Never Really Over (Bremmy 3)

Chapterish 17

5:47 AM

Being up this early calls for black coffee.

We walk the freshly mown lawn, leaving footprints in the dewy grass. Josh's sailor's outfit is too much. But I'm here for his slip-on Sperry's.

My phone chimes in my bag and I fish it out to see a new message waiting in the group chat.

Not my chat with Trix and Meg, not even the other girls' one where we invited Lauren and Whit too. Oh, also not the secret Boys + Em Sauce thread I have with Alex, Travis, and Nate. Sorry chicks.

This is the group chat for Brody and Lauren's wedding, suitably named #OneForTheBrooks

I KNOW. The best wedding hashtag that ever existed. The trend can stop now.

I unlock my phone and read Lauren's text.

FOUR WEEK COUNTDOWN BEGINS

*heart*

*wedding chapel*

*champagne bottle*

Brody answers first like a diligent almost-husband. Bunch of heart emojis. Then Lauren's sister Angela. Trix and Travis send a picture of Isla with pink frosting all over her face. Whit and Alex come next –with a selfie holding thumbs up.

I feel ...inspired. I squeeze Josh in the picture behind me. I'm front and center, smiling brightly in this golden morning. It looks like a filter in and of itself. Josh kisses my cheek right as I snap the photo and hit SEND.

For a throw away impromptu pic, it's 100% getting framed when we get back to Seattle. Nate is the first to heart my photo. I smile contentedly. Knowing this photo exists in this group chat, with him, is the cherry on top of this incredible morning.

I finally click my phone shut and drop it back in my bag.

The hem of my cotton pants turns wet, and my sandals are covered in green blades by the time we reach the dock. I circumnavigate the Adirondack chairs under the canopy and Josh pulls me onto the sailboat.

I mean sail yacht.

The Pearl is 85 feet of pure nautical elegance, with a wooden sundeck and billowing white sails with red stripes. I am approximately an ant next to the giant center mast.

Josh hops back to the dock and unties the spring lines. I feel the boat rock beneath me, something I barely experienced with luxury yacht Mobile Star. Low key prefer this. It takes 15 minutes to part with the dock. 

I am already apologizing to Josh for being utterly useless.

"What do you mean you don't know what the mainsail is?" Josh asks, incredulous.

"I've never sailed before!" I laugh, defending myself. "I'm sorry I'm a failure."

"You grew up in Jersey!" He rolls his eyes playfully. "I know it's not the Pacific, but it's still a real ocean."

"Hey! Leave the Atlantic alone, thank you!" I spit out my tongue and hair gets caught in my mouth.

"You can swim, right?" Josh's eyes crinkle under his smile.

"Yesss. Last time I checked," I say. A large swell nearly knocks me sideways and I fall into the railing. "Doesn't mean I won't drown if I fall over!"

"Want a lifesaver?" He raises his eyebrows.

"Ha-ha," I fake laugh. 

Josh sidesteps me to the helm and spins it left. We head into open water, the dock and colossal house shrinking behind us.

Sailing in Washington is not cruising in the Caribbean that's for damn sure. And Josh is right, this is nowhere near Atlantic either. I feel like this sea could swallow me whole. I mean, it does boast the largest ocean title, so I guess it makes sense.

Waves crash against the hull and spray over the bow. Luckily, it's so far away that we barely get wet besides a frigid salty spray.

I'm glad I elected to wear the boat neck pullover this morning. It's got to be barely 50 degrees! The sun sure is warming up though, but the wind continues to whip against us.

Josh holds my hands tightly to the helm, his arms wrapped around my waist, holding me in place. The metal wheel feels cool and slippery beneath my fingers. Reminds me of the railing at Pier 57.

Josh leans into me, pressing his front against my back.

"Do you mind? I don't want to crash," I joke.

"There's nowhere to crash, Em," Josh reminds me.

"Still, you're destroying my concentration." I tilt my head back and twist my neck to kiss him. Strands of hair break loose from my pony and whip my face in the wind.

We are not about to fuck on this sail yacht deck right now. Or...

12:07 PM

Josh spins the helm back towards the tiny stretch of land I recognize as Harding House. The hours on the water have made me sleepy and my legs are already sore from using dormant muscles. Charles and his brother Peter, Josh's favorite uncle, meet us at the dock and help tie the boat up.

I can smell the glorious BBQ wafting across the lawn as we start back to the house.

The patio is packed with a lot more people than yesterday.

Nancy and Aunt Susan greet us with trays of Palomas and appetizers. It's so domestic it's ridiculous. Troy and Chip are ogling a case of expensive cigars. They pull Josh along and start talking a bunch of guy shit about whisky brands and types of barrels.

I sit with Beck and Lisa, another second cousin or third cousin or only a cousin on Tuesdays. Who knows? She's cute though, if not a bit vapid. It's an instant point deduction when I see her scrolling through Cece's social media page.

What I might love most about this place is that my drink never seems empty. Like little elves are sneaking around making sure I'm plied with liquor 24/7. I drain my Paloma, which I conclude Zoë would die for, and start talking to Beck about the new house she and Troy just settled on.

Two more aunts arrive, clad head-to-toe in Lily Pulitzer. I see another uncle that I recognize by his bushy eyebrows alone. The younger kids are ushered to the pool area where a lifeguard (yes, for real) stands watch on a mini wooden stand.

WTF am I?

It's all V Freedom from Want. If you know, you know.

Still, despite the smidgen of Stepford, I don't want this weekend to end.

I glance at Josh across the way, reclined in a chair with a cigar in his hand and a smile on his face. The setting sun paints him so like the grounds this morning, bringing out the strands of gold in his hair.

Yup. Definitely don't want it to end.