90
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 a huge 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
Subject: Even if you don’t read this
Do you realize we missed our friendiversary? I remember the first time I read that word. I thought it was funny. You’ve always been the funniest girl I knew, even when you aren’t trying. I hope everything’s okay.
From: Rhys Baker
To: Ginger Davies
Subject: Even if you don’t read this
Did you listen to the album? I like to think you have, because it’s playing everywhere. Ginger, I think everyone I’ve ever met in my thirty years of life has gotten in touch with me, even people I went to preschool with, except you. What’s up? Why can’t you give me a sign that you’re alive, at least? It’s been almost a year. A fucking year, Ginger. It’s torture. I’ve got the urge to just show up at your office. I reread your email a million times. Time, you said. You need some time not talking to me. I thought that meant a few months. I don’t know what it is you want, Ginger. But give me another chance. I promise I won’t fuck it up. I’ll even be friends with James if that will make you happy.
I want to meet your baby. It kills me when I think you’ve had it, and I don’t even know its name, even though you’re the most important person in my life. How did we let all this happen? When did everything we’d shared stop being enough?
From: Rhys Baker
To: Ginger Davies
Subject: Even if you don’t read this
Sometimes I don’t know if I love you or hate you. I just don’t know. I try to forget you, the months pass, and right when I think I’ve done it, I think of you again. Just because. Some memory returns. And it’s like starting from zero.
From: Rhys Baker
To: Ginger Davies
Subject: Even if you don’t read this
In case you were wondering, my birthday was crazy. I got a house in a fancy neighborhood in Ibiza. You should see it. It has glass walls, and you can see the sunset from the sofa while you’re having your beer. We decided to throw a party. I don’t know how many people showed up. Dozens, a hundred people maybe, or maybe more. I have lots of friends here now. I guess I needed to find a substitute for you. My birthday last year sucked, and I didn’t want a repeat this year. Remember the first present you gave me, late, when I turned twenty-seven? I do. I almost tossed it in the trash the other day. Your favorite book. The Little Prince. You wrote in the front:
For Rhys, the boy I share my apartment on the moon with, because “he was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world.”
I guess at some point I stopped being a fox like all the other foxes, and so did you. That’s how things go, right? People are important for a time, even essential, and then one day they up and disappear into nothing. Friendships are volatile, I guess.