Never Really Over (Bremmy 3)

Chapterish 8

[Quote Aesthetic of the Chapterish]

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Night circles back around, bringing a glorious sunset with it. The whole resort is bathed in light, painted pinkish gold. It reminds me of that night in the Caribbean, a night that is somehow 100 years old. I've returned to my spot in the basket chair. I will die here.

Tablet is away, much to Zoë's relief, but I open my phone in search of some distraction.

6:02 PM

It's barely 3 AM back home, perfect. Josh is an early riser, but not middle of the night early. Hmm. It's 6 AM east coast time, but still. Not about to wake up Trix or Meg for some girl talk.

I do what I know I shouldn't I do and open up social media. It's not that I'm afraid of it, really. In fact, my pages are somewhat super active lately. I pull up my profile and see that last pic I posted. Me and Josh at his cousin's woodsy wonderland wedding. My dress was killer.

No, social media doesn't scare me. It just taunts me. Taunts me in ways I don't understand, in ways that keep me coming back for more.

Maybe because it's the only place I see him, only way I know he's still a real human and not a figment of memory that exists only for me.

And I see him now right on the Happening Now page. It's just a side shot, and I can barely see his face, but I'd recognize his dark hair and razor cheekbones anywhere.

His hands are wrapped around and almost up her red dress. And I can tell there's a storm in his eyes, one I know all too well. One that's hers now. I let myself stare at Cece Majors, allotting myself the same 5 seconds I always do. Her legs look fire and I want her heels and everything about her is dope AF and fuck why is it 3 AM at home?

Maybe I will wake Josh up to video chat.

Josh and I started dating last August. Yes, we are closing in on the big ONE year. And not a BS year with no labels or boundaries or actual communication. A real year, a healthy year. I love Josh.

He is successful and sexy and can converse with a complete stranger like he's known them for decades. He just makes people feel seen and heard and like he gets them. He makes me feel like I'm OK again.

We binge all the newest TV shows together and keep up on the latest sex trends (also together, I hope). Josh is all I could possibly ask for. A man from the movies. Like a good movie too from the 80s or 90s, not this 2020 rubbish.

You can be with someone new and love them, I believe that. It's just, you don't stop loving other people. They still exist even after what you had is over.

That's the problem with being over. It doesn't exist, not really. It's a wave. Even after it crashes it remains, forever having changed the sand. The truth is all things are never really over.

I'm used to seeing Brooks via the socials now, at least ever since he started dating Cece, the model of the moment. I see them without even trying, just like right now. More signs from the universe. Signs that all is well. Reminders that he wasn't meant for me.

My eyes flit back to the red dress and bright pizza slice I see in the background. Even under neon, they are quite the beautiful couple. Especially under neon.

It's not just pseudo-pornographic pictures I see. Every now and then I see something about Edge Apparel or his life in LA. Last month they did a joint interview, which was a tasty read.

I like to think Josh and I could give a superbly entertaining joint interview. Maybe give the power couple a run for their Beverly Hills money.

"Oh, big yikes," Zoë says over my shoulder.

"What?" I ask, barely spinning in my basket chair.

"Are you social media stalking again?" She asks, head tilted.

"Nope. Not at all. This just happened to fall into my lap," I insist.

"And happened to open to that? Uh-huh." She doesn't believe me.

"Honest." I roll my eyes.

"So not stalking. Moping."

"Do I look mopey to you?" I click my phone shut. My 5 seconds-turned 5 minutes are over.

"Meh, little mopey." Zoë grins. "How about a beach walk? Taking the red eye tomorrow, so this is our last night. Last chance!"

I look at the purple-orange horizon and it's the most inviting it's ever looked.

"Don't need to ask me twice," I say, hopping up. "Let me grab my sandals."

Zoë and I snake our way through the patios and pools to the hidden beach entrance behind the private cabanas. I push a giant banana leaf out of the way and open the gate.

We leave our flops at the pavement and walk barefoot towards the churning ocean. I know I've used every single shade of blue in the crayon (read: *crown*) box to describe the ocean, but truth is it's even better than them all combined. Especially at sunset.

The sand is already cool beneath our toes and I feel legit cleansed as the wave crashes against my billowy pants.

This whole retreat has been a colossal EAT/PRAY/LOVE with monkeys kind of vibe. I did eat. I quasi-prayed. And I do love it.

"Did I thank you yet?" I ask Zoë. "For coming with me?"

Her confused face fades and she smile as she shakes her head. "Please. I should be thanking you. Endlessly."

"This has been good," I say.

"It has. Relaxation. Tote bag souvenir. And we learned that new aerial pose," she offers.

"The one you and I can still barely do?" I laugh.

"I almost got it. Few more tries," Zoë says, flipping her braids behind her shoulder.

"Plus all the pics we have for the Go Zen calendar," I remind her.

"Killer pics. That one by the waterfall. Ah!" She gives a chef's kiss.

"And hey, if nothing else, I think we got invited to join a hippie cult. So there's always that." I wink.

"If it means I get one of Gil's hemp diapers then I'm in." She shakes her head.

Zoë and I laugh into the night.

Zoë and I limit ourselves to one glass of wine on the patio before starting to pack for tomorrow. Before long, she disappears to the bathroom for hair care. I can hear her phone playing music from the dresser.

Taylor Swift's the 1 has low key haunted me this past year and tonight is no exception. Every delicious syllable speaks to my soul. I could not pick a favorite line if my life depended on it.

I walk to my own dresser and place the wine glass down. I remove my earrings and unbutton my blouse, watching my reflection in the mirror. My fingers fumble to undo my long braid and its loose waves cascade over my shoulders.

It's not an unpleasant sight. It's one that's seen some shit, felt some shit, survived some shit. I smile for myself before flipping my hair into a bun and slipping into a baggy T.

I grab my phone from the dresser just as it lights up with a call, just as the song ends.

Incoming:

JOSHI YOSHI *turtle emoji here*

Another sign, universe?