by Kat Pace
“Happy New Year, Emmy Lou.” Brooks tucks my curl behind my ear, still holding my hand in his free palm.
“Happy New Year, Jay.” I smile against his lips.
We kiss and I’m quite certain no one else has ever kissed like this. No one else ever will again.
“Hey,” I say, looking up at him.
“Hey,” he smiles down at me.
“I have something to ask you. Been wanting to all night, but I couldn’t find the right time,” I pause, biting my lip. “Do you want to… share my room tonight?”
“Ha-ha.” Brooks squeezes my waist. “I’m honored for the invite.”
“So that’s a yes?”
It’s almost 2 AM. Trix, Meg, Katie and I separated from the boys to get fresh air. My skin feels like the sun. Hot. Blistery. We descended the patio to the courtyard. There are only a few people left. Most left on the first train. Not us. We will take the last train home.
“Phew,” Meg sighs, sitting on the edge of the fountain. The carnival marquee is behind her, its lights creating a misty glow. “I don’t want the 20s to end.”
“Yes,” Trix agrees. “I think I’ll be sad when it’s over.”
“I know. It’s almost like we’ll be entering the Depression.” I can’t help it. I’m a history nerd, OK.
“Something tells me you won’t be too depressed for long,” Meg laughs. She tilts her head over to the side of the promenade –to the edge of the cobblestones where the guys are smoking stogies in a semi-circle.
“Yea,” Trix says. “You are Brooks. What’s going on with you two? It’s been months now. Like, a lot of months.”
“Thanks, I didn’t know.” I roll my eyes. She lightly punches my arm.
“I’m serious. It’s been months. And a few continental flights later…” Trix and Meg look at each other.
Cool. Tag team.
“Have you talked about it?” Meg asks, twirling her hair around her finger. I focus my eyes on the hazy light behind her.
“Not really, no.”
“And that’s OK with you?” Meg asks.
“Because it’s OK if it’s OK!” Trix chimes in.
“It’s –Whatever. It’s working for us. For now.” I bite my lip.
They drop it, for now. My eyes wander back to the boys. To the boy. Dapper black pants, suspenders, slick hair, and cigar.
Shit. The depression is hitting.
Why can’t he be mine? Like really mine? Why can’t we live together and why can’t I see him every day? Why’s he already my best friend again?
2:29 AM
Brooks and I follow Travis and Trix off the train. Nate and Meg are close behind us. We’re all a bit worn out. The last two nights got us good. I smile thinking it. Last night we were mid-twenties kids getting drunk and high at a nightclub rave, losing ourselves under showers of neon strobe lights. Tonight, we were adults, classy, timeless. The words time-capsule party come to mind. We spent a night inside another decade.
And then the train dropped us off again, delivered us back to where we started. Always back to where we started.
The rest of them leave us as we reach the hotel. Brooks guides me past the doors.
We stop at the Center Square. It’s completely deserted and quiet, so quiet you can almost hear the snowfall. Brooks takes my hands and we pretend to dance on the plowed cobblestones. Minutes pass and we remain quiet. I wonder if we are both thinking the same things.
Tonight is the last night in Vail.
Tomorrow we leave for the real world.
We haven’t talked about what happens next.
I’m trying to decide what I want to happen next when Brooks speaks.
“How do you feel about Miami?” He asks.
“Pretty platonic to be honest,” I joke. He laughs.
“About visiting it? Like taking a trip… with me?” Brooks clarifies.
“Miami? With you? What’s in Miami?” I can’t help but blurt out.
“Star Resorts official re-launch party,” Brooks says against my hair. “I told my dad I’d go. Not that I want to go.”
“Course not,” I nod.
I can hear it in his voice that he’s fighting with his dad again. I see it in the way he rolls his eyes when he says it. I feel for him.
“Brody will be there too,” he adds, trying to sound lighter.
“And you’re inviting me?” I try to keep my voice sounding casual. It comes out anything but.
“I would much prefer it if you were there,” Brooks smiles down at me. “Free hotel room.”
“Well, how can I say no to that?” I roll my eyes. My stomach does a little flip thinking about the Benefit –about our talk in the garden –about disappearing. All the sudden, I’m thinking of his mom telling me that Brooks ditched Thanksgiving plans to come visit me. It’s all too much.
“It’s the second weekend in March,” Brooks says. I blink and try to focus.
“Wow, OK.” I say, surprised. He’s already planning things with me for March? That’s three months from now.
“You’ll have plenty of time to figure out what to wear.” He teases.
“You think I need three months to pick out an outfit? Geez, I’m not that bad am I?” I shove him in his side.
“You will need more than one outfit. It is a whole weekend,” he laughs.
“What do you even wear to a hotel launch party?” I ask.
“Not sure,” he says, shrugging. “It’s black tie though. Dad’s inviting a lot of people –investors, celebrities, promoters –you know.” Brooks finishes. Celebrities?
“Good thing I have so much time to prepare,” I say. I want to ask him if I’ll see him before March. I just can’t bring myself to form the question out loud. So I try to be less obvious. “So I’ll see you then.”
“I’ll see you before then,” he says confidently.
“You will?” I ask.
“I’ll come to Seattle.” He says, kissing my hand. “I’m about due for another yoga class,” he says, his eyes igniting when he laughs.
“I thought we agreed you were switching hobbies?” I laugh.
My body is happy. But my heart hurts. It fucking weeps for itself. Dramatic, I’m aware. But we both know this isn’t going to work.
We can’t be endgame.
We’re at my sliding door now.
Brooks pulls me inside the room. He walks over to the washtub in the middle of the room and turns the faucet. Warm steam starts to fill the air and there’re rainbow bubbles floating toward us. He turns to me, undoing his own suspenders.
I swallow hard.
“Take off your dress,” Brooks says.
I oblige.
I undo my dress and take off my heels and tights. My birdcage veil is on the floor. I flip my hair into a pile of curls on my head and climb into the tub. Brooks climbs in behind me and pulls me against his chest. I lean back, into the bubbles, into him.
Brooks circles my shoulder with his fingers, bringing a cluster of foamy bubbles onto my skin.
It smells clean and sweet, like vanilla.
“Emmy,” Brooks whispers quietly.
“Brooks,” I mimic.
“Do you want to do this?” He asks.
“Do what? Take a bath?” I joke. I feel him shift beneath me in the water. Bubble displacement.
“This.”
“We’ve tried this before. The distance thing.” I pull my hand from his. Why? WHY do I insist on fueling my own masochism? Why can’t I enjoy what we have?
Cause you’re too smart you FOOL.
“We were kids.” Brooks shrugs again. “We didn’t try hard enough.”
“Because we didn’t want to,” I remind him. “Because…” I stop myself.
“That was then, Em.”
“And what? And this is now?” I can’t help but laugh.
“This is,” he says, tilting his head back, thinking. “A second chance?”
“Brooks, we can’t go back to before. It can’t be like last time,” I say
. No shit.
“Good, because last time didn’t exactly work out for us,” he smirks. He is maintaining the optimism, I’ll give him that.
He rolls his eyes when I sigh. He squeezes my hand softly. “What do you want to be now?”
“Friends,” I say, leaning into him slightly. “Who maybe… visit each other occasionally.”
“Ok, friend who I visit occasionally,” Brooks says, his lips close to mine. “It just so happens I’ll be in Seattle next month.”
His lips are so close to mine it’s taking major restraint to not kiss him. We play this game to see which one of us can last longer –to see which of us will cave first like somehow this is symbolic of which one of us cares more.
Maybe it is. That’s why I’ll never lose. But I’m realizing something. Brooks already cares. I wonder how persistent he’ll be –how many times he’ll ask what we are or why we can’t be what he wants us to be. What would I say?
I lean my chest into his and sigh heavily, wisps of breath escaping my mouth like tiny ghosts bleeding into the night.
“Well if you’re going to be there anyway…”
Two Ghosts. Harry Styles. That’s what I’m thinking –that’s what my brain has selected. Maybe we are –maybe that’s all we are. Shadows of our old selves. Shadows that sort of seem to fit for now. Forever.
We don’t sleep that night. We can’t. We don’t fuck either. We can’t. It would mean the end.
Once again I think of the Labor Day carnival and of Thanksgiving and of ramen wrappers on my floor and of the Benefit from just one week ago.
Once again I think of our goodbyes.
They’re always the hardest.
And they get worse every time.
So instead we don’t say goodbye –we don’t have goodbye sex. I know, adult of us. Will power is alive and well.
Instead we crawl into bed and hold each other. Instead we laugh about the night, already reminiscing about our time-capsule party. The silent shared memory of our time on the balcony passes between us.
The memory isn’t as good as the real thing.
But it’s enough.
My cable knit sweater shields my arms from the crackling fire. The duvet is fluffed around us like a hugging cloud. Our hands are warmed by mugs of cocoa, the overflowing marshmallows like little clouds themselves. Flames dance over the logs, each one counting down to when we need to leave –to when this will all be a pile of ash. We play footsies through our wool socks. We are 12. But it’s OK.
Twelve year-olds appreciate how to enjoy the intimacy of playing footsies under the covers.
I finally drift to sleep, my first slumber of 2020, and I wonder what sleep will bring me. What dreams will I see? Maybe my life as I want it to be. Maybe I’ll find answers. But the truth is I know my answer. I know what I want. Since I’ve been 15, whenever I’ve thought of the future I’ve thought of him. Whenever I see my future, he’s always in it.
Oh heavenly universe, it has been six days since my last text/call/communication with Brooks. These are my qualms:
Why?
I don’t get it.
What’s he doing in NC?
Is he even in NC?
Seriously, why?
It’s six days too long. But I won’t crack first.
It has been one month since New Years. Since Vail. Since I’ve seen Brooks. One month exactly.
I’ve been getting back into my ordinary routine at Go Zen. Classes are booked solid for two weeks out and the local coffee bar has my cold brew ready for me every morning. So things are good.
Still, it’s been six days.
I won’t crack.
Brooks and I left New Years on good terms. It’s been a bit of a crash coming down from the NYE high. We agreed he could come visit me if he wanted, but we didn’t actually make a plan. We didn’t pick a time or a weekend. I find myself hoping he will just spring it on me –show up at Go Zen like he did over Thanksgiving.
I find myself getting my hopes up. Every time the door opens in the middle of a lesson, I glance over secretly wishing to see him. Almost expecting to see him but instead it’s just someone trying to make a last minute class.
Our conversation has been mostly texting sprinkled with the occasional late night phone call. The last time we talked it was a phone call. That was five nights ago. He called me at 11 PM. Of course for him it was already 2 AM. I heard loud noise in the background, music I think. I found myself wondering what he was doing and who he was doing it with.
Until I reminded myself I’m not allowed to wonder about those things. Well, I can wonder. But I’m not allowed to care.
He told me he would call me the next day. And he didn’t. Nor did he text. So I made a point to not text him. I was worried at first but I know he’s OK. His social media page let me know he was at a party that night. So were a lot of incredibly attractive hoe bags.
Not.
Allowed.
To.
Care.
Valentine’s Day
4:21 PM
It’s been almost three weeks of zero communication. Well that is unless you count the mysterious text and missed phone call at 2 AM four days ago. Which I don’t count.
Of course I don’t text him or call him because of our silent game. Who will cave first?
I drop my iced coffee on my countertop. Never too cold for iced coffee. I throw my duffle bag over the chair and head for the shower. The steam helps. Like it does the mirror, it fogs my mind.
I towel dry and I’m in the middle of applying my deodorant when I hear it.
Knock. Knock.
My heart jumps from my chest. I glance at my phone. There’s no new message on it.
Remain calm, Emmy. It’s probably a delivery guy knocking on the wrong apartment. You got this.
I throw my open deodorant onto the bed and throw on my nearest sports bra.
Knock. Knock.
It’s probably Zoë asking me to walk with her to the studio for our 5:00 class. Yes, that’s it. I hop across the floor, pulling on my leggings. Well, struggling to pull them on.
The last KNOCK becomes a crash and I hear cursing on the other side of the wall.
I take a deep breath and open the door.
Yup.
Him.
Brooks.
Predictable, right? Trashy, poorly written rom-com material. No, it’s just my life.
“Hi,” he says, leaning in the doorway. All casual and shit.
“Hi?” It comes out like a question but I’m not sure why. The confusion in my voice must have spread to my face.
“Expecting someone else?” Brooks cocks his eyebrow.
“No,” I say too quickly. My hair dripping beads of water onto my bare neck.
“Tell your face that,” he says, laughing. Like fits of laughter overcoming him.
There’s something weird about his presence right now. As he pushes me forward into my own apartment, I realize what it is. He’s drunk. V drunk.
“Drink much on the plane?” I ask, half joking.
“Hotela.” He nudges me. Playful.
“Hotel? You were already at a hotel?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
“Since–yester-day, day, yea,” He nods, already slurring.
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I haven’t heard from this fucker in WEEKS. And he’s ben in Seattle, just blocks away for an entire night?
“You’ve been in Seattle for a day? What the fuck?” I curse at him. I swat at his hands trying to snake their way down to my ass.
“Thought you’d be happy –um –to-see-me.” He pretends to pout.
“What were you doing here?” I ask, my voice hard. I won’t let him just get out of explaining himself. “Why were you drinking?”
“Had a meeting for Edge, OK. Geez mom.” Brooks whines, dropping his hands from me. His foot smashes into the side of my counter and he falls forward.
Fuck.
“You’re fucking drunk!” I exclaim. He just look
s at me with sappy eyes and a stupid smirk. I don’t think I’ve seen him this messed up since New Years. But this is a different kind of drunk. This is drinking alone drunk.
