Lenny: Who?

Me: Rip

Lenny: O.O

Lenny: Why?

I hadn’t gotten a chance to tell her about anything that happened yesterday, and I sure hadn’t told her about him knowing about my family. All she knew was that he’d been a jerk at the hospital and we hadn’t been on speaking terms since.

Me: He bought me an orange rose yesterday and left it in my office too. So I went to tell him he didn’t have to make it up to me or anything… and he said that he wasn’t trying to make it up to me.

Lenny: And???

Me: You know how I had that date yesterday? He showed up at the bar and ran the guy off. Then he said he wanted his Luna and how he wanted to see my face first thing every morning, and then we went to eat burgers.

Me: I thought he was full of crap and just stringing me along so I wouldn’t get pissed off and quit, but now he’s making me coffee and bringing me roses and asking me if I like them, and telling me he listens to everything I say… and I don’t know what I’m doing.

Me: No one’s ever bought me flowers before, and he remembered that.

Me: What do I do?

Lenny: And why are you asking me what you should do? I don’t know.

Lenny: He kind of deserves for you to tell him to fuck off, but I’m on my period and want to kill half the guys at the gym.

Lenny: I do have to say that’s pretty sweet though.

Lenny: The only men that have ever made me coffee are Grandpa Gus and Peter. Food for thought.

Me: You’re useless.

Me: I’ll think about it.

Lenny: Sorry

Me: I didn’t tell you he’s been coming by my room every day for no reason.

Lenny: Now you’re just rubbing it in.

Lenny: Tell me what happens. I need to live through you since it’s the only romance in my life.

Me: I don’t think it’s romance. I think he just feels bad.

Lenny: Bish, I’ve grown up with guys. Even if they feel bad about something, most of the time, they won’t even say they’re sorry. They’ll just act normal and hope you forget. They’re not going to get you flowers and make you coffee and say things like that to you. Not even if they want to get in your pants. Just saying.

Me: You just said you don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

Lenny: I don’t, but I know men and I know assholes, and neither one is going to be buying you flowers for no reason. Or telling you shit like they want you back.

Lenny: Want me to ask Grandpa Gus and see what he thinks? He’s been a man for seventy-two years now. Even if he doesn’t know, he’ll make something up.

I wasn’t crazy about her asking Grandpa Gus what I should do, but who else did I have to give me advice? Mr. Cooper? Miguel?

I rubbed my palm over my forehead and sighed as I replied.

Me: Okay. Ask him.

Lenny: You’re welcome.

Me: Thanks. Gotta get to work now.

Lenny: Some of us have already been at work…

Lenny: Kisses

I sighed again and set my phone into my back pocket as my eyes went back to the two flowers sitting in the jar, just… taunting me.

* * *

Lenny had texted me last night and said that Grandpa Gus had told her that she was right: Rip wouldn’t have said that kind of thing unless he meant it, and that Len was right again. He wouldn’t be buying me flowers if he felt guilty either.

But…

What if that wasn’t the case?

What if he changed his mind?

* * *

A week went by and the flowers kept showing up on my desk every morning. Different shades of pink, red, orange, yellow, lilac, purple… All of them short-stemmed and without thorns, waiting for me.

And if that wasn’t enough, my cup of coffee was there every morning too. Sitting beside the coffee maker one day, beside the little jar of flowers on another day, and on three other occasions on whatever tool chest was right beside him. And when I’d go to get it, he would shoot me a smile and ask if I liked the flower he’d left.

I wasn’t even going to think about how every afternoon there was a container in the refrigerator with my name on it.

Much less how I ate it instead of the lunch I brought myself, which wasn’t a tenth as good as what he made.

If none of that was enough, when I got to work one random morning, I found that my Ball jar had been replaced. In its place was a pretty globe-shaped vase with an icy blue and white lace ribbon wrapped around the fluted end. Pretty, it was so freaking pretty, I had almost been scared to touch it.

Rip didn’t go easy. It was like he set a bar he needed to go above and beyond.

He started coming over to my room for no reason. He came in every morning around ten without fault, and in the afternoon too, and would look at me through the window if I was in the booth, or just fart around looking at things he’d seen a dozen times in my room.

But he watched me, even when I purposely avoided looking at him.

He watched me, and he was patient.

He kept that warm smile, or pretty close to it, on his face every time I looked at him, like he was purposely giving me time and space to… I wasn’t sure what.

I really wasn’t sure.

Every time I called him “Mr. Ripley,” he corrected me and then moved on with our conversation, even if it was mostly me responding in one-word answers and trying to be professional.

One week turned into two, and the next thing I knew, there were two vases on my desk, filled with the most beautiful, perfect roses. When one started to wilt, he took it out before I’d even gotten to work, but a new one was always sitting on my desk like he wanted me to see it and appreciate it.

Lenny: He’s trying. You’ve gotta give it to him.

Me: He doesn’t need to be trying. I don’t want him to try.

Lenny: Liar.

Lenny: You love it, and that’s okay.

Me: That’s what scares me. I’m tired of loving people who decide they’re done with me.

Lenny: You only miss all the shots you don’t take in life, Lu, you know that.

He was trying.

And Lenny did have a point.

But…

But.

* * *

I was going to blame sleeping like shit the night before on why I finally lost it the next morning.

I could blame the letter I’d found in the mail the night before on why I hadn’t been able to sleep. The letter I had read and reread a dozen times. Knowing I would end up reading it a dozen more. I had slept with it on the nightstand.

Dear Luna,

I want to tell you that I’m sorry, but that feels like a cop-out now. But I am sorry. I’m so, so sorry for everything. I’ve wanted to call you, but I don’t think I can handle hearing you being all decent after what a bitch I’ve been lately.

I didn’t mean for you to find out about Dad the way you did, okay? He called me right after he got out of jail and kept calling me every once in a while for years after that, and I never answered, until one day I finally did. I was having a bad day, and I answered intending to tell him off… I yelled at him, I asked him why he’d been such an asshole my entire life. I spent at least ten minutes screaming at him, and he took it all. He apologized, Luna. He told me how sorry he was, how unhappy he’d been and how much he regretted how things had worked out. He said he was sober and was trying to make amends for the things he’d done.

If it makes you feel better, I hung up on him that first day after all that. He called again a few days later, and I was a bitch then too. But he kept on calling, and I kept answering.

I know that’s not an excuse or really even an explanation, but that’s how it happened. Please don’t get more mad than you already are, but he isn’t so bad. He’s changed a lot. He asks about everyone. (Yes, including you.) (But mostly me, Kyra, and Lily, but I’m sure you already know that. I just don’t want to lie to you anymore.)

I’ve asked him not to call you again so you know. I know you won’t ever forgive him, and I get it, but I guess I was just worried you would make me choose between you or him. Kyra and I both thought the same thing. If it makes you feel any better, my boyfriend thinks I’m an idiot and says I deserve you shutting me out of your life now. But I hope you don’t. I hope one day you can forgive me.

If you’re still reading this, you should know how bad I still feel about the night you came over. I’m sorry doesn’t cut it, but I am. I’m sorry for so many things I don’t know where to start.