Never Really Over (Bremmy 3)

Chapterish 45

Bremmies,

I'm back. NRO is back. Your fave dysfunctional group of besties is back!
Thanks for patiently waiting while I struggled to cope, to write, to bring this story to its deserving end. The Bremmy Trilogy is everything. I'm so glad and honored you've been along for the ride.
Now buckle up.

🤍 Kat

...

RECAP YOURSELF:

Since it's been approximately 100 years since the last Chapterish, I've put together a fun lil recap for you. Read on.

Brooks is dating model/actress it-girl Cece Majors, while running his flagship Edge store in downtown LA. Emmy is with Joshi, her handsome beau who takes her sailing at his family's ritzy house on the water. Josh threw Emmy a 30th Birthday Bash at GZ2 (Go Zen 2). Brooks proposed to Cece. Brody and Lauren's wedding bridal party met up for a weekend at the Plaza in NYC, bc #onefortheBrooks. Long-awaited (and slightly begrudging) significant other introductions ensued.

Elsewhere, Jemmy decided to move in together. Brece took a lil trippy getaway to Miami. There were red carpet premieres and midnight bubble baths. Emmy wrote Brooks a letter. Brooks wrote Emmy a letter. No one sent a letter. And here we all are. What's in store for this crazy clan of childhood-turned adult besties?

Sleepy drive-ins, tequila and train rides, king-sized beds, and much much more.

Be sure to comment and drop any hopes, wishes, or predictions below.

...

| LA |

WEST COAST CRUISE

Bear with me.

I'm not a philosophical person, which is something I think only philosophical people say. Sometimes.

In another life, maybe I am a better man. Maybe the paths I've taken have led me somewhere else. Maybe I sent the letter. But this isn't another life. It's this path. And the letter is in my pocket.

It's fragile now, which I guess is sort of poetic in the sense that it now physically represents the words it conceals. It's creased with lines from having been folded and unfolded and then refolded so often I can barely keep track of how many times I've read it. I read it because it reminds me of all the words I cannot say to her.

But the words hardly matter. I don't read it for the words. Like I said, bear with me.

The letter is sort of a new, crumpled appendage that's with me at all times, ever since I wrote it last week. It was with me on my run this morning, next to my Airpods case. It was with me when Cece dropped by with a wheatgrass and kale smoothie. It's with me now (safely out of sight), as I sit holding a beer on the top deck of Cece's friend's yacht. Mobile Star flashbacks sting a bit.

We boarded about 30 minutes ago for some midday model-wannabe launch party. Casual cruise party. Absolute fuckery is what it is. Good thing 9-5s are dead.

So, I'm sitting here holding the beer, staring at Cece in her bikini top, and I am realizing I cannot pinpoint when I became this new version of me. The version who would rather be home or alone or at Edge or literally doing anything else on the planet (doesn't even need to be Earth) instead of sitting on this yacht, drinking, surrounded by my fiancée and her hot model friends.

Booze cruises are so 2012.

"You okay, babe?" Cece's voice interrupts my doldrum.

"What? Yea, I'm fine. Just–" I run my fingers over my forehead into my hair. "Just tired."