One More Time (Bremmy 1)

Chapterish 22

LABOR DAY CARNIVAL

"Emmy, hun." My mom says.

"Hey," I look up. She's standing in my doorway, holding a box full of bags of flour. "That for tonight?"

"Will be when it's pie. Wanted to see if you'd help?" She asks, balancing the flour on her hip.

"Sure." I stand from my bed. "How many pies are you actually making?"

"I signed up for five. All different flavors. You know me. I need the whole spectrum." Mom rolls her eyes at herself.

"Let me take these before you keel over," I laugh.

"Always thinking I'm too old." She laughs, but hands me the box anyway.

I carry it into the kitchen and drop it on the counter. There are cartons and cartons of blueberries and strawberries, apples, and jumbo bags of sugar.

"What do you want to start with?" I ask.

"Hmm, wash the fruits and separate them into bowls. I can start on the crust," she says, nodding.

"Got it."

I open all the cartons and divvy up the berries into bowls. I peel and slice apples and de-pit like 1000 fresh cherries before my fingers start to feel funny on my hands. By the time I am done the entire kitchen smells like piecrust.

"It's been so great having you home, Emmy," my mom says, scooping apples.

"I know," I agree. "It's been nice."

"Maybe," she pauses. I steal a glance and she's focusing on the brown sugar and butter in the second bowl.

"Maybe what?" I egg her on.

"Maybe you can come back more often? Now that things are... OK?"

Things? OK? What does she know? I mean, OK she has eyes but this is not our thing. We keep to the quiet code.

"I, yeah–" I stop.

"Oh, come on, Emmeline. I am your mother. You can't expect me to not know things." She says, still mixing the apple pie filling.

"I don't," I say, lame. My throat is starting to go dry.

"Look, I don't need details. All I'm saying is I think it's OK. Maybe even good for you. You've been so happy these past few weeks. It's nice to see you home and happy at the same time." She puts the bowl of filling down and waves her hand as to dismiss the conversation.

"OK."

I'm thankful for this. Not sure I'm ready to discuss Brooks and me with my mother. I'm not even ready to discuss Brooks and me with Brooks and me.

Seriously, our situation is messier than this countertop right now.

The guilty gnawing is back. But I don't know what I'm guilty for. Really I think 26-year-old Emmy feels guilty for the nine years my past-self suffered. Guilty that I've dodged the what's next topic every time Brooks has tried to bring it up.

What's next?

Summer is over. So next is autumn. And autumn is no season for flings.

Five pies and a lot of filling mixture later, I leave the kitchen. I find my phone sitting on my dresser top. I see the usual messages from Trix and Meg. I scroll past Zoë's and one from my cousin in Delaware. None from Brooks. You told him to leave you alone!

I shake the feeling of disappointment and scroll back to the messages from Trix and Meg.

Can't wait 4 carnivale!! Ferris Wheel emoji.