[Quote Aesthetic of the Chapterish]
...
I navigate through aunts and uncles and around parents I should know, but don't really know. I say hi to Mr. and Mrs. Scott, of course. And Trix's mother talks my ear off for a solid 20 minutes.
I don't mind. It's nice to have something to do.
The head table is against the back wall. Girls down the left and boys down the right. The front is open to the room and the rest of the guests' tables. Folded napkins in the shape of origami anchors are perched on everyone's plate. The battery-operated candles are wrapped in nautical rope for an extra touch.
We sit for dinner, a nice surf and turf platter. I eat whatever surf I can stomach before standing up and walking back to the giant windows that line the bar. I look down into the harbor, the incandescent dock lights painting the water gold.
I can do this.
"Thanks," I mumble to the bartender, who just placed a new coupe of champs in front of me.
I don't sip it. I won't find my thoughts at the bottom of the glass when they're still stuck on the ocean. And what the ocean means to me.
Home. The smell of Brooks's skin. The Caribbean. My heart fathoms deep.
I blink rapidly as someone approaches. The moisture on the windows glisten in the light as I tear my eyes away and see him.
Looking properly now, I can see his dark jeans and navy coat covering his charcoal button-down. His hair is shorter. He must have cut it since the hallway incident, but still it's long enough to be tucked behind his ears.
Shit. There's no escape.
He stops right beside me.
"Em," he mumbles quietly.
"Hi," I say. "I–"
He looks at me, lips straight and eyes stormy as ever.
"Whisky, please," he tells the bartender.
"I was very sorry to hear about your da -about Ken," I finish.
He looks at me funnily for one second before shaking his head clear. "Thanks."
His voice is oddly monotone, calmly monotone. My fingers keep playing with the bracelet dangling from my left arm.
the bartender places a glass on the polished bar and starts a slow pour.
I chance a look at him and find his eyes watching mine. A 5 o'clock shadow is crawling onto his face.
"How are you?"
Real chill, Emmy. Ask him how he is right after talking about his dad's death. Brooks half frowns, slightly, before turning it into a smile.
"Great," he says, shrugging.
"Great," I blurt out in response.
Forget the fact that I last saw him cowering in my hallway, plastered, wearing a week-old ratty band shirt. He's great now.
How fucking perfect.
More people are milling now, so I guess dinner is over. I'm vaguely aware that music is starting.
"Ah, Alex is waving me over," Brooks says, peering over my shoulder towards the top of the stairs. He starts to walk away. "I'll see ya."
"See ya." My words fall on deaf ears, as he's already halfway across the room.
My heart flutters only for itself. For its own pain. It's something I can't even help from happening.
I've ridden this man into oblivion, literally. I've fucked him one thousand times -felt music in my bones at midnight raves -escaped to mountain châteaus -lost hours to daydreams spent envisioning our future together.
And it all amounts to I'll see ya.
Fuck! His heart is vicious, but mine thinks torment is delicious. Well, not anymore. Now I'd rather starve.
I swallow back the utter disgust rising in my throat. I pull my dress down and smooth it against my stomach. At least my boobs still look killer.
Meg walks up to me from the other side of the bar across the stairs, where I see Brooks has just joined Alex and Nate.
"Hey," she says, sipping her cocktail.
"Hey." I don't meet her eyes.
A waiter walks by us, carrying a tray stacked high with dirty plates. They disappear behind the swinging kitchen door and I find myself wishing I could vanish too.
"So how was that?" Meg asks, not looking at me either.
It's a testament to our friendship that she doesn't elaborate. A testament that she lets me get away with a one-word answer.
"Great," I say, callous.
"Fantastic," Meg nods.
She loops her hand through my elbow and starts walking. "Now, let's make you great too. Another bottle of champagne just arrived at our table. I'll see if Whit has any flowers."
I laugh her off and rejoin her at the head table.