BONFIRES & FLANNEL
Nate and I follow Brody and Alex's tracks across the yard until the ground beneath us turns sandy and spongy. The girls snuck inside to change into more comfortable clothes. Brody passes out beers to us. I sit with my back to the woods, staring at the ocean, the fire, and what's left of the party.
I catch myself looking up every three minutes, waiting for the girls to come back. Waiting for my second chance to speak with Emmy.
I can see my mom putting food away in plastic boxes. Lauren's dad smokes a cigar at the deck railing. The girls finally emerge from the house, their silhouettes outlined by the kitchen light. Emmy's changed into a pair of Lauren's leggings and a baggy, oversized flannel, hair in a bun.
Everyone gathers around the crackling bonfire. The air is crisp and cold and I can feel the salty spray on my cheeks. The bonus about this group of friends? It doesn't feel like a bunch of couples. Sure, at times it can. But right now, everyone is just together.
It's all of us, plus three or four of Lauren's college girlfriends, our second cousins we hardly see, and I think one of Lauren's family friends. It's wild that we are all mostly in our thirties now, but we'll forever be the kids at the party.
Whit is still holding a bottle of white, though judging by its contents, I'm assuming this is a new bottle. Meg holds up a large pinot noir. Emmy holds out all the cups while they pour.
"Who wants red?" Trix asks, flipping her red hair.
"Who wants white?" Meg asks.
Emmy dances around the semi-circle, handing out glasses of wine. The red and white liquids flash under the flames. She reaches me at the end on the line, her eyes finding mine in the darkness. We're the same height, thanks to me leaning on the driftwood stack.
"Red or white?" She asks, holding up a glass in each hand.
"Whichever one you don't want," I answer.
Emmy pushes the tiny dixie cup of red wine into my hands. My fingers brush hers and my body surges with a warmth that's got nothing to do with the fire. She's so close I could reach out and touch her. I will her to step closer.
Alex is the next closest person and he's out of earshot.
"Ready?" I ask her.
"For?" She asks, her lips playing with the brim on her cup.
"The continuation."
"Ah." She nods in understanding.
Emmy glances back to see that no one is paying attention to us. She positions herself between the ocean and me, and leans against the same woodpile I'm lounging on.
"How are you?" She searches my face.
With that simple question, it suddenly feels like we're back on that phone call -I'm back in LA, sitting on my couch, listening to Emmy's voice for hours. Soundtrack of my dreams. Only tonight our words are not obscured by a phone line.
"I'm -Amazing," I say truthfully. "For the first time in a long time, maybe."
"That's new." She scrunches up her nose.
It's callous, I know. I just called off an engagement, my father passed just over a year ago, I'm stressed about work. But I'm amazing. Everything has shifted and clicked, and sitting on the beach right now is exactly where I want to be.
"How are you?" I ask her.
"I'm-" Emmy pauses. She frowns down at her wine glass and raises her eyes to mine. "Getting there."
"You know, if I had known the other night what -Happened," I say quietly. "I'd have told you Josh was a fucking moron."
"That's what you would have said?" She laughs into her cup.
"Well, among other things," I smirk.
"Oh?" Emmy narrows her eyes at me. They're glowing under the firelight. "Nothing I'd want to hear, I'm sure."
"Maybe, maybe not," I tease. "You did listen to me for six hours."
"I was being polite," she giggles.
The pinot tastes like straight from the vine divine. There's only one thing I'd rather taste on my lips.
"Whatever happened with you guys?" I finally bring myself to ask. "You seemed great in New York."
"Ah," she nods. "That was the Plaza. Painting things more beautiful than they are. Were."
"Best foot forward type of thing," I say knowingly. "I get that. It's sort of funny isn't it?"
"What's funny?" She cocks her head, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.
"That we were both with people. A year. Me engaged and you living together," I say. She makes a questioning face and I elaborate. "Ha, Travis told me. You guys moved in together."
"I don't know if funny is the word," she says.
"Maybe not funny, no." I inhale, almost laughing. "But then we were with people. And now we're both-"
"Not?" She finishes.
"What do you call that?" I ask.
She rolls her eyes and sways in her spot in the sand. "No comment."
I let my cup fall at my side and step towards her, blocking out everyone and everything behind us. Fuck, she looks so good in flannel. We are inches away now. I can smell her invading my senses. My fingers trace over her collarbone and trail down her buttons.
"This looks awfully familiar," I say, still pulling at her shirt. I realize it's mine.
"Lauren stole it," Emmy says, biting her lip with guilt. "From your room."
"Thief." I whisper against her. My palm slides around her waist.
"Don't make me first-name you again," she says looking at me.
She takes a step back, her head turning to the side away from me, staring out into the ocean. I think her eyes glisten, wet, but I tell myself I'm wrong.
I watch Emmy take two steps towards the dark water. The salted ocean air bites at my face as I chase after her.
I'm still dying to be born again in this moment. Gran romantic gesture be damned.
YOU ARE READING
Never Really Over (Bremmy 3)
ChickLit*THREEQUEL* Even when they're done, all things are never really over. It's been one year since Emmy left for the airport, two tickets in hand. A long, eventful year. Brooks has successfully launched the flagship Edge and snagged a model girlfriend...
