Page 28 of Only After We Met

Sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever see each other again. Don’t pay attention to me; these are just dumb things I think about. All that studying has left me a little flighty, and my internal filter’s turned off, and no one will take away my laptop and throw it out the window before I finish the longest email in all of history.

Let’s talk about something more sensible though: you’ve got a job! Congratulations. It sounds amazing. I imagine you there with a mojito while you fill the whole area with music. I’m still waiting for you to send me one of your songs, BTW. No rush.

What else…? Oh, summer. I’m not thinking of doing anything special. I’ll go home and spend a few days with my family before we take our vacation in Glastonbury. It’s a small town in Somerset County. It’s big with people into mysticism and stuff.Like there’s all these myths and legends around it. In case you were wondering, no, I’m lucky enough to have a family that doesn’t believe in that stuff. That’s a relief, but I still feel like I’ll be writing you every ten minutes when they’re around, because I’ve gotten used to being on my own and doing my own thing since college, and I’m not sure how well I’ll handle the constant contact.

I hope after this gigantic email, you’ll write me one that’s at least half as long. I deserve it, I think. Tell me stuff, Rhys. And enjoy the sun for me.

From: Rhys Baker

To: Ginger Davies

Subject: Congratulations, Ginger Snap

I’m glad to know your period of seclusion in the library’s come to an end. I’m getting used to my routine at work. My coworkers and my boss are great. So is the ambience here. I work in the afternoon and evening, but I like the afternoon better. Seeing the sun come down while the music seems to permeate everything…then enjoying myself with everybody the rest of the night, waking up on the beach in the morning and hearing the sea…

As far as seeing each other again…

I think about it too. Who knows?

Maybe we’ll go on writing each other all our lives, but our paths will never cross. Or maybe we’ll meet in some little corner of the world. I still don’t know about your plan for getting on theFerris wheel. I think I’d have a panic attack, and you wouldn’t find me attractive anymore. I can’t risk that, Ginger.

I know what you mean about feeling like Paris never happened. But it did. I was lucky that day. BTW, can you get a ticket out of a machine yet? I’ve been wanting to ask you for months.

You haven’t heard from Dean?

What about Mr. Second Kisser?

Enjoy the summer. I was thinking about all the things you were telling me, and you know, it’s kind of nice that you’re traveling as a family. Like in the movies when all kinds of dumb, funny things happen. Have a good time. And write me as much as you want. I won’t get tired of reading your emails, Ginger.

From: Ginger Davies

To: Rhys Baker

Subject: I KNOW HOW TO BUY A TICKET

I guess you think you’re funny…

Of course I know how to buy a ticket! But the thing was in French, and the button for English wasn’t working. I don’t know why I’m bothering to explain this to you though; you’re probably cracking up laughing at me. If I ever convince you to come to London and get on the Ferris wheel, you can bet I’ll get my revenge laughing at you and watching all your manly charm melt away.

I’m glad you like your job. I don’t know about you sleeping on the beach though. You know the world is a dangerous place? So be careful. Don’t drink too much. I don’t want to actlike your mother, especially since I was puking my guts up just a few weeks ago, but… I worry about you.

Yeah, I had to do that project with Dean. I told you about that, didn’t I? It was uncomfortable at first, but in the end it was okay. I get the feeling he was trying harder than normal because he felt guilty. Great for me—I needed the A. We didn’t talk about anything personal, but I feel like I’ll see him again this summer. Probably he’ll come over for dinner with his parents one day, plus, we live close, just ten minutes walking.

As for James… I’m seeing him this afternoon. I haven’t been in touch with him since the party. As you know, I was basically living in the library, plus I don’t really know what can happen between us since I’m leaving next week. It’ll sound terrible what I’m about to say, but I don’t even remember that well what he looks like. He was a good kisser, he was sweet, and I thought he resembled this other guy I know, but that’s it. It’s like all my memories from that night got shoved into a blender.

Kate still laughs when we talk about that.

From: Ginger Davies

To: Rhys Baker

Subject: My date

I guess you must be working, so you’ll read this later or tomorrow. I just wanted to tell you that I got back from my date (?). I guess I’ll call it that because I’m all excited.

We spent the afternoon in a well-known café here where they make the best hot chocolate in the world (with all kinds of flavorsand sizes and all the toppings you can imagine. It’s heaven on earth). We didn’t do anything special, but it was nice. We caught up. Now that I think about it, you’d probably find our conversation ungodly boring. It was all that stuff you told me you hated in Paris: What are you studying? How old are you? Do you have siblings? Where do you see yourself in ten years? I guess that’s normal in ninety-four percent of cases when two people meet. (I made that number up, in case you’re googling it or whatever.)The Little Prince’s philosophy is utopian and hard to apply to real life. Anyway, I did learn some stuff about him: He lives in the house where the party was; it belongs to his parents, but they’re at their other place in Scotland now (they moved there when they retired). He works at a law firm, and he’s twenty-six, like you. He likes chocolate with strawberries. If you want to know my opinion, that’s G-R-O-S-S. Lord Chocolate is a solitary man and has no interest whatsoever in dalliances with Lady Strawberry. At most, he might go for a fling with Miss Mint, but we’re talking short-term. A quick fuck. (Yes, Rhys, I can write the wordfuckwithout blushing.)

Later he walked me to the dorm. Yes, he kissed me at the door. But my head wasn’t spinning this time, and neither was his. So that was nice. We agreed that we’d talk on the phone next semester, but you know how it goes; I don’t have much faith. Still, it was nice to see him and feel those butterflies in my stomach when we said goodbye.