Page 59 of Only After We Met

“Same thing.”

“It’s not.”

“You’re scared because of your vertigo.”

“Let’s just leave out the wordscared.”

“We’ll save this argument for later. This is our stop.”

I followed her down the narrow stairway and we got off at Camden Road. We were greeted by garish colors and buildings with crazy statues on their facades. There was a funky atmosphere in the cafés, the shops, and the tattoo studios lining the street. I stood in front of a display window for a second while people milled around me, then I felt her fingers touch mine briefly before grabbing my hand tight.

“You’re not trying to lose me, are you?” She pulled me away.

I held my breath as we crossed the bridge over the canal and entered a narrow street full of food stalls. She was still clasping my hand. Her steps were resolute but calm, as if we walked around there every afternoon. And that made me wonder. What it would be like in an alternate reality where we lived here, sharing a routine, a life…

29

Ginger

I knew I should let go of him, but I didn’t want to. It was bitter cold, but his hand was warm, his skin soft. And big. And it fit perfectly in mine. I had never imagined something so simple could be so comforting. I could feel my nerves in my stomach, but at the same time, it was all familiarity and closeness.

A contrast. He was full of contrasts.

We barely talked as we walked through Camden, enjoying the sights, enjoying being together on our own. Rhys flipped through some albums in a huge shop full of records and old tapes. I peeked in the window of a tattoo studio as I chewed on one of the arepas we’d purchased.

“You like anything in there?” He leaned close beside me.

I looked at the designs and shook my head. “No. Anyway, what do yours mean?”

“How do you know I have tattoos?”

“I saw you. With your shirt off. In Paris.”

Rhys smiled. Slowly. “And you couldn’t forget about it…” he joked.

“Idiot. I’m not blind.”

We continued walking. I ignored my desire to take his hand again, instead sticking mine into the pocket of my chocolate-brown coat.

“Which one are you asking about?”

“I think… Didn’t you have one of a little bee?”

He smiled, stopped, and lifted his sweater, revealing a small bee just above his hipline.

“Why?” I asked again, looking up.

“That’s my first one. I was basically a kid, but I saw it as, like, an homage to life. Don’t you remember what Einstein supposedly said? ‘If the bee disappeared off the surface of the globe, then man would only have four years of life left.’ If there’s no pollination, there’s no seeds; if there’s no seeds, there’s no plants, and without plants, there’s no life. Plus, I like bees.”

“You never cease to amaze me…”

“I assume that’s a good thing.”

“So you won’t see your family for Christmas?”

“No. I haven’t been back home. What will you do?”

“You know, same as every year. We’ll have lunch, give each other presents and cards, put up the mistletoe. Dad will make the same old jokes…”