Magical Spice - Part Ten
This episode is part of a larger story, Soft Touch. If you haven’t yet, you can go back and read it from the beginning right here.
I stopped by Angie’s clinic this morning to introduce her to Eddie, and to introduce Eddie to any medications or treatments he might need as a newborn stray. Angie’s introduction to Eddie was a lovefest, of course, but the introduction of Eddie to a veterinary examination was - not as smooth. He doesn’t mind sharing his feelings, at the top of his tiny lungs. Clearly he’s got strong opinions on many things, despite only being a few days old, and he absolutely insists on making them heard.
The good news is that he’s been pronounced healthy, just undernourished and underloved. He’s already gotten some full meals, so now I’m on my way to take care of the other thing.
It’s such a short walk to Raj and Ripley’s workshop that I leave my car at the flower shop after my early-morning shift. I head out on foot with Eddie cradled in my hands, taking my time, appreciating the beautiful Ketterbridge morning. The sunlight makes the colorful walls of the buildings more vivid, crowns the green tops of the trees with soft, glowing gold, and makes shining edges on the rosy clouds.
Just before the turn onto Ripley’s street, I spot Ralph standing at the corner on the other side of the crosswalk. He’s half-hidden in the shade of a vine maple, turned away from me, talking to someone.
I reach him about the same time that Noah does, although Noah was coming from the opposite direction. Ralph is saying something to him, and I just catch the end of it.
“-supposed to actually slow the car down before you park it, Noosh.”
“Says who?”
“Everyone. Everyone says that.”
“Don’t worry about my driving, man. Bet you I could drive the route from Sorcerer without slowing down once.”
“Okay, what about that movie made you want to drive a route like that? Pretty sure Sorcerer is about the unthinkable things men are willing to do out of desperation. It’s not supposed to be about having fun. Also, most of the guys involved exploded.”
“Well, yeah,” Noah graciously concedes. “But the only thing more badass than driving fast is driving fast with a bunch of explosives on board. Pretty sure the point of the movie is you can do it, if you’re good enough.”
Ralph lets out an agonized little noise, grasping a fistful of his own hair as he takes in the manic smile in Noah’s grey eyes.
“Do you want me to have a heart attack worrying about you, Noosh? Shit’s gonna kill me.”
“Says the Warlord,” Noah sputters defensively, and then, pointing an accusatory finger in Ralph’s face, ”I’ll probably die from worrying too hard about you!”
“And what were you and Tycho doing that made her so tired?” Ralph asks, swatting Noah’s finger aside. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about you mitigating the puppy energy burst, but she’s napping so hard that she drooled all over the floor.”
“We were wrestling, dude, duh!” Noah says brightly, breaking back into a dimpled grin. “Jamie and I were wrestling some digital gators, so I had to get some real wrestling out of my system.”
“You wrestled my not-even-one-year-old puppy, man?”
Noah pauses, a puzzled crease appearing between his eyebrows. “Are you supposed to wait for them to turn one before they can wrestle? I thought she had fun.”
“You two had so much fun that now she’s sleeping like she’s dead, and that shit makes me nervous. I keep waking her up every couple minutes to make sure she’s okay. Look at this.” Ralph holds out his phone, then aggressively stabs a finger at the picture he’s showing Noah. “Look at her. Dead.”
Noah slaps his shoulder encouragingly. “This is good prep for when you have a baby. Get used to that type of worrying. Shit’s pretty much nonstop, in my experience.”
Ralph lets out a heavy, aggrieved sigh as he slips his phone back into his pocket. “So long as you promise not to wrestle my baby, we’ll be fine.”
“Are you supposed to wait for the babies to turn one, too?” Noah breathes out a frustrated exhale, looking a little harassed. “So many rules nobody tells you about, man. How are you even supposed to know? Somebody should write it all down somewhere, like in the - the - Magnus - Con… no, I know it’s not condom, that’s Magnum, but I’m blanking on the… What’s the other half?”
“Jesus,” Ralph whispers beneath his breath, staring at Noah in amazement. “Okay. Um. I think you’re trying to say Magna Carta, but if you are, then - that’s not what you think it is. Kinda the opposite, actually, that shit was all about rights and freedoms.”
“Which one is the big book of rules?”
“There are lots of different big books of rules.”
“Mmm.” Noah thinks about that for a second, then shrugs his shoulders, knotting his hair up into a bun. “Then I can’t really be bothered, dude. Fuck all of them.”
“Right on. Except the one with the rule that says no wrestling my baby.”
“Have the baby, then we’ll talk.”
“We’ll talk about it right now,” Ralph growls, pointing a warning finger in Noah’s face. “If you-”
“What? You’ll fight me?” Noah’s grey eyes light up. He rocks on his combat boots, rolling out his neck. “Bring it on, man. I’m still ready to wrestle. Your puppy wasn’t too much of a challenge, if I’m being honest.”
Ralph’s blonde eyebrows shoot up. “Was that supposed to be a brag? That you defeated my puppy? She’s a little below your weight class, don’t you think?”
“Took down the Warlord’s wolf. Add that one to my resume.”
“Ohhhhhh, okay. See, now you’re trying to get me to kick-”
“Hey, guys!” I interrupt brightly, spreading my hand in a wave. “Isn’t it a pretty morning? Oh - your hair looks really nice today, Ralph!”
Ralph and Noah both stop and look at me, apparently surprised to find me there.
“And you found such a nice vine maple!” I tell them enthusiastically, gazing up at the graceful, outspreading branches. “So pretty in the summer, isn’t it? I want to take a picture - here, Ralph, can you take this for a sec?”
Ralph automatically holds out his hand to accept what I’m handing him, then blinks in confusion when I place Eddie on his palm.
“Oh, shit!” Noah gasps, his silver eyes widening in delight. He leans down to beam into Eddie’s tiny face. “Hey, little guy! Aw, man, he’s so small, look at him!”
Ralph is too busy glaring at me in exasperation as I pull out my phone and snap a few shots of the vine maple. He mechanically, distractedly starts stroking Eddie’s soft little forehead with his thumb. Eddie closes his eyes blissfully, settling down in Ralph’s fingers.
“Keane,” Ralph growls. “We’re in the middle of something, here. You can’t just stroll in and hand me a kitten-”
I lower my phone, framing Ralph in the camera view. “Ralph, hold still. I’m gonna get you in the picture.”
He draws back in alarm. “What? Why?”
“Wow, what sort of response is that? I’m doing you a favor, here. I’m gonna text the picture to Calla.”
Ralph widens his eyes at me, as if I just said something remarkably stupid. “How is that a favor?”
“Since, you know. It’ll look cute with the kitten, and your hair looks nice today.”
Ralph stares at me blankly, then runs his free hand over his eyes and scrunches his face up, looking like he’s trying to decide if I’m worth the time it would take to kick my ass.
“Jamie, I don’t know what in the goddamn hell you’re talking ab-”
“He’s right, man,” Noah says encouragingly, nudging Ralph’s elbow. “Your hair looks special good.”
“I - really?” Ralph glances over at Noah in surprise, then touches a hand to his blonde hair, taken aback. “Wonder what I did different today? Shit. Should’ve paid more attention.”
“Think it’s just a good length right now, maybe?”
“Okay, well, whatever it is-” I hold up my phone again. “Smile, Ralph!”
Ralph looks at me in alarm, acutely uncomfortable. “What?”
“Yeah, no, don’t do that,” Noah laughs. “Calla would think someone had a gun to your back.”
“I’d take that over a camera aimed at my face,” Ralph groans. “The gun to my back I’d know how to deal with.”
It makes for a funny sort of cuteness, Ralph’s dark scowl with Eddie so adorably, peacefully balled up in his hands. I snap the picture, then lower my phone, fighting down a laugh as I take stock of the finished product.
“Oh, it’s perfect. Sending to Calla, and… sent. You’re welcome, Ralph.”
“Did I lose all my cognitive abilities somewhere between here and the car?” Ralph sputters, turning to Noah. “Nothing anybody is saying is making any sense to me.”
“Are you talking about the baby wrestling, or Jamie’s thing? ‘Cause they both make perfect sense. I can explain. Also I doubt you lost all your combative abilities between here and the car, bro. How would that happen? You can just say combat abilities, by the way.”
“No, not - I-” Ralph struggles for words, then drops his head. He runs a helpless hand over his eyes, battling back a laugh. “Jesus Christ, can we please just get to the workshop?”
“Sure! We have to get the kitten to Ripley, anyways.”
“Yeah, before Noah tries to wrestle it,” Ralph mutters, then blinks in surprise when both Noah and I laugh. He hands Eddie back to me as we all set off up the block together. “Wonder if Ripley’s up yet. He’s been sleeping in really late.”
Noah lets out an affectionate laugh, catching Ralph’s eye. “Just like we did once we were finally out of school.”
“Yeah, but I’m starting to wonder what he’s been up to all night that he’s routinely asleep ‘til 1 PM the next day. Haven’t seen any new guerilla art around lately, not while he and Raj have been busy setting up shop. So it’s not that.”
“Probably just exhausted from getting everything set up?” I suggest, as we approach the workshop. “I’m sure it’s been a ton of work.”
“Nah, can’t be because of that, at least not completely,” Noah says firmly. “Ripples has got the mischief in him, and you can tell when he’s been acting on it. He’s been looking too happy for it to just be about work.”
“Then I don’t know what-”
I break off, hastily pulling back the hand I had reached out for the door of the workshop. It just opened from inside. Noah, Ralph, and I all freeze in surprise as someone steps outside, blinking drowsily in the golden sunshine.
Alix pauses when she sees us, then rubs her eyes, waking up some more. Her hair is knotted into a messy topknot, with a few long locks escaping. Her clothes are rumpled, and only traces of makeup are left on her face.
“Oh - hey, you guys!” She smiles around a little yawn, shifting her purse on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’d stay to chat, but Gabby just emailed me and asked for my help on some complicated assignment!”
Alix looks pretty glowingly happy, considering she’s being pulled into work for something complicated. Evidently that’s not enough to bring her down. She’s smiling with her whole face, even half awake as she is.
“I really need to get home and shower,” she adds. “The shower here kind of explodes when you turn it on? And sometimes it rains down water on the first floor, waterfall style. Ripley and I can’t even figure out how or why.”
Noah bites his pierced lip as Ralph and I both glance at him.
“Um - well, we’ll let you get to it,” I answer, shifting Eddie into one hand so I can give Alix a wave. “Good luck with your assignment! Say hi to Gabby for us!”
“Thanks, I will!” she calls over her shoulder, already hurrying off down the sidewalk towards her car.
We watch her go, then all look at each other again.
“Well, there’s our answer,” Noah snickers.
“Ripples!” I laugh. “Wow. Get after it, stud.”
“Oh, my god,” Ralph groans. “Alright, well, he’s still gotta get up before afternoon on most days if he’s gonna run this place like a business. I know he’s taking a little summer break, but he’s gotta start doing the stuff I told him to do.”
“Oh, I’ve got the perfect thing to fix his sleep schedule!” I hold up Eddie, affectionately thumbing his ear. “Did you wake me up at 7 AM this morning for no good reason at all?”
Eddie mews with his whole body, as if to inform me that there were many reasons, and all of them were perfectly justified.
“That’ll do it,” Noah laughs. “Of course Jamie already had a solution locked and loaded.”
I glance between Ralph and Noah, lifting an eyebrow. “So you guys are concerned about Ripley’s sleep schedule, but not about the guy who supposedly wants to fight him?”
“Does Ripley seem worried?” Ralph asks, reaching out to scratch Eddie’s chin with his fingertip.
“No, but you know him! He never really gets worried about things like this, he always thinks it’s funny. I’m just saying, what if that guy was serious about-?”
I stop in confusion as a guy comes storming across the street, stops outside of the workshop door, and hammers his fist against it.
“MCKAY!” he roars, at a volume that makes me take a startled step back. “GET OUT HERE!”
Noah leans his shoulder against the wall, folding his tattooed arms over his chest. “You must be Tristan, right?”
Tristan looks over at us like he just noticed that we’re standing here.
He looks about Ripley’s age. He has a square jaw, big, cognac-colored eyes, and full, pouty lips turned down in a scowl. Based on his build, I’d guess he played some kind of contact sport in high school.
He looks extremely out of place in front of the rough background of the workshop, given his neat white button-up shirt and his khakis. The only thing is that his dark brown hair is in wild disorder, like Ripley’s tends to be. His tawny cheeks are flushed scarlet with anger. And his collar is undone, as if he wrenched the topmost button open.
I guess he must have a little chaos in him, to be here at ten in the morning trying to fight Ripley in the street.
“Who are you?” he snaps.
“Ripley’s brother,” Noah answers calmly, with an unfriendly smile.
“I’m his brother,” Ralph says, with a nod at Noah.
“And I’m - here to drop off a kitten,” I add nervously.
Tristan considers us with an irritated glare on his face, then turns back to the door and starts pounding on it again, shaking it in the doorframe.
“MCKAY! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE! GET THE FUCK DOWN HERE!”
Noah raises a pierced eyebrow at Tristan. “You’re not worried about us at all, huh?”
“No.” Tristan casts him a very fast, annoyed look. “He wouldn’t call in his brothers to gang up on me. He’s not a coward.”
This strikes me as an extremely surprising statement from Ripley’s supposed long-time enemy. Based on Ralph and Noah’s expressions, they think so too, but the workshop door opens again before any of us can answer.
Ripley stops on the threshold and leans outside, his green curls all in a tumble. He looks half-asleep, but already amused, with a crowbar held loosely in one paint-stained hand. He’s got a rippy t-shirt in the other hand that says JELLO BIAFRA FOR MAYOR, which he’s halfway through pulling down over his binder. He shakes his hair out of his face when he’s done, squinting in the sunlight.
“What’s goin’ on-?” he begins drowsily, then stops when he catches sight of Tristan, standing there with his fists balled up at his sides. Ripley rubs his sleepy eyes, blinks them a few times, then lets out a disbelieving laugh. “No fucking way. You actually came here to fight me, dude? Shit, I didn’t think you really meant it.”
I wince a little, anxiously hugging Eddie to my chest. My fear about Ripley’s fearlessness is that it annoys the hell out of the people who try to make him afraid, especially because their attempts usually make him laugh. I’m not surprised at all that Tristan’s fists instantly curl up tighter, his face reddening with anger.
“Today,” he says heatedly, stabbing a finger at Ripley’s face. And then, stabbing a finger at the ground, “Right now.”
Ripley arches an eyebrow, his mouth turned up with silent, inward laughter. He seems to decide the crowbar isn’t necessary, because he tosses it aside into the workshop, where it lands with a sharp clatter. He lets the door swing shut as he comes out onto the sidewalk, the amusement showing itself plainly in his green eyes.
“Why are you after me all of a sudden, Hennessey? I thought we had an unspoken agreement of mutual hate from a distance.”
“Because I’ve had enough!” Tristan snaps, about to start levitating with anger.
Ripley draws back, for the first time looking thrown off. “Enough of what?”
“Of you fucking with me, McKay!”
Ripley puts his hands loosely on his hips, his eyebrows furrowing. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Tristan looks closer to snapping with every passing second. “Yes you fucking do! Clearly you want a fight with me, so here I am!”
“Are you s-? You’re the one picking a fight with me!” Ripley’s green eyes narrow in gathering annoyance. “You’re the one who started this shit in the first place!”
Tristan’s eyebrows fly up. “Me? I started this?”
Ripley spreads his colorful hands incredulously. “I could never even figure out what I ever did to you, we had never even talked! But don’t think I failed to notice when you happened to decide that you hate me!”
“Why would I think that? You know damn well when I decided I hate you!”
All traces of laughter evaporate from Ripley’s expression, which grows hard as it gets.
“Wow, so it’s like that, huh?” he hisses, taking a step closer to Tristan. “You know, I don’t know why, but I was really hoping you weren’t that particular type of brainwashed square. But if that’s your problem with me, then sure, I’m ready, we can go right n-”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Tristan cuts in, now looking as confused as he is angry. “I mean when you started flirting with Alix all the time!”
Ripley stops, then stares at Tristan blankly for a long moment.
“When - what?” he finally sputters.
“Yeah, and then you started dating her?” Tristan stares daggers at Ripley, shifting on his feet like he’s resisting the urge to kick him. “What the fuck, McKay! You went against the code, everyone knew that I liked her, I basically called dibs!”
Ripley draws his head back sharply, incredulous again. “When?”
“Don’t fuck around, you remember! It was in the locker room, end of junior year. Everybody heard me, so I know you did too.”
“In the-? In the boy’s locker room?” Ripley widens his eyes at Tristan. “I wasn’t there, obviously!”
“Why wouldn’t you have been there, man? It was after the beach field trip, when we were all getting changed, literally every guy in our grade was crammed in there-”
“Except for me, because I was in the girl’s locker room,” Ripley finishes for him, clearly baffled.
Tristan is seriously taken aback by this. His eyes get very round, blinking very fast.
“Dude!” he says reproachfully, dropping his voice to a scandalized hush. “You can’t do that, we’re not allowed in there!”
Ripley stares at Tristan in blank confusion. “It was junior year, man. I wasn’t out yet.”
Tristan opens his mouth to answer, then stops abruptly as the light breaks on him.
“Oh,” he murmurs, more slowly. “That’s right, you - I forgot about - well - then - no, but someone must have told you, when you started flirting with her. One of the guys-”
“I didn’t have a single guy friend at that school, dude,” Ripley cuts in.
Tristan stops, taken aback again. “What - not one?”
Ripley shakes his head. “No.”
Tristan looks startled, then a little bummed out, and then a little confused. Ripley looks thrown off, too. He shakes his curls out of his face again, searching Tristan’s face with baffled green eyes.
“Look, you can’t just call dibs on a girl, anyways, alright? Alix can date whoever she-”
“It wasn’t exactly dibs, I just-” Tristan swipes a hand at him in frustration. “Everyone knew I was gonna ask her out!”
Ripley spreads his fingers in disbelief. “It’s been since junior year, and you still didn’t make your move yet?”
“I - was - trying to be respectful, or - you can fuck it up if you move too fast!” Tristan blushes, then gives himself an angry shake, glaring at Ripley again. “It doesn’t matter! I’m over it! She’s yours, okay? But why are you still fucking with me? You just trying to rub it in?”
“What - how am I fucking with you?” Ripley protests indignantly. “I never even knew you liked Alix!”
“I’m not talking about that! I’m talking about you painting over my tags!”
Ripley’s eyebrows fly up, his eyes going very wide again. “Wait, what the shit? Your tags? Those were your tags? You’re Wreckage?”
“Yeah, nice to meet you, Transgressive.” Tristan’s eyes blaze with exasperation when Ripley stares at him in thunderstruck silence. “You’re really gonna pretend you didn’t know who I was? Fucking comedy, homie.”
“I’m serious!” Ripley shakes his head, dazed. “How did you even know it was me painting over them?”
“I recognize your style, dude! I actually thought your work was pretty kickass, before you-” Tristan cuts himself off, suddenly looking a little crestfallen. “Why the fuck did you have to go and start fucking with mine?”
“I didn’t paint over any of your art, man, only your tags, and I had no goddamn idea they were yours!” Ripley sputters, his sincerity showing itself in his voice, in his startled eyes.
Tristan stops, increasingly lost. “Then why are you painting them over? What the fuck, man? Do you just - gotta be better than me at everything I try to do?”
“What? No, dude!” Ripley looks bowled over. “I didn’t know whose tags those were! That’s why I painted over them, because I was trying to lure you out!”
Tristan draws back sharply, bewildered. “Lure me out, why?”
“So I could talk to you!” Ripley gestures violently to the workshop behind him. “I’m trying to get an artist’s workshop off the ground, here! I’m a fan of your work, so I wanted to talk to you about it!”
Tristan stares at him in wide-eyed disbelief.
“No…” he answers suspiciously, after a long moment. “I'm not gonna let you confuse me. We're going, so let's go.”
And he throws a punch at Ripley.
Ripley drops out of the way reflexively, with startling speed - a move straight out of Noah's playbook - then takes a swift step back as he straightens up, his green eyes going very wide.
He lets out a startled laugh, then seems to think better of that and quickly bites his lip. “Seriously, Hennessey?”
“Yes!” Tristan snaps.
He takes another jab at Ripley, a fake-out punch that he draws back very fast to throw another one. Ripley isn’t fooled, though. He somehow manages to catch the punch in his hand, uses it to shove Tristan a few steps back.
“No, man, listen to me!” Ripley leans out of the way of another swing, then throws his hands up in surrender. “I’m serious, Tristan! I think your work is fuckin’ rad, I - I wanted to see if you’d do a board and put it up for sale in the workshop, when it opens! That’s why I was trying to draw you out! I’ve been spending every night staking out the places where I painted over your tags, waiting for you, but you haven’t shown! At least not while I was there!”
Tristan stops, staring at Ripley with perfectly round eyes.
“Are you - for real?” he pants, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Yes!” Ripley is panting, too, and clearly trying not to laugh again. “I’ve noticed your street art, it’s weird and depraved and fucked up and punk, and kind of perverted, sometimes! We’re huge fans of that around here! Seriously, if your art was music, you’d be shreddin’ it!”
“Oh.” Tristan blinks hard, thrown completely off. “I - oh.”
He hesitates, obviously pleased, struggling to get his expression under control.
“Didn’t know you had it in you,” Ripley adds, slowly lowering his hands. “Although now that I’m thinking about it, you won the Latte Art Throwdown last summer when you worked at Mugshot, didn’t you?”
“That was not representative of my work,” Tristan growls.
“I didn’t even know you do art.”
“Not a lot of people do…” Tristan blows out a frustrated breath. “Who the hell can I show it to? Haven’t you seen it? People are gonna think I’m fucked up in the head.”
Ripley gives his shoulders a concessionary shrug. “Yeah, and they’d be right, but we welcome that around here.”
Tristan pauses uncertainly, then narrows his eyes at Ripley. “What do you mean, do a board and put it up for sale? What kind of board?”
“A surfboard, or a skateboard, whatever you want. My friend Raj is the other owner of the workshop, he makes the boards. All you’d have to do is paint one.”
Tristan absorbs that in silence for a minute.
He hesitates, glances at the workshop, and looks back at Ripley. “Well I - guess - you were gonna make that offer before you knew it was me.”
He’s got a vaguely questioning expression in his eyes. Ripley blinks a few times, then heaves out an enormous sigh, twisting one of the studs in his ear as he thinks it over.
“Fucking - goddamnit. Is it worth it, to have Wreckage on the roster…?” He tilts his head back, screwing up his face. “Ugh, whatever. The offer’s still good, if you want to talk about it more.”
Tristan starts to break into a startled smile, then stops when Ripley adds: “And if it wouldn’t make you feel weird that Alix is gonna be around.”
“I told you I’m over it!” Tristan snaps. He spins on his heel and sets off down the sidewalk, talking over his shoulder. “I’ve got my own girlfriend now, matter of fact!”
Ripley’s eyes fill with laughter again. “Oh, really? When’d you start working on asking her out, fifteen years ago?”
“She asked me out, actually, so I didn’t have to work on anything but my art! Which is good news for you, McKay, since you need boards for your bullshit workshop!”
“Maybe I’ll name it The Bullshit Workshop, just to spite you!” Ripley shouts after him.
“No,” Ralph says firmly. “No. No.”
“Alright, my business man says no, but watch yourself, Hennessey, or I’ll start regretting I didn’t take my chance to punch you!”
“I already regret not taking my chance to punch you!” Tristan shouts back, from the other side of the street. “Message me about what I need to do for the board, asshole!”
“Yeah, I will, fuckface!”
The conversation is steadily rising in volume, because Tristan is actively storming off down the sidewalk as it goes on.
“How’d you get that weathered book cover texture on that one piece, by the way?” he practically roars at Ripley. “Crackle finish?”
Ripley has to match his volume to be heard, although he throws his arms out wide like this is absolutely ridiculous. “Yeah, and sanding disks to roughen it up, and an ink blower to make the stains!”
Tristan is getting too far away to be heard clearly, and his shouting voice trails off as he storms around the corner, so all we hear is:
“Oh, an ink blower? Well, that’s fitting, because you blow! I’ll message y…”
Ripley watches him go with his eyebrows arched all the way up. His lip is caught between his teeth, and I can tell from his eyes that he’s suppressing a laugh.
He turns to face me, Noah, and Ralph, planting his hands on his hips.
“Hey, what are you guys doing here? Why does Jamie have a - oh, oh my god!” Ripley leans down to be eye-level with Eddie, absolutely beaming. “Who is this? Please tell me he’s hanging out with us today. Hey, you!”
Eddie rouses himself to gaze curiously up at Ripley, who lets out a little whimper and presses his fist to his chest when he gets a look at those adorable eyes.
“Cute, isn’t he?” I laugh weakly, overwhelmed with relief, struggling to pull myself back together.
Noah is grinning proudly at Ripley, and Ralph looks like he’s trying not to laugh.
“His name is Eddie,” I tell Ripley.
“Eddie?” Ripley’s eyes flit to my face in surprise. “After Eddie Aikau?”
That thought hadn’t actually occurred to me, but the instant Ripley says it I’m sure that’s what Raj had in mind, so - “Yeah.”
“Aw!” Ripley gently cuffs one of his soft little ears. “He’s gonna feel right at home in our surfboard shop, then. Come on in, little man.”
I automatically hand Eddie over to Ripley, who smiles down at him as he carries him into the workshop. “Where’d you find him, Jamie? Was he outside?”
“No. I’m sorry, are we just gonna breeze right past everything that just happened?”
“What happened is I forgot that Ripley does everything his own damn way,” Ralph laughs, reaching over to mess up his green curls. “Shouldn’t have worried. He’s following the business plan I wrote out.”
“Your hair looks good today, Ralph,” Ripley observes.
He freezes in bewilderment when Ralph instantly lets out a strained little whimper.
“Could everyone just shut the fuck up, already?” Ralph says forcefully, looking anxious and bewildered. “What is this, like, everyone’s saying all these nice - you fuckers are making me nervous! Nobody ever say anything about my hair ever again, alright? Enough!”
“Wow, you’re awful at taking compliments, dude,” Ripley laughs, staring at Ralph in amazement. “Like, impressively bad. It’s kinda great. Remind me to do that more often.”
“No.”
“Hang on, I’m sorry-” I shoot Ralph a disbelieving glance. “That was Ripley following the business plan you wrote?”
“Yes,” Ralph says, with fond exasperation. “Should’ve known he’d do it in his own style.”
Ripley shifts Eddie into one hand so he can pick up a stapled sheaf of papers on the floor. He holds it out to show me and Noah, then points to the first in a list of typed-out instructions.
Step One: Recruit a few more artists.
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