Never Really Over (Bremmy 3)

Chapterish 67

Lauren leads us up to Brody's room, promising a change of clothes for each of us.

"Ugh, I really should have known better." Trix slides off her skirt.

"Oo, love this hoodie," Whit says, taking a purple lump from Lauren.

"And for you," Lauren giggles drunkenly, handing Meg a pullover. "Who wants sweatpants?"

"Me!" Meg grabs the first pair.

We continue to raid Lauren's weekender, picking out comfy outfits.

I pull on a pair of her Lululemon leggings and high socks, but there's no shirt to wear.

"Lovey, I need a shirt!" I tell her, swinging an arm around her.

"I'm out. Here wear this," she says, tossing me the hoodie that was on Brody's bedpost.

"Um, no thanks. I'll just wear my dress with the pants. No biggie," I say.

"There's gotta be something," Whit says.

Lauren leaves the room for a second and then comes back in, beaming. "Here. This better?"

She tosses me a worn-in flannel that has an all too familiar smell. Its pattern is navy and red and I know just by looking at it that I've worn this very shirt before. With nothing else beneath it. In Brooks's bed.

"You didn't!" I laugh, eyes wide with shock. "Oh my God."

"Oops," she giggles. "Oh come on. He won't even notice."

"You're drunk." I roll my eyes.

"Bride." She shrugs in defense.

I walk into the bathroom shared between Brody and Brooks's room, thinking of all the times I've been in here before. I flip the light switch on and watch myself button up Brooks's flannel. It smells like him, like memories. It feels ...something.

"Let's go, babes," Whit says.

We traipse through the house and back onto the deck.

"Oh, this is so bonfire weather," Meg says when we step outside.

"And flannel weather," Trix adds.

"Bonfires and flannel," I say.

...

Brooks is so close I can see the seafoam specks in his ocean eyes. My every limb and organ and dumb thought is telling me to lean in -to touch him -feel him touch me.

I can't.

"Don't make me first-name you again," I whisper.

My eyes well with tears, but I force them back. I turn to see the ocean, to walk towards it, hoping it will distract me.

I walk away, my feet carrying me towards the calling ocean. I feel him at my side before I see him. We are the farthest from the party now, but not indecently removed. I pray it's far enough away that no one pays us any attention -that no one jumps to conclusions about what we're doing.

Which is nothing. That's all we ever do. All we ever are.

"Going for a swim?" Brooks calls after me.

I don't answer.

"Hey!" He calls again, closer.

I chug the rest of my wine and toss the cup in the sand.

Shit, I wish I was drunker.

"Why did you stay on that phone call, Emmy?" Brooks asks, stepping into pace beside me.

My feet reach the ocean. It's freezing, but invigorating. Cleansing. I can feel the hem of my leggings dampen.

"Why did-"

I plant my feet in the sand and spin to face him.

"Why did you?" I ask, exasperated.

"I- You- I mean -You know why," he says. "Do I need to say it?"

"No," I tell him, holding up a hand to stifle him. "I don't want to hear it."

"What if I want you to?" He asks earnestly. "Ems."

His words plead with me, with part of me at least. Because there is a part of me that still loves him and wants to climb his body right now, wants to hear him confess his undying love for me.

But as I stand here, arms free, his hand reaching for me, all I can picture is Cece's face. Him proposing to her -committing to her after he left me. I won't be some consolation prize.

I think of Josh, of our last little rendezvous inside Go Zen's back bathroom. I think of how insanely different my life is right now from just one month ago. This whole thing is not helping me sort it all out.

"Ems."

"You don't want me to hear it, Jay," I tell him, smiling.

"I don't?" His voice is low, almost lost to the waves.

"Not really. You think you do. Just like you have before. But you don't."

"I do."

"It'll pass," I tell him.

Fuck, really wish I had a full glass of white right now. Where's Whit's heavy pour when I need it?

"And if it doesn't?" Brooks counters. "Then can I tell you?"

I'll humor him.

"Sure," I nod. "If it doesn't, then you can tell me."

His dark hooded eyes burn with something.

Determination, maybe.

"Goodbye, Brooks."