by Kat Pace
I want to agree. To offer any type of signal that I feel the same, but I can’t. The problem is there’s too much I want to forget.
“Yea then you and Trix tried to sneak us back in. Trix flirted with the guy at the entrance,” Brooks says, cracking up. His eyes wrinkle in the corners.
“Tried to flirt.” I smirk, thankful he started talking again.
“God, I haven’t been to a Labor Day carnival since that one.” Brooks says, running his hand through his hair.
“You haven’t? But I thought. I mean, you’ve been home. Unlike some of us,” I smirk.
“During school I only really had July off. Then after I haven’t really been home. The two years I was home I couldn’t really go. I don’t know, maybe I made excuses.” Brooks shakes his head.
“I know that feeling.” I nod, resting my chin on his.
“Seems we’ve both been trying to pretend.”
“I’m doing it better,” I say. I kiss him on the lips, V old-fashioned. Nothing too fancy.
“Clearly,” he laughs, wrapping his arms around me.
“Hey!” I hit him.
Brooks rolls on top of me and the sheets twist beneath us. The pillows are long gone –tossed on the floor with his shirt and my hoodie and all of my dignity. His room is cool now. Our bodies are cool now.
The calm after the storm.
LOL.
“What do you want to do?” Brooks asks.
The way he asks it makes me stay quiet. I know he isn’t asking what I want to do now. I know it’s more than that. I turn my neck against the pillow to look at him. He’s staring straight u up at the ceiling.
“I don’t know,” I sigh, biting my lip. “I don’t have any answers.”
Brooks looks down at me and grins. “Don’t look at me. I don’t have them either.”
“At least we agree on something,” I laugh.
“You still want to get married and have a picket fence for your dogs or kids or whatever else you used to want? Big wedding and fancy house?” Brooks asks, his eyes flashing.
“Not that fancy. And the fence was for the kids.” I laugh.
“Course,” Brooks mumbles.
“Who knows. So many things I used to want don’t really make sense anymore,” I say. Like how much I HATED Brooks less than two weeks ago. How much I never wanted to see him again.
“Did you ever come close?” Brooks looks at the ceiling again. “To the picket fence life, I mean.”
My stomach tightens as I think about the years I spent *wasted* wondering about the life I could have or should have had. I dated lots of dudes, some more than others. But the truth is the image of the picket fence married life died along with our relationship. Those visions left my head when he left me.
“Once or twice I thought about it. Never seemed right, not truly.” My voice is quiet. I roll my eyes at the seriousness and clear my throat. “How about you, huh? Must have ladies lining up to get you a fence.”
“Tons.” Brooks shrugs beneath me. “Never found fence I fancied enough. Always found an issue with them all. Shotty workmanship.”
“Ha-ha,” I laugh, nudging his ribs.
“So you’ve been close once or twice,” Brooks says, recapping. “But how many guys have you dated? If you call it date or whatever…” Brooks asks.
“If I date or whatever?” I ask, raising my eyebrow.
“You know, do you often casually sleep with people?” Brooks looks at me closely.
“Well, that took a turn,” I smirk.
“What do you mean? It’s just a question.” Brooks pulls back from me.
“Seriously, you’re asking my number? What are you 18 again?” I can’t help but laugh.
“No. If I were 18 again, I’d know the answer was one.”
“Yea, lucky you,” I mumble.
“Seriously, give me an estimate,” Brooks nudges me.
“I don’t know, Brooks.”
“Don’t know like you don’t want to tell me or don’t know like it’s that many?” His eyes are intense now and his voice is losing its playful tune.
“Dude, what’s with the interrogation? What’s your number, huh? I know it ain’t one anymore.” I squeeze his arm.
“Doesn’t matter what mine is,” Brooks says.
“Excuse me?” I push myself back away from him so I can fully take him in. “Doesn’t matter what yours is?”
“How come you won’t answer?” Brooks asks, his voice dangerously accusatory.
“How come you’re asking? How come this conversation is real right now?” I ask.
“Just answer, Em.” Brooks crosses his arms over his chest. The corners of his butterfly wings are peeking out.
“Nah, don’t think I will. Don’t really appreciate the slut-shaming right now.” I sit up in his bed, pulling the sheets around me.
“It’s obviously warranted if you can’t even tell me how many dudes you’ve dated,” Brooks says harshly.
“Excuse ME? Do you hear yourself, Brooks? How many girls have YOU dated?” I yell, careful to air-quote the shit out of dated.
I know he doesn’t care how many nice dinner-and-a-movie nights I’ve spent with people. Anger is boiling inside me right now. How can he even ask when he has no right to? How can he make me feel bad for not being 18 anymore?
“Just wondering if you make a habit of it.” Brooks sits upright too.
“Well, I know YOU do!” I scoff. “You’re revolting. You’re such a fucking douche! News flash, NOT a topic for bed conversation.” I’m on my feet, collecting my soaked hoodie and tissue-paper thin tank.
“So, you’re leaving then?” Brooks asks. He’s still sitting in the middle of the bed.
“Sure looks like it, huh? You remember what it’s like, right? Walking away?” I try to make my voice sound hard, steady. But I know it doesn’t.
The weaker side of me is close to tears right now. Brooks knows how to ruin anything and everything. I really should expect it by now.
“Great, enjoy the rest of your summer,” he says.
“It’ll sure be better than this!” I fake a cheery tone.
I stomp out of his door and onto the porch. The thunder and lightning stopped, but it’s still raining. When I’m off the porch and on the sand, it’s OK to let the tears out. The rain falls onto my face and washes them away.
My throat is tight.
I tell myself it’s out of character. That Brooks behaving like a sexist pig is atypical behavior. It doesn’t make it better. As I grab my bike and start peddling over the cracked blacktop, I wonder if this is how we leave it. If this is the end.
Does it even matter?
The Last Party
I roll over in bed –my empty bed –and my first thought of the morning is: The carnival is tomorrow.
We’re all going in typical fashion: together. The group. The old-turned-new again group. I’m not mad about it. It just seems very public. After all, this carnival is held for the town, by the town, in front of the entire town.
I can’t help but panic a bit. This is it. The summer is really almost over this time. I can’t put off going back to Seattle any longer. I’ve left Zoë high and dry these last three weeks, relying on her so much. It’s unfair. It’s irresponsible. And it’s all for one reason. One person.
The thought of leaving him actually causes my stomach to tie into knots. Not like cute butterflies-are-swarming knots, but like intense ones made from sailor’s ropes and with hooks that tear up my insides. Painful knots. As I sit on my bed and comb out my wet hair, I can’t help but enjoy the knots.
They mean this was all real. He’s still real. And I’m going to leave him this time. Just need to somehow become strong enough to do so in the next 24 hours.
My phone buzzes against my leg somewhere beneath my sheets. Love losing my phone in my bed and playing hide and seek with it in the morning.
BEACH @ 10!
DECK 2NITE
Trix and Meg’s messages come through almost simultan
eously. It means they’re already together. I click my phone close and look at the time. 9:33 AM. Thanks for the notice, girls.
I drag myself out of bed and search for my bikini. My stomach still feels sick from my last conversation with Brooks. The beach is OK, but a deck party tonight? Somehow it’s unappealing now. Seeing him is unappealing now. Wonder how long this feeling can last.
I punch back to Trix.
C U @ 10
…
<3 <3 <3
Hearts from Trix.
Well, we beached. For like six solid hours and now it’s just after 4 PM. Pissed they made me leave. I need to be soaking in every last bit of east-coast sun possible before tomorrow. What I don’t need to be doing is getting changed for a party at Back Bay.
“I might skip out tonight. Big day tomorrow,” I say, stuffing my beach tote into Trix’s trunk.
“No,” Meg says, shaking her head.
“Oh stop,” Trix whines. “It’s going to be fun. And if it’s not, then we’ll all leave.”
“Yea, don’t let some dick ruin your almost last night in town,” Meg nods.
“Ugh,” I sigh loudly.
I ignore them both on the way back, enjoying the solitude of the back seat. We stop for food in town and then go back to my house to eat and relax before we go to Travis’s tonight.
Showers all around.
“Do I have to?” I whine, three hours later.
“Yes, now shut up.” Meg brushes out her wet hair.
“But I don’t–”
“Want to see him? We knowww. Spare us the monologue,” she says.
“Rude.”
“You’re rude. Didn’t he like apologize five times?” Meg asks.
“Maybe if you took his calls,” Trix begins.
“Doesn’t matter how many times he apologized or how many times he’s called me. He’s a pig. Like always.” I shrug.
“Not like you’ve been behaving these past few weeks,” Meg says, shrugging back.
“Meg!” I shout.
“What? I mean come on. We’re all here for it, don’t get me wrong. But whatever happens this time –it’s both of your faults now,” Meg says.
Shit, she’s right.
“Whatever.” I sigh.
“Em, it’ll be fine. Everyone is going,” Trix says, playing good cop.
“But I fucking hate him. He ruins everything. All the time! ALWAYS!” I groan.
“Weren’t you guys fine? Like yesterday?” Trix asks.
“Ya, you guys have been boning for like three weeks straight. What’s wrong now?” Meg throws down the brush on my chair.
“Ladylike,” I nod.
“Look who’s talking,” Meg smirks.
“It was like two weeks, bitch. And that was before he went all Man on me.” I slip on my off the shoulder dress. Very cute. Very AEO.
“Why didn’t you just make something up? Give him a number?” Meg asks.
“Because, Meg! I shouldn’t have to. I don’t owe him anything. He’s a dick.” I curse.
“OR it’s because you didn’t want to lose,” Meg says, narrowing her eyes at me.
“Lose?”
“Yea. Lose to him. You two are at each other’s throats constantly. Always a competition.”
“She’s right, you know,” Trix chimes in. “Maybe you don’t like the idea of how many girls he’s dated.”
“But I’d never ask.” I roll my eyes at them. They’re right. And I hate that they’re right. I hate that part of me misses the 18-year-olds we used to be, back when we’d only seen each other naked. “Especially considering we aren’t dating.”
“Right. Especially,” Meg repeats.
“He’s just an ass,” I whine.
“Well, chances are the ass will be there tonight, so just try to avoid him if you need to.” Trix pulls on a tank top over her bra.
“Great. Wonder who he’ll parade around with this time,” I sigh, loud.
“Well, whoever it is won’t be as hot as you, babe.” Trix pats the top of my head like a five-year-old.
“Don’t try to butter me up, bitch. I’m already going. As long as you both know I’m going for you guys. Because it’s our last night. That’s it.” I fold my arms.
“Hey, your second to last night.” Meg shakes her head.
“Yea, yea.”
Back Bay is packed tonight. More than before. More than high school. The three of us walk across the sandy grass on the side of the house. We pass through clouds of pot smoke that are broken up only by clouds of cigarette smoke. I see a liquor table set up under the canopy and multiple kegs beneath the table.
The deck is the same. Overcrowded. Trix grabs my hand and pulls me forward into the crowd; I drag Meg behind me. WTF are these people? There’s a horde of 22 year-old girls stationed by the door, wearing crop tops that are basically just bandanas. Five feet away is the equal trash-quality group of dudes trying to hit on them.
A tall bro in a polo drops his red cup all down the front of Trix’s tank. What is with cups spilling on girls’ shirts at this place?
“Yuck!” Trix shrieks walking through the door.
“Sorry,” the guy says, shrugging. What a stupid grin.
“Stop!” Meg swats his hand away when he tries to pat off Trix’s chest.
“What’s with all these fucking people?” I ask, turning my head around as I follow them into the back room.
“Last party of the summer. Travis invites the whole town,” Meg says next to me.
“I’d say.”
“More people means more distractions,” Trix says, shaking out the bottom of her shirt.
“Who is it that needs a distraction?” Travis appears at the kitchen counter next to us.
“Hey babe,” Trix says, kissing him.
“What happened to your shirt?” Alex walks up, carrying a pitcher.
“Spill. Compliments of the college kids out back,” Meg answers.
“Hi guys.” Nate walks up and hands a beer to Meg. I tense up. I can’t help but look over Nate’s head to try and find a certain someone.
“Hey,” I mumble. I need approximately 17 drinks.
“So when did ya guys get here? Anyone try a skippy yet?” Alex asks, raising his cup.
“Alex used his special ingredient,” Travis says. A cigarette is tucked behind his ear.
“You don’t want to know,” Nate laughs.
“So who is up for a game?” Alex asks.
“Us!” Trix says, grabbing my arm. Meg nods too.
“Not another game,” I sigh.
“Kings?” Travis asks.
“It’s too crowded for a card game. You can’t even hear in here,” Meg says.
“We can go into the den. No one’s in there,” Travis says.
“Isn’t the den off-limits?” I ask.
“Not for us,” Travis shakes his head.
“Den it is. For the ladies,” Alex says, passing out plastic cups of what I’m assuming is his skippy.
We all pile into the den. It’s the smallest room on the first floor of the house and his dad’s old office. There’s a dark wood desk and old leather couch. I stand right by the door, eager for the best escape route. Everyone else arranges in a sort of circle and Nate throws a pack of cards on the desk.
“Hey, Emmy, shut the door.” Alex nods his head at me.
