Page 152 of Only After We Met
I love you, Rhys. So much.
Part 6
Destruction. Ruins. Solitude.
“A sheep—if it eats little bushes, does it eat flowers too?”
The Little Prince
90
From: Rhys Baker
To: Ginger Davies
Subject: Even if you don’t read this
I know it’s been months since you’ve read an email from me, but I still wanted to write you. Maybe you do read my messages. Maybe my emails don’t go straight to spam the way my calls go straight to voicemail. Ginger, I know I fucked up, I do, but I miss you. I’ve fucked up lots of times, honestly. It scares me to think of all the times you’ve forgiven me over the years.
You were the best thing in my life.
From: Rhys Baker
To: Ginger Davies
Subject: Even if you don’t read this
What’s up, Ginger? Are you still mad? Hasn’t enough time passed? That’s what you said, that you needed some time. Well,let’s go. Everything can go back to how it was now. And I’m happy… Honestly, I’m happy to hear about the baby. For you. I know you wanted that. How far along are you? Five months, six?
My album came out this week, and I’m… I don’t know what I’m feeling. Fucked up. Euphoric. Honestly, it’s the same euphoria as when I’m high. But whatever. Ginger, who am I supposed to talk to about the things that really matter if you aren’t here?
From: Rhys Baker
To: Ginger Davies
Subject: Even if you don’t read this
Happy birthday, Ginger Snap. I hope you’re well.
From: Rhys Baker
To: Ginger Davies
Subject: Even if you don’t read this
Honestly, though, it’s still hard for me to believe you’re going to be a mother. It’s strange to imagine. At the same time, I can just see you holding a baby in your arms and leaning your cheek against his (or hers), and the picture is almost real.
From: Rhys Baker
To: Ginger Davies
Subject: Even if you don’t read this
How’s your new year? Good, I guess. Probably you’ve got ahuge belly and you’re smiling. I can’t stop thinking about it, Ginger. I can’t. It’s not because I’m drunk right now; it’s because I hit a wall months ago, and I still haven’t gotten better. Everything’s so crazy. There was a moment when I wished the baby was mine. I keep seeing pregnant women on the street—have they always been there? Were there so many huge bellies before? I don’t remember that. And children. Children crying everywhere. I don’t know, Ginger. Maybe I need another drink. What if I’ve been wrong my whole life? What if I still have no fucking idea who I am, what I’m looking for, or what I want? I’m tired of feeling like this. So tired.
From: Rhys Baker
To: Ginger Davies