Page 168 of Only After We Met

She left the kitchen with her head held high. For the next few hours, I thought about what she said. As I took my hot shower, as I unpacked my bags, as I tried to get comfortable in my old room with all the memories those four walls had preserved.

I left my laptop on the bed, thinking I’d write Ginger to let her know I’d made it home, but I was too upset…

I rubbed my face and fell on the mattress.

It didn’t seem real that I had been a little child in this bed, which was now almost too small for me—my feet scraped the wooden frame at the bottom. It was funny to realize that places didn’t change, memory didn’t change, even events didn’t change—it was just us who did, molding ourselves, rising up, falling, turning into different people inside and out.

I lay there until my mother knocked to let me know I could go see him. Even then, I needed a moment to get up. Three minutes,maybe more. I didn’t think about anything as I moved through the house I knew so well, toward his office, where he was waiting for me. I guess he chose it because it was where he felt most powerful, most secure, his best version of himself. When I was little, he used to always tell me not to go in there, and I never listened; I’d scuttle through the door, sit on the floor under the dark-wood desk, and wait in silence for him to come and find me. He’d click his tongue, shake his head, decide he’d lost that battle, and let me stay, playing on the burgundy carpet while he tried to finish whatever work he’d brought home with him.

But now I didn’t want to go in.

I did though. I pushed the door, which was already half-open, and stepped inside. I thought at first the office was empty, but then I saw his slim, slouching figure in the wing chair next to the bookshelf.

It felt like a slap in the face to see him there.

To see…what looked like another person, but with his stare. His face was aged, his body weak and haggard, his hands trembling as they pushed onto the arms of his leather chair to try to stand.

I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t even move.

Not, at least, until I saw that he couldn’t stand. Then I walked toward him with my heart in my throat and my eyes burning, and I grabbed him around the waist to help him up. He weighed nothing. I let him go when I realized he could hold himself there, and we looked at each other. Just a few inches apart. For the first time in more than seven long years. An eternity. Or perhaps just the blink of an eye, depending on your perspective.

I had imagined that moment thousands of times. But it was always the same. We met, we talked, I threw back in his face whathe’d said to me, told him how much he’d hurt me, told him he’d never loved me, and we ended up shouting.

But nothing like that happened.

We just looked at each other.

And then the words emerged with no effort, as if I’d been meditating on them for years, as if they’d been there, caught in my throat, so deeply anchored inside me that they didn’t even surprise me when they emerged. And they were sincere.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

His eyes were gleaming.

“I’m sorry too.”

108

From: Ginger Davies

To: Rhys Baker

Subject: I hope you’re okay

I’m assuming you reached home yesterday. And that it must have been a hard day, tiring, what with the travel and all the mixed feelings… I hope everything went well, Rhys. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve had my fingers crossed all day. Write me when you can. And if you need to talk, you know where I am.

I’ve got tons of work at the publisher after my days out of town, but whatever, it was worth it. I think Leon misses your pool. Last night, he cried when I took him out of the tub, and he’d been there for half an hour. He loves water. Even more now, thanks to you. I need to sign him up for swimming lessons.

Kisses, Rhys. Take care.

From: Rhys Baker

To: Ginger Davies

Subject: I’m fine

I needed to find a calm moment to write you. It’s 2:00 a.m. here, and…everything’s fine, Ginger. Honestly. I still feel a little confused, there’s a lot here to take in, but it’s all gone easier than I’d imagined. You know that feeling when you’ve tossed something around in your head over and over and it just keeps getting bigger till you can’t even grasp it? Then it turns out to be almost nothing. I don’t know.

The important thing is that when I saw him…