Page 102 of Only After We Met
Subject: RE: Being in love
Then no, I’m not in love. Not with her.
52
Rhys
Looks. Words. Moments.
Three things that can change everything.
There are moments that should disappear, that you regret so much, you wish you could go back in time and change them, erase the looks full of bitterness, drown out the cutting words, the ones that wound you, that tear into you at the roots.
Who would we be without roots? How would we remain grounded on the earth? What would happen when the wind blew and shook us and there was nothing familiar to grab on to?
53
Ginger
She was so pretty…
Her hair was pulled up on top of her head with a few curls falling loose. Her makeup looked natural, her lipstick was dark, her eyes were full of happiness. Her dress was white, the bodice tight—it fit her like a glove. When she reached the altar, Dean extended his hand, and she took it, smiling nervously.
I could hear people in the audience sighing.
Years ago, I thought I’d be standing where Stella was. Across from Dean, looking into his eyes in front of our families, waiting for the moment when we’d exchange our vows and celebrate at the banquet.
It’s funny how life changes. I think I’m on a straight path, and suddenly the ground crumbles, cracks open up, and I can’t keep going. I make decisions, and they move me from one place to another. I guess in the end, it’s just circumstances that pile up. And that was why Stella was there in a wedding dress instead of me, and a part of me felt happy, because there was no sense in trying to imagine things could have gone differently. But another…a darkerpart of me, harder to grasp, kept crying about all the plans I’d made as a girl, a teenager, that had progressively fallen apart, and I could do nothing about it.
No matter how hard I had tried, even if things had gotten a little better, I still hadn’t been happy. I’d thought everything would be different. I’d finish school, be happy at the family company, feel fulfilled, marry Dean…all that. All that stuff I had just taken as a matter of course.
But instead I was standing there in a pale-yellow dress that made me look like an ugly piece of lemon pie. The wedding ceremony was sweet, simple, nice. I clapped when it was over, and they walked out of the church. Things between Dean and me had gotten better in the past few months, after that uncomfortable conversation in the kitchen at Christmas. The same went for my relationship with my coworkers. They included me in their plans. I went out with them for coffee. I even felt like I fit in once they stopped seeing me as a weirdo who was also the boss’s daughter. The funny thing, though, is that feeling more comfortable didn’t make me any happier with the job.
Maybe that was the real problem.
The one I was too scared to think about.
“Langoustines for the second course. Nice,” Donna said, smiling when we sat down at the table in the banquet hall. She passed me the menu. “And mint mousse.”
“You’d think you haven’t eaten in years.”
“Look, there’s the bride and groom.” She cut me off.
Everyone around were all smiles as the bride and groom made their appearance, walking toward the table in the center. We weresitting nearby, with my parents and some cousins of the Wilsons. We enjoyed the menu while we chatted. Donna was especially animated. My mind, though, was elsewhere.
On Rhys, to be exact.
On him, and on the message I’d read that morning when I woke, where he was giving me encouragement to face the day, because he knew, even if I didn’t feel anything for Dean anymore, the moment meant something for me. In a weird way. Complicated. Like a revelation, realizing I no longer held the reins to my life.
He had made me smile a lot before I put on the yellow lemon-pie dress. Rhys had that gift. It didn’t matter if we drifted apart or there was tension between us because we didn’t agree on something; in the end, the waters always calmed, we reconnected, and we understood each other. All it took was a few emails.
At the moment, we were talking more than ever. About everything. The month before, he had ended whatever it was he had with Alexa and taken a unique opportunity to work the upcoming summer in Ibiza. He’d rented an apartment on the island to be able to settle in before the summer came and was spending his days composing music and writing to me. He seemed so happy that I wondered if he really liked that creative, solitary part better than the performances that came afterward and that were supposedly the point.
“Earth to Ginger,” my mother said.
“Sorry, I was…”
“On the moon, as always,” she said, not aware that she was right, that I was more on the moon than ever. “We were just saying Stella’s dress is simply precious.”