One More Time

by Kat Pace

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, babe.” Travis swings his arm around Trix’s shoulder. “It’s been years.”

  “Please,” Trix laughs. “Do you have eyes?”

  “Do you?” Travis laughs back.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Trix. I thought it went –fine.” I make a feeble attempt to smile.

  She surveys me for a minute and then shakes her head. I can tell this isn’t the end of the discussion. But for now, she seems resolved to put it aside.

  “Let’s get you another drink, doll. First night back in years and it would be a pity if you remembered it tomorrow.” Trix stands and outstretches her hand.

  “I could use a refill,” Meg says.

  I walk with them, in the middle of them, across the sand toward the bonfire.

  “Hey, bring us back some!” Travis shouts after us.

  “None of that fruity shit!” Nate echoes.

  “The fruity shit,” Meg laughs like a 12-year-old, “is far better than beer.”

  “I’ll take the fruity shit,” I nod.

  “You won’t regret it,” Meg says, already handing me another cup filled with the fizz.

  “Thanks.” I take the cup.

  I follow her back to the group. Nate slides his hand around her waist. She giggles. Again, like a 12-year-old.

  Then the music gets louder and her laugh dies away.

  Three drinks later and I am honestly convinced this fruity cherry fizz shit is an undiscovered elixir of life. Better than beer by far and about twice as strong. Everything comes in and out of focus. Travis and Trix on the afghan spread across the sand. Meg sitting back into Nate’s shoulder, twisting her hair around her finger. She always does this when she’s thinking.

  Alex strings a guitar, its chords harmonious with the lapping waves. I watch the way his fingers move over the strings and the look of delight on his face. There’s an ease to it, to him. He’s hardly the boy I remember.

  No one is who I remember.

  It’s been hours; the bonfire is dying down. A golden luster is cast over everyone’s faces as though they’ve been painted by a brush made from light.

  I’m reminded of my own sentiment from hours ago. People change, but they don't really fucking change, ya know? Sitting here, surrounded by the people I grew up with, lulled into that drunken state of satisfaction, compliments of cherry fizz shit, I realize I haven’t changed. I’m long-conning myself. Sure, I’m more progressive now and probably in better shape, and older and more mentally aware of crippling emotions. But then I look around and I blink and nothing’s changed.

  I am who I’ve always been.

  Which is why I’m still shocked like a little bitch when Brooks doesn’t come find me before he leaves. When the crowd dwindles to nothing but overly intoxicated 26 year-old girls trying to find their missing flip-flop.

  He left me hanging. Again.

  A-fucking-gain.

  Held out hope for a while though. I kept glancing around for him, expecting to lock eyes and you know, feel a cosmic shift or something. I waited on the afghan blanket in our circle of friends –waited to see him walk up to me again –waited til I watched him walk back to the promenade.

  Man, he’s the fucking worst.

  No, I’M the worst. But hey.

  “Girl, ready to go?” Trix leans over to me, her eyes misty.

  “Yea. So ready,” I say, hopping up.

  She crosses her arms as we walk back to my car in the lot. I notice she’s frowning. “What?”

  “So ready? Are we really that bad?” Trix asks. Damn, she does a great wounded bird impression.

  “Trix,” I sigh. She looks away from me still. “Teresa, it’s not like that, stop it. It’s just AH.”

  There are no words.

  “Just ah?” She raises her eyebrows. I know she knows. “What’s just ah?”

  “Him!” I fling my arms in the air.

  “Him. Always him,” Trix laughs.

  “I just fucking hate him. How’s he do it? It’s been nine fucking years and look at that,” I say, holding up my arm to face-level. “He’s already under my skin again.”

  “Did you guys even talk?” She asks, not unkindly. But I mean, would you judge her for judging me?

  “Not really. Which just makes me more pathetic! We talked enough though. Seal broken,” I whine, rolling my eyes at myself. We reach my car and I lean against the hood, watching Trix evaluate me.

  “Em. Emmeline,” she says, taking my face between her palms. “I missed how dramatic you are.”

  “Ya. Don’t envy it.” I shake my head and look up. “Ugh! It’s just –I fucking knew it. He says five words to me and then–” Then what, Em? Doesn’t come back to say five more? Leaves without saying bye? How fucking old are you?

  Trix nods her head then shakes it, trying to calm me down. “I get it, boo. You love to hate him. And hate–”

  “Don’t say it,” I cut her off. “Seriously don’t even fucking think it.”

  “Fine,” Trix laughs next to me, shoving her hand in my face. “You’ll just think it for me.”

  “You’re kinda the worst too.”

  “You love me,” she says, nudging me. “You know it.”

  “I don’t know shit. Come on. I’ll take your drunk ass home.”

  Rays for Days

  “Meg, really?” I whine as she pulls my hand.

  “Uh, yea really.” She nods.

  “Def really. You’re home for two weeks. That’s it. We get you every day so just accept it now.” Trix flings a vibrant sheet of red over her shoulder. I’ve always loved her mermaid hair.

  “You two I’m fine with,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s everyone else I’m worried about.”

  “They’re your friends too, Emmy.” Meg’s face almost looks hurt when she looks at me.

  “I know. I know. But the bar, really? Too many old memories.” I crease my eyebrows together.

  “Ya, great ones,” Trix says, rolling her eyes at me. She pulls me by my other hand.

  “Not all great ones,” I mumble.

  The memories come to mind now –the good and the bad. The summer nights spent taking the boat out, docking at the bar, dancing, and trying to sneak beers. All pre-21 of course. Some nights we stayed out until dawn, when we’d walk on the spongy sand under the pier and I’d wear his jersey as a cover-up. Then there were the fights –the long walks spent not so much hand-in-hand but shouting at each other, arguing over bullshit.

  “Quit bitching.” Meg pulls her hair into a topknot.

  “Please and thank you,” Trix nods.

  I walk between them, each one guiding me by a separate arm. I know they mean well, but it still feels a little like I’m being lead to my death. To my demise. To him.

  I don’t want to see him.

  When I left the bonfire, dragging drunk Trix home, I decided I was over it all. So he didn’t come find me. Like he was ever gonna. Trix was right again: I am better than this.

  But here we are. Here we go. I walk out onto the deck of the seaside bar, lanterns strung up above us break the dusky sky. It smells like fish, like fried food and low tide. My wedges flop against the wood planks as I make my way to their table.

  “Aren’t you guys cute?” Travis says, looking at the tree of us holding hands.

  “Cute? We had to haul her ass here,” Meg answers, dropping my hand. Trix continues to hold my other hand, lugging me around the table to the two empty seats next to Alex.

  Brooks’s eyes follow me to the seat, watch me as I sit. I feel them burning my skin. I don’t look up.

  “Hi,” he says.

  “Hey guys,” I say to the group. Can’t address him directly. He doesn’t deserve that.

  “Hey, beer?” Alex pulls two bottles from the bucket on the table.

  “Sure,” Trix says.

  “No thanks,” I shake my head. If I’m going to sit here I’ll need something stronger than beer.

  The waitress comes up to me an
d asks for my drink order. I get some tropical rumrunner concoction with at least four different types of rum and liquor.

  It’s sort of weird to see everyone in the semi-daylight. They all look different from last night, different without the orange glow of fire on their faces. It’s the moment right after sundown. It’s still bright but with no sun casting shadows. Great natural lighting to see how everyone’s aged.

  Aged in the best sense of the word. Aged like fine wine. Trix and Meg are even more beautiful –no longer hot teenagers with too much make up and straightened hair (’09, am I right?), but instead naturally confident women, nurturing and adult but still beautiful. The boys –men –are even better. Fuck, do guys age well.

  No awkward skin blemishes or cracking voices, no more patchy adolescent facial hair. Instead they’re sexy as shit. Nate with his constant 5 o’clock shadow and perfect model jaw, Alex with his light brown curls, green eyes and tan lifeguard skin, Travis and his dark chocolately eyes, hooded on his face, decorated with metal rings. Brooks –fuck. Put the best of all three others together and still it’s no comparison for him.

  He actually oozes sex.

  Our laughter is drowned by the sounds of boats starting and pulling out of slips, the waves lapping against the dock. Diesel is in the air. It hovers. I feel the moment like it would have been 10 years ago –how it was 10 years ago –summer before senior year. I’d be sitting next to Brooks. His hands would be on my knees, my thighs, my hair. I’d be laughing with him and kissing his face. Everyone would hate our PDA, but they’d be used to it too. Expect nothing less from us. Basically, we’d be Trix and Trav right now.

  When the band started up, we’d be the first ones to go dance. We’d be slightly buzzed not from the beer bucket or rum runners but from the vodka we sneak out of my parents’ house concealed in water bottles. But that’s not now. I don’t know those people anymore. Now it’s just water in water bottles.

  “So Em, what’s up?” Alex asks, looking sideways. “Does Jersey suck like you remember it?”

  “Sure does,” I grin. “The people too.”

  “All of us?” Nate frowns, laughing.

  “Some more than others.” I shrug and can’t keep my eyes from looking up at Brooks. He’s looking down, examining his beer label with his cool composure, but a smirk plays on his lips. UGH.

  “Well it’s good to have you back. You too Brooks. Man it’s been what? Years since we’ve all been together at once,” Alex says. I watch him swig his beer, head tilted back. Is he even aware?

  “Yea,” I say, shifting in my seat.

  “Sure,” Brooks says at the same time.

  “Like nothing’s changed at all,” Nate says, clapping Alex’s shoulder.

  “It’s all very exciting, we know,” Travis exaggerates, laughing. I glance at him and I swear I see him nod at me. His eyes nod at me at least.

  So Travis knows. This doesn’t bother me, because I’ve always liked Travis. We’ve always had a strong friendship bond. Even after nine years, that’s got to count for something. I mean, we did kiss once.

  This is manageable. Maybe.

  I’m just about to relax when a group of girls walks onto the deck. Brooks stands from the table and walks across the planks. He wraps his hands around some petite chick with dirty-blonde hair. Her push-up red bikini says she’s trying too hard. But evidently, men *Brooks* appreciate the effort.

  I try to focus on the beer bucket. I try to focus on Trix. Literally on anything else. They can’t come over here.

  I hear laughing and can’t help but look over. Brooks is running his fingers through his hair. All three girls are looking at him like he’s some celebrity or prize. Low key the way I look at him.

  Alex hands out more beers. Appetizers arrive. Brooks is still standing with the new trio.

  “Man he’s been back like two days and look at him go. Little shit gets whoever he wants.” Alex curses.

  “Alex,” Travis says, almost warningly.

  I tense up, praying no one will look at me. I’m sure the jealously looks great on my face.

  Trix catches my eye and shakes her head. I roll my eyes.

  “What? I’m just saying,” Alex shrugs.

  “Think they graduated under us. Pretty shit taste for Brooks if you ask me,” Meg says coolly. Praise, Meg.

  “They seem friendly enough to me,” Alex shrugs.

  “Ah, but everyone seems friendly to you, Alex,” Nate says, nudging him.

  I force a laugh with everyone else. But as my eyes wander back across the deck, back to Brooks, laughing is the last thing I want to do.

  He makes me sick.

  This day will be added to the bad memory category.

  * * *

  It’s been two days. I’ve been enjoying the sunshine and the fresh tan it gives me. Catching rays all day. Trix and Meg have been over the last two days. Right now, we’re lounging poolside at my parents’ house. My phone is hooked up to our stereo. Full blast.

  “This is nice,” Trix says. She tosses the suntan lotion bottle on the tile next to her lounge chair.

  “I know,” Meg says.

  “Mhmm.” I don’t even open my eyes. Don’t want to disturb the warmth of the sun on my skin. Omg.

  “Didn’t you just miss this? Didn’t you miss us so much?” Trix’s singsong voice floats over to my chair.

  “Course I did.” I answer.

  “Yea, so much it took you a hundred years to come back and visit us.” Meg teases.

  “Shut up.” I roll over on my chaise lounge.

  “Oh come on,” Meg laughs.

  “You know why I didn’t come home, Meg.”

  “Yea, she knows.” Trix chimes in. “We both know.”

  My eyes wander past Trix and Meg –past the unicorn and flamingo heads floating in the pool. They find the speckled surface of the water, the sunlight reflecting off it like there are coins hidden on the bottom.

  The spot next to the pool is our new home. The lounges have little impressions of our perfect butts from sitting in them for the last two days straight. The umbrella is down and out of the way. It smells like watermelon and sunscreen, coconuts and chlorine. Smells vaguely like disappointment.

  Am I disappointed? What did I expect from seeing him again? What do you expect from a reunion nine years in the making?

  “I could just sit here all day every day,” Trix says, slipping into the pool. She tilts her head back, sunnies on.

  “You’re welcome to use it after I leave.” I stand up and walk to the edge of the pool. I sit down next to Trix and let my legs fall in over the side.

  “Yea?” She asks.

  “Totally. Anne and Frank would love to have someone use the pool,” I say. My toes stretch into the water. I lock the flamingo raft between my toes and pull it to me.

  “Awesome,” Trix says. She walks into the shallow end.

  “Man, I wanna tan topless. Why can’t it be socially acceptable to tan topless?” Meg unties her bikini and tucks in the straps, exposing her shoulders.

  “Go for it. It’s just us,” I shrug.

  “Well,” Trix says, scrunching up her nose.

  “Trix?” I look at her over my shades.

  “Emmy?” She says, looking away.

  “Trix, come on.”

  “Ok. OK! I maybe told Travis to stop by later.” Trix gives me a sorry look. “I’m sure he’ll be alone.”

  “I…. don’t think so,” Meg adds. She shrugs. “I know Nate is with him. Maybe Alex and Brooks.”

  “You guys,” I sigh. “Come on. I don’t want to see him. He’s –I fucking hate him.”

  “Ya, I’ve heard,” Trix exclaims. “Maybe he won’t come. I’m sure he won’t,” Trix says, biting her lip.

  “Yea, you seem really sure.”

  “Is it that bad?” Meg asks. “Just don’t talk to him, ya know?”

  “I don’t want to be anywhere near him even,” I sigh.

  “You sure about that?” Meg smirks. I catch the way
she says sure.

  “Uh, yea,” I nod too much.

  “Yea, you seem really sure,” Trix laughs.

  “Bite me.”

  I swim away from them on my float. Drink in hand. Sunglasses covering my eyes. Good thing too cause I know they’d betray me. I know they’d show the excitement I feel building in my chest.