybe it’s because this feels like a continuation of my relationship with Ripley, and I don’t want to give that up.

“Hey,” I say, faking a smile. “This is kind of a strange update, but it’s what I have to work with, so it’s what you’re getting.”

Why am I doing this?

“I started a new job today,” I say. “I actually loved it, although you can’t tell by my facial expressions. I haven’t been up at five in the morning in a long time—well, not for work, anyway.”

My mind goes back to waking up next to Ripley. I force it out of my mind.

“It’s challenging and exciting, and I think I’m going to be a good fit there,” I say. “In other news, I haven’t heard from Ripley today.”

My heart sinks.

“I could’ve called or texted him,” I say. “But, in my defense, I was super busy, and it’s been a long day. I’m sure he had to work today, too. But the more time goes on, the more I think he’s probably second-guessing everything. And I can’t blame him …”

Ripley

“You know what? This sucks,” I say to the camera while I prepare dinner.

I don’t know why I’m bothering. I have no appetite.

“I sent her a good morning text today,” I say. “She sent me one back. That’s better than yesterday when we didn’t speak at all. I know she started her new job yesterday, and I hope it went well. It’s killing me that I don’t know. But, she asked for time, so I’m giving her that. But motherfucker if it’s not hard.”

Waffles pops the cabinet open where I keep his treats open with his nose. Little shit.

“My biggest worry is who is there for her right now,” I say. “I know this is harder on her than it is for me, and I worry that she’s so used to being on her own that she’s suffering alone pointlessly. That breaks my heart. It keeps me up at night.”

And fuck her mom, while we’re at it.

“How do people who fall in love more than once survive this multiple times?” I ask. “I’m not sure I could …”

Georgia

“My third day of work went so well,” I say, a little brighter than I have the last two days. “I was on my own for a few tasks and didn’t need help. It felt really good to be productive and use my skills. The paycheck will be nice, too.”

I pour myself a glass of sweet tea.

“I still haven’t talked to my mother. Honestly, I haven’t even tried. I think every night when I go to bed that I’ll wake up the next day and feel calmer and I’ll know what to say. But every day when my eyes open and Ripley isn’t here, I’m angry all over again.”

My drink sloshes around in the glass as I move into the living room.

“Ripley answered my good morning text right away today,” I say, sitting on a chair. “I wanted to call him on my break at work, and at lunch, and on the way home, and right now … but I can’t. I’m just so damn embarrassed. What would I say to him? He’s defended me so many times that I can’t possibly talk to him without being able to say—hey, I had your back like you had mine.”

I lay my head back and look at the phone. I’m so weary.

“What I think even more than that, though, is that I’m afraid that I’ll go back into it, only to have something happen—with my mother, or otherwise—and he’ll decide I’m too much for him and just not worth it. I’m not sure I could survive that.”

I take a sip and feel the cool liquid slide down my throat. Then, out of nowhere, a round of tears fills my eyes.

“Hell, I’m not sure I can survive this. I miss him so fucking much.”

Ripley

Me: Four days without seeing you is killing me.

Georgia: Charmer.

Me: Are you okay?

Georgia: Truth or a lie?

Me: Truth.

Georgia: No. I’m not. But I will be.

Me: Tell me how to fix this. How can I help you?

Georgia: I got it. I have to do this on my own.

Me: No, you don’t.

Georgia:

Me:

I stare at the screen for a long time. Then I turn my camera on and press record. But when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. So I turn it off.