Page 152 of When It's Us
God, he wrote this. Thought about me and the boys.
My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he could hear it through the screen. My eyes race back over his words, reading and rereading every line. It’s like he’s right here, talking to me, even though I’m sitting alone in this quiet house.
Tears sting at the edges of my vision. Hope flickers. It’s small and fragile, but real.
I don’t reply. Not yet.
A week later, another email comes through. Same sender. Same flutter in my chest.
It tears my heart open as much as the first one.
From:[email protected]
Subject:I Built a Wall, But NotThatKind
Ginger,
We started framing the walls of the cabin today. Should be done in the next couple of days. The crew has been working hard. Trusses are coming this weekend.
It feels strange, building walls for someone who isn’t here.
But I’m hoping one day that changes.
I don’t want to push. I just need you to know I love you.
I hope, in some small way, you can see that. And maybe, one day, you can forgive me.
I love you. I miss you.
—Bigfoot
Another week. Another email.
I shouldn’t open it, but I always do.
From:[email protected]
Subject:Things I’m Bad At: Expressing Feelings, Subject Lines
Ginger,
I moved our bed into the cabin today. The place is nowhere near done—no drywall, no real windows yet, but I couldn’t sleep in that loft anymore. Forget about the Vanagon.
I couldn’t keep walking past the bed we shared and pretending I didn’t hear you laugh when I got into it every night or that I didn’t see your hair on the pillowcase.
So I moved the bed. Hauled it over myself. Oakley watched like I’d lost my damn mind. And maybe I have. Then he jumpedup and tried to claim your side, the traitor. I made him move. He whined about it, curled up at the foot of the bed instead.
The whole room still smells like sawdust and insulation, but I needed to be in the space I built for you. For the boys. For all of us.
There’s a damn echo in here. Great acoustics for The Chainsmokers though. Yeah, I’m listening to that song you love on repeat. Hank’s threatened to punch me in the junk if I play it one more time in his presence.
Anyway. If you’re wondering…I still love you. I still miss you.
—Bigfoot
