by Kat Pace
He makes me excited.
Shit, I’m going to go.
Yup, I’m gonna go.
The book falls from my bed as I sit up. I quick scroll through my texts until I find Zoë’s name with her yoga girl emoji.
U got the studio this weekend?
…
Got it. U good?
I don’t know why telling the truth brings hesitation. Maybe it’s because Zoë just watched me retreat into a weird eerie stupor the last month? Oh well, fuck it.
Miami with the hottie : )
MIAMI? Get it!!
U the best!
Suddenly I’m nervous. But why? The nightmare of a conversation we shared on Valentine’s Day almost seems silly now. Of course I share every feeling he has. Of course his words could have been my words. I decide right then to tell him.
Who the fuck cares if we are destined to fail (again)? Maybe I can’t have my Brooks and fuck him too. But I’m sure going to try.
Star Resorts Miami
I find myself boarding the plane to Miami only slightly bemused. Here I am, one whole month of Brooks-detox under my belt and I’m already throwing caution to the wind, prepared for my ultimate relapse. Maybe flying on Friday the 13th will bring me good luck. Maybe the three Jack & Coke’s will bring me even better luck.
I look at my phone one last time before turning it to airplane mode and sticking it in my bag. I smile when I see my background is still set to the selfie we took in front of the food truck. You can see us each holding a taco to our mouth. Brooks looking at me and me mid-sentence right before he snapped the picture. Our faces with weird shadows thanks to the orangey glow of the streetlamps.
He stormed out an hour after this photo was taken. An hour after he set it as my wallpaper.
I turn on my phone and text him.
LANDED
No response. If he didn’t invite me to come, remind me, and buy me the ticket then I might think he didn’t want me here. The brightly colored shuttle bus is waiting just outside the baggage claim area. Star Resort in sprawled across the side in metallic teal letters next to a coral colored palm tree. It’s sitting in a long line of Hotel shuttles, busses, and taxis.
The humidity in Florida is something else.
I climb into the shuttle happy to find the air conditioning blasting down on me. I haul my duffle onto a rack and stand next to it. I’m too nervous to sit down. Too nervous to think about how I feel.
The ride is hardly 20 minutes. And in the time I’ve finished my ice coffee and vegan cookie I’m still too nervous to think about how I feel. We didn’t exactly leave things on a great note last time. Still, I think. He invited you.
Tall towers come into view. They’re creamy beige like the underside of a seashell. The roof is outlined in the same teal that’s painted on the shuttle. Star Resort Miami is huge. I don’t know what else I expected. It is the flagship hotel, the OG. But still, it’s HUGE. It’s got this luxurious Caribbean vibe going on and the air around it smells like sunshine.
The shuttle stops under the covered canopy in front of the quadruple double door entrance. I grab my bag and step off the bus. Palm fans are stirring the air above the entrance. Even the outside of Star Resort is air-conditioned. The ‘gate’ around the entryway is really a giant wall of water. The water cascades down the flat stone like slow-falling snow.
This place is so extra.
It hits me. We are together without the false pretense of hanging out with Trix and Travis or Alex and the rest. Our last conversation plays on a loop in my mind, spinning like a dangerous wheel that’s about to go off-track. Is he still mad at me? What do I expect? How will be act?
Which Brooks is waiting for me inside the seashell tower?
Just then he walks out from the lobby. A breath of fresh air condition comes with him.
“Fancy meeting you here.” The smile on his face is almost unreadable.
“Are you stalking me now?” I can’t help but laugh.
“That,” he pauses, grinning. “Or I got your text and was waiting in the lobby.”
He’s about to do some weird hug thing. I sidestep and put my bag down. WHAT?
Did I forget how to act around him? Did we forget how to be normal humans around each other?
“Let’s get inside. I’ll show you the room,” he says, without looking at me.
I step off the elevator and walk to the second-story deck where Brooks told me to meet them. There’s a wide bamboo bar overlooking one of the 37 pools at this resort. I see Brooks from the doorway. He’s leaning against the railing talking with Brody and a blonde girl whose face I cannot see. I walk toward them and Brooks smiles when he sees me.
“Hey,” I say joining them.
“Hi, Em!” Brody swoops me into a hug.
“Long time no see!” I laugh at him.
“Emmy, this is Lauren.” Brody indicates the hot blonde next to me. She reaches to hug me. A HUGGER. Omg, I’m gonna hate her.
“Hi Emmy, I’ve heard so much about you.” Lauren flashes a dazzling smile. I notice how she’s hardly wearing any make up but still looks like a model.
“You too,” I lie. My eyes catch Brooks’s and he shrugs like he’s communicating oops.
“I was so glad when Brody said you were coming. Not that I don’t love hanging with these two.” Lauren nods to Brody and Brooks, “But it’s nice to have another girl around.”
“I feel that,” I smile.
So she loves hanging with Brody and Brooks. So she hangs with them a lot. She must have been around for a while. Not sure why this makes me almost jealous. I’m jealous of the adoring way Brody is looking at her, that’s for damn sure.
“How long have you two been dating?” I ask before I can help myself. Brooks moves beside me, still leaning casually against the railing.
“Since sophomore year,” Brody answers. “She practically begged me to date her.”
“Oh yea!” Lauren giggles. “If begged means avoided his drunk ass hitting on me at parties!”
“That’s not how I remember it.” Brody laughs at her, keeping his hand around her waist.
“So is everyone ready?” Brooks interrupts before the cuteness level gets too out of hand.
“Ready!”
“Yup!”
Who doesn’t love dinner with the dad? Brooks. Brooks doesn’t. Brody isn’t too hot about it either.
Kenneth Brooks. Dare I say… silver fox? Judge me, it’s OK. But Brooks and Brody got it from somewhere and while their mom is very much a middle-aged babe, there’s no denying that these two sons are spitting images of their father.
He’s just as tall as his sons, perhaps at one point was even taller. I know almost 10 years have passed since I last saw him, since he last caught Brooks and me in their basement, but he looks almost the same. More silver maybe. Foxier maybe.
His smartphone rings 44 times an hour, dings and vibrates and explodes with emails. Running a business, I guess has its setbacks. Ken gets up and leaves the table at least three times to take a call. Almost every waiter and waitress has stopped by our table –saying hi –asking if we need anything –seeing if we are OK –kissing some ass.
Still, as we all sit at the same quiet table in the main restaurant, I can’t help but see Mr. Brooks just as I remember him: Busy, fast, oblivious at times. I also can’t help but see how Brooks acts around him –how he tenses when his dad opens his mouth –or how he keeps flicking his eyes to Brody like they’re sharing some unspoken exchange of conversation.
Maybe they are.
“So, Emmy,” Ken says, turning to me. “I hear you do yoga for a living? How’s that work?”
Ah, the unmistakable tone of belittling disapproval. How I love it.
“I don’t just do yoga. I run a studio. And it works like a job,” I say, focusing on my fork in my salad.
“Right, yes.” He says, without even knowing what he is saying right to.
“Emmy doesn’t just run the studio, she owns it. It’s hers. Somet
hing she didn’t tell me at first,” Brooks says, smiling at me, looking at his father.
“Right, yes.” I say, smirking. Brooks laughs at me.
“Well, that’s good. But yoga is only trending, right? What happens when the trend stops?” Ken says, still swiping away on his smartphone.
“I guess I’ll have to wait to find out.”
Brooks rolls his eyes.
Ken picks up his phone again and then looks at the table –at the four of us like he’s only just realizing we’re there.
“I’m going to have to run. Now don’t forget,” Ken says. Not sure it’s to any one of us in particular. “Tomorrow I won’t be around. I’ll be preparing most of the day. Just don’t be late.”
“Course not.” Brody says.
Ken looks at Brooks over his phone.
Brooks nods too. “On time. Got it.”
There are 100 things I’d like to say to Ken –about mistreating his sons –about current yoga trends –about answering phone calls at the dinner table. But I know my place.
And Ken is letting us stay here for free this weekend, so there’s that.
“That was rude,” I say. Ken left without even addressing Lauren or me with a goodbye.
“That’s Ken,” Brooks says under his breath.
“Probably best he leaves,” Brody says, watching Brooks sideways.
“Seriously. We’ll be stuck with him tomorrow night anyway,” Brooks grumbles.
“Can’t wait,” I mumble.
The vibe at dinner sort of killed the mood for the night. Brooks was in such a mood I didn’t even try to kiss him. Don’t want to jump into it. He didn’t try to kiss me either. Suppose he was still butt hurt about the V Day fiasco. We all agreed it was better we went to bed early, since we had a full schedule today. Saturday.
The sun is shining through the window and the sky is perfect Florida blue. Today will be better. Not thinking it could be any worse.
Four hours of wave running and poolside lounging later, we are walking back through the resort grounds, past the 17 pools and hot tubs and cabanas, our hands still holding fancy daiquiri drinks with tropical umbrellas. Lauren and I sampled them all.
The cool air condition blasts my face. It brings me back to reality. What is this reality? Flying on planes to fancy resort galas, parading on the beach, drinking $10 sparkling water and lounging in private teal-colored cabanas.
Who am I? More importantly, as I wonder looking at Brooks, what are we?
The elevator opens onto our floor. The four of us step out. I glance in the mirror behind the table with the coral and shell centerpiece. I look sunkissed, slightly rosy. I catch Brooks behind me, all tall and muscly. The way his dark hair falls over his face. The way he tucks it behind his ears. The way he’s all sunkissed. GOD. I want to be the sun that’s kissing him.
“Ok. TWO hours,” Brooks says when we reach our adjoining rooms.
“Yea, yea,” Brody says, opening his door. He slinks inside pulling Lauren by the hand behind him.
Brooks and I are so close I can feel the heat radiating from him again.
Deep breath.
They smell like him –like a perfume mixture of sun, salt, sand, and skin. I could die just looking at him. And it hits me. He loves me. Dafuq am I doing?
“What?” He asks, raising his eyebrow.
“Just looking.” I shrug.
“Come on.” He rolls his eyes pushing open the door to our room.
The room is even colder than the lobby and the elevator and the hallway. It was fine last night when we slept cuddled together with our bodies acting as heat warmers, but now it’s just a mf ice box. I sit on the edge of the bed and watch him cross the room. Maybe now we will talk. Maybe it’s been enough time. Maybe we’ll just continue avoiding the conflict and this entire weekend will pass. Maybe we will depart as friends.
“You can shower first,” Brooks says. He drops his sunglasses and keys on the bedside table.
“K,” I say, slightly annoyed he doesn’t suggest we shower together.
Just wait. He’s probably embarrassed or afraid or lord only knows what. No wonder he hasn’t tried anything.
We’ve only kissed the entire 24 hours I’ve been here.
Chill, Em.
I leave the bathroom door slightly cracked. I turn on the shower and let the steam take me. Citrus shampoo covers my hair, my eyes, my soul. I shave and lather gel on my bod. I wonder if I seem like I’m dragging this out. Rolling my eyes at myself I turn off the shower and grab the white towel from the rack.
Brooks is talking when I turn off the shower. I almost think it’s to me, when I realize he’s on the phone. I hear the words Edge and apparel and can’t do it. I pull the door open and walk to the side of the bed. Wrapped in a towel, my hair twisted into a bun. He mouths ‘hello’ when he sees me.
“Ok. I need to go,” Brooks says into the phone. “Yes. OK. I know I do and I will.”
He hangs up and pulls off his shirt, tossing it into the corner by his bag. Abs. “Sorry about that.”
“No prob. Business calls,” I tease. Pun?
“My turn to shower.” He disappears into the bathroom. Door fully closed.
Ugh.
I plop back on the bed, still towel-wrapped like a bronze statue in a toga. This is my fault. My fault he’s being so weird and anti-playful Brooks. The day is catching up with me. I’m not used to the sun and the drinking and the dehydration. It’s impossible to stifle my yawn.
I sink back lower into the bed. I’m not even cold anymore. In fact the air feels nice against my heated skin.
You ever nap and when your eyes finally open you can’t decide if it’s been 20 minutes or six hours? You can’t tell if you slept through a nap or slept through the night. The sky is the same color, but maybe it’s been 24 hours. Maybe there’s no sky at all and you’re just under fluorescent lights with absolutely zero indication as to what time of day it is.
So that happened.
I roll over, still in my towel. It seems bright enough still, but that’s probably because all the lights are on and the walls are white. I feel oddly rested.
“Morning,” Brooks says, watching me from the headboard.
“Damn it!” I jump, pulling the towel up closer around my chest. Like it matters. “You scared me.”
Brooks just smirks, watching me. I can still feel the pouch of drool under my cheek.
“What?” I ask.
“Just looking,” he says quietly.
“Well take a picture,” I say, sitting up and sliding off the bed. The TV clock puts a duration to my nap. 23 minutes. Just enough time for the drool to pool. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep.”
“You looked relaxed,” he says, shrugging. “It was only twenty minutes.”
“I know, but we need to be ready in like an hour!” I say, snatching my brush and makeup bag from my rolly.
“I know, I know. Bathroom is all yours.”
Blow out, makeup, two cups of coffee and 50 minutes: I am ready. I have done it. I have rediscovered the wrap dress. It’s back baby –in a delicate lilac shade. Midi to mini, because I want to show some leg but not too much leg. Taupe colored heels. Fuck they tall. Brooks walks over to me and we’re basically seeing eye-to-eye.
“You look great,” he says, kissing me on the cheek.
“Thanks,” I smile. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”
Navy. Blue. Suit. Wow.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask, touching his collar.
“To be paraded around like a dutiful son? Be introduced to a ton of people I don’t actually care about?” Brooks flattens his hair. “Yup, I’m ready.”
“Drama king,” I smirk. “It won’t be so bad. And I’ll sneak you out whenever you want. Just say the word.”
I don’t even have to lean up to kiss him. Not in these heels. I just lean in until my lips find his. Brooks tenses beneath me and quickly breaks the kiss.
“Not now,” he says. His voice sounds strang
e. “Come on. They’re probably waiting for us.”
I walk into the hallway. Brody and Lauren are already waiting for us. Brody’s wearing a sand-colored suit. Lauren has on a mint green mini dress that is up her ass without looking hoochy. How. Her rockin’ bod puts mine to shame, honestly. Her hair falls like waves over her chest and down to her waist. Serious Miami mermaid vibes.
