One More Time (Bremmy 1)

Chapterish 8

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VOLLEYBALL PIER

"Nuts and berries, really?" My mom is standing at the counter. "Emmy, that's hardly a breakfast."

"It's fine mom. Lots of protein. Don't worry I had coffee too." I swing my beach towel over my head.

"Lots of coffee." My dad chimes in. He peeks at me from over the edge of the newspaper.

"Breakfast of champions," I nod.

"Breakfast of squirrels," my dad jokes.

"Are you going to the beach today?" My mom asks, refilling the coffee pot.

"What gave it away? My bikini? My towel?" I laugh.

"Both," my dad says.

"I am going to the pier actually." I try to keep the smile from creeping onto my face. Can't betray myself now. "With Trix and Meg and everyone."

"Mhmm," she says, absentmindedly. But I know she knows.

I know we all know. It's just unspoken. My parents are good with that at least –keeping their comments to themselves.

"Do they all still play volleyball games every Saturday?" Mom asks.

"Yup. Hanging with Trix and Meg after. I'll be back later tonight." I give her a quick kiss before leaving the kitchen.

"Have fun," My dad calls behind me.

"Thanks!"

The pier is another thing that hasn't changed in this town. The entire promenade is packed. Music from the arcade spills onto the beach. It's just like I remember it:

Sand hot as fuck.

Cabanas lined along the promenade.

Striped umbrellas from 24 different hotels and B&Bs.

Coolers full of inconspicuous beers.

Kids crying because the sand is hot as fuck.

Waves lolling along the shoreline.

Shit it's glorious.

I pay the $5 for my beach tag. I miss being a seasonal tag holder. I pin it to my tote. That's right TOTE. I'm #trending.

I join Trix and Meg standing in the shade behind the lifeguard tower. Stand #6.

"Hi." I announce my presence. The tote slips from my shoulder.

Alex jumps down from the stand and lands next to us.

I shrug out of my white crochet dress-beach cover-up crossover hybrid. It doesn't know what its life is. Nor do I. I enjoy having things in common with my clothes.

"So jealous of your yoga bod." Meg says.

"Yoga and vegan bod." Trix corrects her, slipping out of her denim shorts.

Yoga. Veganism. Totes. I'm a walking trend addict.

"Like you two have anything to bitch about." I roll my eyes.

I throw my identity crisis riddled cover-up at them. Trix really does look and move like a mermaid, languid and graceful, slender and beautiful with generous womanly attributes. Meg is also thin, but more in a sporty jock kind of way. Both have black bikinis on.

I'm wearing my new blue triangle bikini. It's the only one I brought with me from Seattle. I untie the halter straps and tuck them under my arms. The spray nozzle on the sunscreen is busted, so I unscrew the cap. It smells like someone smashed open a coconut and out poured the remnants of a melted orange creamsicle.