Chapter 39 – pippa
PIPPA
When I make the mistake of wiggling my feet under my purple blanket, Waffle pounces.
“Stop it!” I scold. “You’re going to put a hole in the air mattress.”
I guess Waffle isn’t too concerned with the only piece of so-called furniture in the new apartment, because she immediately starts making biscuits on the blanket. I shake my head as her claws disappear into the purple fluff.
“When we’re both sleeping on the hardwood floor tonight, you’re going to regret that,” I warn. My words sound echoey in the mostly empty apartment.
The echo makes the place feel even colder. Pathetic as it is, I miss Ryan’s living room—the worn couch, the way his fireplace made the whole place glow like a Christmas card, especially when it was snowing out the tall windows by the kitchen.
After Ryan left to run some errands, I snuck out with Waffle, her carrier, and a go-bag of the essentials to hole up in my new place for a few nights.
Yeah, I know, I took the cowardly path, leaving without saying goodbye, but it was an unfortunate necessity.
If Ryan had tried to even kiss me again, I probably would have caved and begged him to let me stay forever.
No, some space from him was definitely the only option on the menu.
At least the new apartment is just as beautiful as it looked in the pictures, and without any furniture to speak of, it feels gigantic. Waffle has been loving all the open space to do zoomies in, plus sitting by the big windows overlooking the garden outside, because gardens equal plenty of birds.
Sometimes, though, Waffle goes out in the hallway and meows, like she’s waiting for Ryan to come down the hall so she can wind herself around his ankles. It breaks my heart a little every time, but I need some distance from Ryan if I’m going to process everything that’s happened.
I’m deciding whether to keep reading my book in bed or open my laptop and get some work done when Mom’s name pops up on my phone. My first instinct is to ignore it, but I didn’t answer her last dozen or so calls, and I owe her. I take a fortifying deep breath before I answer.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetie! How are you doing?” she asks brightly.
My brow furrows. I expected her to lay into me about the articles and everything that happened with Ryan. Instead, she sounds casual—normal. Like nothing happened.
“I’m doing okay?” I reply awkwardly.
“And how’s the new apartment?”
I glance around at my bedroom, empty except for a single-standing light and my open suitcase. The built-in bookshelves are completely empty. “It’s good. There’s a lot I have to get for it—curtains and stuff.
“Let me know if you want me to take you shopping for some things. We could go to Pottery Barn and pick out a few things.”
“That’s sweet, Mom, but I think Target might be more in my budget.”
“Well, maybe I could help out a little. You deserve some nice furniture.”
My brain skips for a second. This is a first. Mom has always made a point of not offering to pay for pricey things since she married into Jack’s money.
I don't know what made her offer to take me on a shopping spree all of a sudden. And she still hasn’t brought up Ryan.
I’m starting to wonder if she missed reading any articles about us altogether.
“So, sweetie?” Mom prompts me. “Should we go to Pottery Barn this weekend? Saturday, maybe?”
“Sure. That sounds nice.”
She pauses. “Do you want to talk about it, Pippa?”
I swallow. So she does know about Ryan. She just didn’t want to push, so I could process it in my own time without her influencing the outcome. Just like she did when she protected me from knowing about Dad’s gambling.
“Not yet,” I murmur. “Maybe one day but—not yet.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’m here if you change your mind, though.”
“I’ll see you Saturday, Mom. I have to go do some work now. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
When I hang up, my phone automatically shows me my last few calls—including twelve missed ones from Ryan. My finger hovers over his name. I know I have to call him back eventually, but I’m just not ready.
I pull my blanket over my head, enclosing myself in a little purple cave.
I just can’t stop replaying our last kiss over and over in my head.
I was naked, physically and emotionally.
Ryan must have known what it meant to me—that no matter what happens, he’s part of me.
He left a mark that can never be removed or cut away.
Maybe we’ll both be too cowardly to let this turn into something real, but that doesn’t change that I’ve been permanently changed by loving him.
I wish I could make the kiss mean the same thing to Ryan. It’s like my brain thinks that if it replays the kiss enough times, Ryan will magically want to tell me how he feels about me and beg me to be his girlfriend.
Unfortunately, my psychic powers have yet to appear.
My phone lights up with a new text, this time from people I actually feel ready to talk to. It’s mine, Cat, and Brinley’s new group chat.
Cat
How are you holding up?
Brinley
Yeah, how’s the new place? Do you need anything?
Empty and soulless, I think, but instead I type out something sunnier.
Pippa
It’s good. Big. It’ll be nicer once I get some furniture moved in.
Cat
Uh oh. That’s Pippa code for ‘I hate it.’ What’s up?
Brinley
Is it Ryan? Is he still bothering you?
My heart squeezes. That’s the thing, other than a couple missed calls, there’s nothing else. No voicemails. No text messages. He isn’t showing up at my door. And I shouldn’t be so fucking heartbroken about it because this is what I wanted…wasn’t it?
Some space to think?
Pippa
No. I’ve hardly heard from him.
Brinley
I’m still learning Pippa code, but I think this one means she’s upset about that fact?
Cat
Definitely.
Pippa
I’m fine.
Brinely
i’M fInE
That’s it, she needs an intervention. I’ll bring the wine.
Cat
I can be there in an hour.
Pippa
It’s okay, guys. I’m alright, really. I just need some time to think.
Cat
Can I just ask one thing?
This should be good. I brace myself and then reply with…
Pippa
Okay but just ONE.
Cat
Are you in love with him?
My skin prickles. She really went there.
For a second, I think I might not respond at all, but then my fingers are typing out a response, hovering over the send key…
And I delete it.
Cat
OH MY GOD.
I shake my head and laugh even though my eyes are burning like hell. Cat was always able to read the truth in my silence.
Brinley
Shit.
Cat
You do realize you’re basically the main character in one of those super smutty books you love, right?
Brinley
…the one where the writer falls for the biggest ‘player’ in poker. I did not see this one coming.
Pippa
Please stop narrating my life like a Belladona feature.
Cat
We’ll stop the second you stop pretending you don’t want to climb him like a Christmas tree and have his babies.
I snort and wipe the dampness from my eyes.
Brinley
I think you should watch this video. It was filmed right before Ryan came by the Copper Cup to get you some croissants and the books you had on hold. I can tell, because he had that bird poop on him. I wasn’t sure if I should send it to you before, but now I know you’re ready to hear it.
Icy guilt slithers down my spine. If Ryan was getting me books, it must have been before he found out I was gone. So while I was busy sneaking out of his apartment, Ryan was fetching me books and pastries. I wince.
Cat
Brinley
He also said a few things about your relationship that you should probably hear from him. Look, I wasn’t sure what to think of you guys as a couple at first—but now I think you might have really changed him.
My brow furrows. I don’t remember Brinley ever offering an opinion about my relationship with Ryan, but in general, she’s someone whose judgment I trust. With uncertainty, I open the video to see Ryan standing on the street with a microphone shoved in his face.
Even covered in bird poop, Ryan looks so handsome that my chest aches.
It’s only been a day, but I miss him enough that it hurts.
He’s squinting against the sun, answering some questions about poker and joking with the interviewer.
Charm drips from his pores, effortless and natural.
I don’t even focus on what he’s saying until I hear the word “stepsister.”
Shit, they’re asking him about me.
I drag the circle on the video bar back a few seconds so I can hear it.
“Something came up, and I had to cancel. Family stuff,” Ryan says.
“Anything to do with your stepsister?”
I can practically see the shield going up in Ryan’s eyes, an invisible barrier against an attack. It’s the same way he looks playing a tough poker opponent. “Isn’t the Toronto Tea your competitor, Marina? I’m surprised you’re giving their garbage article any air.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. Of course—he’s denying it. At least this time, he wasn’t so vicious about it, but it’s more proof that nothing has changed. I’m still not someone Ryan takes seriously enough to acknowledge.
They move on to talking about poker again, and I wonder if that’s all I was supposed to see. Until the woman interviewing Ryan says, “Well, then what are you scared of?”
“Losing her.”
The second Ryan says it, his expression shifts. He looks surprised, almost like somebody else just answered the question. Just as quickly, his lips firm into the crooked smile I know so well. The kind he has on right before he plays a winning hand.
“There’s only one woman I’ve ever loved, and the thought of losing her is fucking terrifying.”
I pause the video again, because my heart’s beating so fast that it scares me. Does he mean me? An insecure little voice in my head screams that he must be talking about some other woman. But how could he be, just days after we had that kiss?
Biting my lip, I press play to hear the rest of it.
“Not having her around to check me when I’m being annoying, or kick my ass in poker, or mess up my Sequel algorithm by watching The Vampire Diaries over and over. Losing her would be the worst thing that could ever happen to me.”
He means me. The person he’s describing, the one he loves, is obviously, definitely, undeniably me.
The room feels like it’s full of too much oxygen. I feel giddy, like I want to jump up and down and run in circles.
But the video’s not done yet. “Losing who?” Marina asks.
Ryan stares at the camera and I swear, he’s looking right at me. “She knows who she is. As for the rest of you…well, you can probably figure it out. It’s probably pretty fucking obvious.”
He winks and walks away. The camera follows him for a second before the interviewer turns it back on herself.
“Well, I guess that means the Toronto Tea got something right,” she says. “Sounds like he means Pippa Murphy, right? Unless you have any intel about the mystery woman, which you can leave in the comments below.”
I scroll down, giving the comments a brief skim. The top one reads, “I checked Pippa’s IG, and she follows half the Vampire Diaries cast. LOOKS LEGIT.”
Scrolling back up, I play the video again.
I rewind it a few times for good measure, replaying the part where Ryan says he’s scared of losing “the only woman he ever loved” about a dozen times.
Ryan might not have said my name, but he basically announced our relationship to the world. More than that—he said he loves me.
And I finally admit the truth I’ve been denying for weeks.
Jacob felt like a chance at the kind of simple, safe love I’m supposed to want.
Ryan feels like standing on the edge of a rooftop in the thunderstorm.
And I’m finally admitting the truth: I’d rather be terrified with him than comfortable with anyone else.
It’s time to make a declaration of my own.
Yanking open my laptop, I open a new document and let my fingers fly.
Math-minded readers might notice that it’s the 12th day of Christmas, and I haven’t been on twelve dates.
I’m sorry for violating the premise of this column.
I could blame the deadly stomach flu that wiped me out right after New Year’s, but the truth is, there was something much bigger standing between me and date number twelve.
Love. How cliché, right? Right when I decided to spread my wings and date all-new guys, I found love with a man I’ve known for almost half my life. It would be the plot of a Hallmark movie, if the way we met was a little more family-friendly.
Because make no mistake, I had a crush on this guy when I met him.
I was fourteen when I was informed that this adorable, handsome, shockingly cool guy would be living down the hall from me.
It was hel—–all my stupid teenage insecurities, my pimple patches and hormonal sobfests, my terrible haircuts and my goth phase, all witnessed by this stranger right out of a teen soap opera.
He was even my first kiss—which is a story for another column, but know that he was blindfolded.
But teen crushes die eventually, and I assumed that I had moved on. No way would I ever have real feelings for my stepbrother, right?
So falling in love with him felt like it came out of the blue.
Yet when I look back, it was easy to miss.
Love was so small. It was remembering how much I hate champagne and how much I love pink Gatorade.
It was making sure I got home okay, that my cat was fed, and that I was warm enough.
It was so many small things that I missed them, until they added up to something bigger.
It’s probably cocky to say “to know me is to love me.” But the man who’s always known me best loves me better than I could ever dream. And he wouldn’t mind if I got a little full of myself—in fact, he’d probably say that he deserves the best, which means me.
So this Christmas, my gift to you, readers, is the truth.
I’m in love with Ryan Archer.
You heard it here first. Yes, he’s my stepbrother. Yes, he’s dated plenty of women who aren’t me. And yes, the sex is fucking spectacular.
I’ll meet you in the forums, to discuss your most taboo relationships and see if you’ve got any that are more outrageous than mine. No judgment on my end. I know firsthand that what seems weird on the outside can feel not just normal, but right.
I review it a few times, just to make sure I stand behind the draft. There’s not one word I want to change, so I email it off to Ingrid with a note not to publish until tomorrow.
After I close my computer, I check my reflection in the mirror, making sure my lipstick is perfect and my hair isn’t too crazy.
“Watch after the place,” I instruct Waffle. “I might be back late.”
Grabbing my coat and purse, I leave my apartment and head home.