14 Ginger
14
Ginger
I saw my sister, Donna, on the train platform and ran toward her like crazy, dragging my bags behind me. We hugged tight. I had the feeling that an eternity had passed since the last time we saw each other, even if really it was just a few months and we talked on the phone several times a week.
“You cut your hair!” I shouted.
“You like it?”
“I love it! But you didn’t tell me!”
“Ginger, I can’t tell you everything. You’d probably want to know how many times a day I go pee,” she said, laughing, as she picked up one of my suitcases.
“Of course I do. You’re my sister!”
“We need to go. Otherwise, we’ll be late. Dad got a reservation at that restaurant you like so much, the one in Notting Hill. Look at me. Okay, phew. No visible tattoos or piercings.”
“Why should there be?” I followed her.
“You’ve only got a year of college left, so I wanted to make sure you weren’t in the do-something-crazy phase. Not that I’d have a problem with it, but if you had a ring in your nose, I’d want to have advance warning before Mom and Dad freaked out.”
I touched my nose reflexively and sighed. I was as far as could be from the tingle Donna described when someone has a new experience, whether that be getting a tattoo or cutting their hair and dyeing it pink. Something inside me insisted I stay curled up in my nest, in the security of the familiar.
“No. I never even thought of doing that…”
Donna had come to pick me up in a taxi, and the driver helped us put the luggage into the trunk. We headed for the restaurant. My parents were probably already there waiting. It was a small place in Queensway where they made the best hamburgers with peppers I’d ever had in my life. There was a bowling alley there; it was nothing sophisticated, but the food was great. I thought about Rhys with his spaghetti and smiled.
I was right—my parents were already waiting for us.
Mom kissed me, hugged me, and embarrassed me in front of a young waitress who was looking at us with pursed lips as though trying not to laugh. My father rested a hand on my shoulder and told me he was proud of me for getting such good grades and not letting things with Dean affect me.
We sat at the table, which had a crazy black tablecloth with images of smiling forks and spoons on it. We didn’t need to look at the menu before ordering.
“When are we going to Glastonbury?” I asked.
“Next Thursday. By the way, your father and I wanted to tell you something we were thinking about.”
“You’ll love it,” my father said.
“What would you think about spending a few days at the office when we come back? We were thinking that since you’ll join the company next year, it would do you good to get familiar with everything. Plus you’ll get experience. We’re obviously happy with what you’re learning at school, but you should learn about the practical side of it as well.”
“Uh, I mean…”
I knitted my brows and looked at Donna, and she looked down into her plate as if it, too, were taking part in the conversation. I wanted to say no. Worse still, I wanted to shout no, loud and clear. NO, NO, NO . But that simple two-letter word got stuck in my throat, even as my parents were gazing at me all excited.
“I guess I could do it…”
“How nice, Ginger!” My mother literally applauded. “Just imagine how proud your father will be going to work every day with his little girl.”
“Pass the ketchup?” Donna interrupted her.
“Of course, honey, here. So, Ginger, tell us how things have been going lately. Have you talked to Dean? When I call you at night, you always seem distracted, like you want to hang up. More fries?”
“Yes, please.” I grabbed one off her plate.
“That’s because she’s busy writing at night.” Donna looked at me with a dumb smile, fork in hand. “I can’t believe you don’t know.” She shook her head and kept eating.
“What are you writing?”
“A novel?” Dad asked.
“No…it’s more like a diary…”
“But she sends it to another person.”
I slid my hand under the table and pinched my sister’s leg. She yelped and then laughed. Then she threw an arm over my shoulders and sighed.
“Come on, Ginger. This is important to you. I wasn’t making fun. I’m just surprised you haven’t told them. She has a pen pal. Not like in the old days with pen and paper; she sends him emails. It’s great!”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“What’s his name?” Dad asked.
“Rhys. He’s from America. And I didn’t say anything because it’s not important; he’s just a friend. We talk, we tell each other things, that’s all.”
Obviously my parents knew nothing about the day I broke up with Dean, decided to catch a plane, and wound up in Paris with a backpack with panties, socks, and crackers in it. The only person in my family who knew was Donna. I was almost surprised she’d kept the secret, even if she hadn’t managed to stay quiet about Rhys. I guess my relationship with him was so special I wanted to keep it to myself, like a possession a person likes so much they never use it because they’re scared of breaking or damaging it. I wanted to preserve Rhys. And in a way, I liked it just being our thing. I wondered if he had told anyone about me. Knowing him, my guess would be no.
“What’s he do?” my father asked.
I shook my head and took a deep breath. “He’s a DJ. And a composer.”
And he’d never let me hear his stuff, but I said nothing about that. I noticed Dad scowl and look down at his plate.
Donna smiled. “I think he’s fascinating. Everything about him.”
“Everything?”
“Everything she’s told me.”
“What’s so fascinating?” Dad asked.
“Well, he travels all over the world, right, Ginger? All by himself. What a great way to get to know yourself.” Donna read a million self-help books a year, and even though she’d studied fine arts, she had the soul of a psychologist, and my father hated it. “And he doesn’t make spelling errors. That’s always a plus.”
“I guess so,” Mom agreed.
Talking about Rhys with my family was the last thing in the world I felt like doing. Apart from spending half the summer going to work with Dad, I mean. And unfortunately, those two subjects took up our entire conversation during the meal. And so, when we got home to our residential neighborhood in East London, I was almost happy to have a little time to myself to unpack my bags.
My old room was just as I’d left it when I went off to college. It was so ordinary, it could have been a set for a cheesy teen movie. A corkboard full of pictures of my high school friends, friends I talked to less and less because we had taken different paths, and others with Dean and me posing like lovebirds. My sister was there too, clowning around when we were little. Then there was the desk at the wall with its pretty floral wallpaper, covered in pens, notebooks, and aromatic candles, right near the bookshelf and the closet.
I wanted to find a room to rent when I graduated next year. I would start working at the family firm and go out on my own at the same time. Lots of people I knew did that when they turned eighteen, but I’d been lucky enough to get room and board with my scholarship. Anyway, prices in London were so high that living on your own was like mission impossible.
Donna came in without knocking.
“Mom’s asking if you want spinach and cheese quiche for dinner. Since we just ate, she’s obviously already thinking about what to make next.”
“Yeah, that’s fine for me.”
She sat down next to me on the bed. “Are you mad at me?”
“No, why do you ask?”
“You know. Because of Rhys.”
“I’m not mad,” I said.
“Ginger…it’s okay if you are. You can even shout at me if you need to. It’s your right. To tell the truth, I was surprised you hadn’t mentioned him to Mom. I just assumed she knew, and… I don’t know, I thought it was funny. But then I was thinking maybe you wanted to keep it to yourself, right?”
I nodded, but I didn’t shout. I just couldn’t. Still worse, I didn’t know how. How can a person be incapable of expressing anger, rage, or fury? Maybe I was scared that people would stop loving me if I did. Maybe I thought it was best to be the other way, sweet little agreeable Ginger. I was scared to disappoint the people around me. I was afraid not to give my best to people.
I guess that’s why I agreed to work that summer.
And that’s why I still hadn’t talked to Dean…
And that’s why I couldn’t scream at Donna…
And that’s why…that’s why…I had a knot in my throat most of the time, as if all the things I couldn’t express had gotten stuck there inside me, hidden in some corner. But a little bit of that I could let out. With Rhys. With him, I was myself.
“You’re right, the whole thing with Rhys doesn’t matter…”
“It does matter,” Donna insisted. Sometimes I had the feeling my sister was actively trying to stretch the bond between us tighter, that she was testing me.
“No. It’s silly. I should unpack my bags.”
“Ginger, look at me. Rhys isn’t just whatever. I know he’s not. I know you. He’s special to you, isn’t he? Nod if I’m right.”
Despite myself, I ended up moving my head up and down slightly.
“Good. Now, let’s get down to business. When can I see a photo of him?”
I laughed and got up, throwing my suitcase on the bed. “I don’t have any. I told you. And I wasn’t lying.”
“He must have an Instagram or something.”
“Nope. I already looked. But he’s…gorgeous.”
“Gorgeous!” My sister cracked up laughing.
“I’m serious! Don’t make fun of me.” I was laughing along with her. “The first time I saw him—which was the last time I saw him too—I thought he was like one of those rock stars that have seen and done it all and are tired of life, but at the same time, they’re ready to just go crazy at the drop of a hat. You know what I mean?”
“Not as well as you do, obviously.”
My sister moved on to other things, talking about her job while she helped me hang my more delicate dresses in the closet. She was waitressing at a pub on Carnaby Street in Soho. She ended up working there after telling her boss during the interview that she was an artist, and they offered to exhibit her work there for customers and anyone who might help further her career.
She hadn’t had any luck. And obviously my parents were disappointed. What they really didn’t like was her sharing an apartment with six other young people. Mom had tried to get her to listen to reason and take a job as a receptionist at their company, but my sister refused. I admired that. She didn’t care if she didn’t make everyone happy. She always did what she wanted. I hugged her, and she got up to leave.
“Are you spending the night here?” I asked.
“No, I’ll leave after dinner.” She smiled.
I sat on my bed and opened my laptop.
I didn’t have any messages from Rhys.
I sighed, stretched out my hand, and grabbed his sweatshirt, which I had put aside when I was unpacking. I hadn’t put it on since that day at the airport. And of course I hadn’t washed it. There wasn’t a trace of him left when I smelled it (and I did, especially those first weeks apart), but I still liked the idea of having a piece of him with me. It reminded me that he was real, even if he was thousands and thousands of miles away, on the other side of the world.