by Kat Pace
3:13 PM
I climb onto the side of the tub and straddle it with one foot in and one out. I shave one leg from ankle to bikini. Rinse razor. Repeat. I make sure no hair gets left behind. Apply lotion. And stand up. I follow my usual make up regiment, albeit slightly heavier on the smoky quartz eye shadow and of course the dark lip. I unclip my hair and it falls over my shoulders, still perfectly bouncy from the blow out but now with a slight twisty wave.
My dress is hanging in the doorway, its folds still showing from being tucked in my suitcase for two days. I run the nozzle of the steamer over it a few times and decide it’s close enough.
4:20 PM
I’ve got time, but I’m also weirdly nervous. Like what’s my deal? I put my dress on to keep myself busy. It is easy enough to slip on without wrinkling it. I pull the deep wine fabric up over my hips. I reach my arms through the lace sleeves. The mirror in the bathroom reveals my reflection.
Dress. Is. Perfect. And dayum am I feeling myself right now. It’s dark maroon and slightly clingy, but in a thick-material-non-slutty kind of way. Only the long sleeves are set with a lacy overlay and the deep V in the front mimics the one in the back. No room for a bra tonight. No need for one either ;)
Not too shabby, Em.
I slip into my pumps and grab my beaded clutch from the counter. After running through my mental checklist one last time, I finally decide there’s nothing left for me to do but wait.
Brooks shows right on time. Somehow even in the heart of December he looks like a summer boy. Sure he’s got the fitted black dress pants and white button-down with a wine skinny tie. OMG the skinny tie. I’m dead. His hair is all wavy and tucked back behind his ears. His skin glistens with a sunny glow. He could have just stepped off the beach.
I catch a whiff of his cologne when he hugs me at the door. Still, his suit –his hair –his smell –all of it is nothing compared to his smile when he sees me. His eyes light up at my dress. At the way my lips slightly part to kiss his, nice and slow.
Prom night all over again.
Not mad about it as long as we end up together.
Almost the entire car ride is silent. Us in the same spot about to spend an evening together speaks for itself. This isn’t a fling anymore. We coat-checked fling at the door. Brooks squeezes my hand in his. HOLDING HANDS WHO ARE WE. We are excited. We are oddly calm. There’s almost an unspoken recognition between us.
What started as a summer hook-up between exes became ‘hey, let me fly to Seattle for a Thanksgiving quickie’ and is now about to play out the age-old story of Baby It’s Cold Outside.
It’s become routine. A fucking cray routine. We are flat out swimming from the shallow end and not sure I can tread the deep end long-term. Not sure I want to.
My neck jerks back as Brooks slows the car. My mind is subsequently jerked back to the present. There is a line of taillights leading down the one-way street of the hotel. We slowly pull up and the valet ushers us out of the car and around the corner to the entrance across from the courtyard.
I step into the night with Brooks by my side.
“Look at this place. It’s fucking wild. I hardly recognize it.” Brooks says, staring out the window.
“Holy hell. Ladies and gentlemen, my mother. Not over-the-top at all.” I laugh.
“It’s so… bright. Shit ton of lights.” Brooks starts across the cobblestones.
“It is the Light Festival to be fair.”
“Thought it was a benefit,” Brooks shrugs.
“It’s both.”
Still, I’m basically in the same awe that he is. The entire promenade, courtyard, and cobblestone square have all transformed. Picture the cheesiest scene from the most overdone chick-flickiest romance movie with a painstakingly predictable plot you never wanted. Now make it in Christmas land. That’s the Light Festival Benefit.
TV Movie Starter Pack. It has all your basics: Crowded Cobblestone Main Street, Picturesque Town Square, Tree Lighting in the Center, Horse-Drawn Carriages, Light Festooned Gazebo, and Holly Garland crisscrossing from building to building.
The B&B is decorated in similar fashion. I cling to Brooks as we step inside. I’m aware that everyone seems to be looking at us. Kids, semi-adults, actual adults –parents. Mine to be exact. His mother. Really it feels like everyone is just looking at us as we walk into the main hall.
“Brooks, it’s great to see you again! Look how old you got! Hello honey,” my mom says, hugging both of us in the entrance.
“It’s great to see you too,” Brooks tells my mother. “Nice wreaths.”
“Thank you,” she laughs, shooting me an evil eye. I shrug.
“Anne, there you are! You wouldn’t believe what they have back in the kitchen.” A woman in a floor-length black gown appears at my mom’s side.
“One second,” my mother says to the woman before turning to us. “Please escort yourselves into the ballroom. I think Trix and Travis are already in there,” my mother says. “Here, carry this in for me.”
She gives me a silver tray of extra folded napkins. Brooks takes it from me and walks toward the ballroom.
It’s off the side of the lobby and slightly down the stairs so a wide balcony overlooks the dance floor. There’re even more white lights inside and wreaths and mistletoe bunches hung in every single doorway.
Brooks raises his eyebrow when we walk under the third one. “Not a chance,” I mouth to him. Like I’m going to kiss him in front of two hundred people. People we know!
“Your loss,” he smirks.
“I’ll live.”
There’s a short cocktail hour similar to a wedding. Appetizers and hors d’oeuvres and drinks. Signature drink is a cranberry mule. I just taste Fireball. The dinner is a sit down and luckily we are with Trix and Travis and two other ‘couples’ I don’t know by name. The four of us are the youngest by far. Trix and Travis came because her mother works with my aunt on the charity committee. No Meg. No Nate or Alex or anyone else. Just us and I must say it’s oddly relaxing just the four of us.
Dinner is either salmon or some crazy Cornish hen shit that still has feathers on it. I decide if I don’t eat it’ll only benefit me. The wine will work quicker.
In fact, it already is working. I look at Brooks next to me, smirking under the glow of the centerpieces, and I can’t help but think of last night. His face looked the same under the icicle lights pouring in my window. It comes back to me: His broken voice, his shaking hands, us just lying there in silence together.
Powerful shit. Almost puts it into perspective, ya know? Like you don’t really know someone until they show up in your room at 12:00 AM –until you don’t sleep together but actually sleep together –until the silence says everything for you.
Yea, I’m getting all this from one look.
“Do you guys wanna dance?” Trix asks, standing from the seat next to me.
“Um,” I say looking at Brooks. He shakes his head. “No. That’s OK. You two go.”
“Suit yourself.” Trix spins away, pulling Travis’s hand. He leaves a minty trail in his wake.
“So you still hate dancing?” I ask Brooks, folding my napkin over my plate.
“I never hated dancing,” he says like he’s reminding me of something I should know.
“Yea, right. That’s why I had to force you to dance with me at prom. BOTH proms,” I say, laughing.
“You did not. We danced,” Brooks says, rolling his eyes. “We danced a lot.”
“As a group…” I trail off. “You hid every time a slow song came on.”
“OK, so I don’t slow dance. It’s all formal and shit. I can’t waltz like that.”
I roll my eyes at him. “So yes, you still hate dancing.”
He shrugs, examining his silverware. Brooks is staring down at his hands, still raw from yesterday. He’s running his left hand over his knuckles.
“You might like it, you know. Come on,” I whine.
“Not happening. Dance yourself if you want to,
” he says, all grumpy and shit.
“Rude.” I say, trying to touch his arm.
“Whatever.” He leans back in his chair and stretches his legs out. Bro stance. His eyes close and he massages his temples with his fingers.
“Are you OK?” I find myself asking before I wise up and realize it’s a terrible question to ask. Especially here.
“Fine,” he says, quiet and cool. Q & C. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You don’t really seem fine,” I say. I’ll call him out, call his bluff. Zero problem doing that.
He looks up at me from under heavy lids. Shit, I guess he hardly slept last night. “What do you want me to say, Em? That I’m not fine?”
“No. I just meant that –I mean you can talk to me. You know, if you want.” I lean in a little. The other couples are gone, but the table next to us is still full.
“Can I?” He says, pretty harshly IMO.
“What’s that supposed to me?” I narrow my eyes.
“Nothing, forget it.”
“No, tell me,” I insist.
“You just,” he pauses, looking around. It’s too bad for him the words aren’t written on the gold plate chargers. “You just disappear. For weeks. We don’t talk and then we do and –and…”
He looks away. I try not to laugh in my confusion.
“I don’t disappear. We just don’t talk –I mean –We’re not… How is this my fault, Brooks?” I ask.
“It’s not,” Brooks says, standing up. “It’s mine.”
“Oh come on,” I say, about to stand up with him.
“Just, don’t follow me.”
He walks away, moody Brooks in control again. He walks straight through the dance floor, past Trix and Travis and my parents. I’m left sitting in my spot at the table, playing with the hem of the tablecloth. Everyone else is dancing, enjoying the open bar, and getting caught under the mistletoe. Not me. Not us.
Shocked.
I don’t care where he goes. He can leave and pout somewhere all night for all I care.
I get another glass of white and decide to visit the auction. It’s a silent auction, so it’s open most of the night. No auctioneer, no fun paddles. There’s just a table full of things to bid on. Some things are actually here and you can take them home. The larger ticket items are represented by an index card. They vary from a trip to the Dominican Republic to a dinner cruise in Philadelphia. Mostly all of the items already have 10+ silent bids.
I get to the cheap shit. The shit I can actually think about biding on without feeling bad about not paying rent next month. There’s a basket of gift cards. Who doesn’t love that? Then there’s a charcoal grill that definitely wouldn’t blend with my loft. I’m just about to bid on the spa day package when I hear my name.
“Emmy?” I turn. Shit.
A woman is walking down the table towards me, a huge smile spreading across her face. Oh FUCK. I almost choke on my wine, but manage to just let it dribble down my chin.
“Hi, Mrs. Brooks.” I hug her. It sounds weird saying Brooks’s last name as an actual last name.
“Oh, Emmy, dear! How are you?” She asks, still holding me post-hug. She has the same almond-shaped eyes as Brooks. Or he has hers.
“Great,” I say. “How are you?”
“Oh, good. I’m good.” I read her eyes though, the way I read his eyes, and she’s not good. Poor Marge. “I was just so happy to hear about you and Brooks.”
“Hear about us?” I ask. BIG WTF.
“Yes, you know. How you two have been together lately. Brooks has been almost an entirely different person these past few months.” She smiles brightly like this is her favorite conversation ever.
“Yea. It’s been,” I pause, biting my lip. What has it been? What do I tell his mom it’s been? What does she know? How does she know what she knows? “It’s been great.”
“You know, I wasn’t sure at first if I’m being honest. But when he told me about Thanksgiving, well then I knew.” She waves her hand like she’s saying something obvious. She’s in her own world.
My free hand is still holding its glass, but shit I’m about to drop it. My fingers are going numb. Legs are following. I need to lean on something.
“Thanks-Thanksgiving?” I parrot. My dress is starting to feel V hot and prickly against my skin.
“Sure! When he went to visit you. You know, I had asked and asked him to come up from North Carolina. At least a dozen times. Whole family was there. But Jay, he insisted he made plans with you!” Marge smiles as she tells me this BRAND NEW INFORMATION.
“Y-yea. He visited. I –I mean we made plans.” I stutter. I can’t bring myself to say the words he surprised me –can’t bring myself to say Brooks told me she and Brody went to Florida to visit Ken –can’t a lot of things right now.
Brooks told me he had no plans for Thanksgiving. He just showed up because he had to be out west. His mother and Brody agreed to visit Miami. The conversation comes back to me in waves.
He skipped his family Thanksgiving to be with me? He told his mother we made plans? The fact he’s telling his mother anything about me is giving me hives. Does Brooks want this –us –to be serious?
It is approximately 200 degrees in my dress. Marge is blind to my panic. Bless her.
“Then when he said you two were coming here tonight, together. You know I just adore the idea…” Her voice is trailing away, fading into nothing. “…No clue why you two ever broke up… Always say whatever happens…”
I only catch bits and pieces of her monologue. My mind is spinning.
“Yea, right.” I nod, not even listening to her. Not even listening to myself.
“He’s so happy, now. It’s like–”
“Um,” I say, pulling my hand back from her suddenly. I step back slowly. “I’m sorry. It was so so great to see you, Mrs. Brooks. I actually have to go and um, find Brooks. Jay, I mean. I have to find Jay.”
“OK, Sure, sure.” She smiles politely, her eyes lit up, as I abandon my glass on the table.
I tear through the party, my heels clanking on the fucking wood as I walk across the entrance. The white lights make me dizzy now. Hot. They’re so fucking hot. I go straight outside and it’s a breath of fresh air to feel the cold against my skin. I turn down the side of the B&B, losing the sound of the music inside with every step. The courtyard is –wait for it –LIT UP. I don’t have to take two more steps before I see him.
Brooks. He’s sitting on a small bench next to the fountain, head down in his lap, snow dusting his head and his shoulders and legs.
“Hey.” I sit down on my bench next to him.
“Hi.” He answers without looking up.
“I ran into your mom,” I say, biting my lip. Do I tell him? Do I give him up? Yup.
“Oh?” Is all he says.
“She told me, Brooks. About Thanksgiving,” I say, quiet. I wait for the lash out –for his signature whatever.
Nothing. He’s as silent as the auction.
“I’m not gonna just disappear.” I say it, finally. At least I don’t plan to disappear. “Not if you don’t want me to.”
Again, nothing.
I wait another five minutes.
Nothing.
I’m about to stand up when he grabs my hand. It’s ice-cold, but I’m not sure that’s why it’s shaking. Brooks looks at me for the first time in an hour tonight.
“I don’t want you to. But I don’t know what I do want. And I know it’s unfair of me to ask you for anything. It’s all –this–” Brooks kind of shrugs.
“I know,” I blurt out. “I mean, I don’t know. But I know what you mean. But you can’t keep shifting on me. We need to be in this together,” I say, quiet.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Brooks says. “I’m just…”
“Difficult? Moody? A lot to deal with sometimes?” I offer.
“I can be a lot to deal with sometimes? Me?” He smirks. I hear the accusation in his question.
“Maybe we both can.�
�� I bite my lip.
“Not very promising is it?” Brooks looks up. His voice is all raspy and shit. Has he been crying? No. No way.
“Volatile for sure,” I nod.
