One More Time (Bremmy 1)

Chapterish 44

I get another glass of white and decide to visit the auction. It's a silent auction, so it's open most of the night. No auctioneer, no fun paddles. There's just a table full of things to bid on. Some things are actually here and you can take them home. The larger ticket items are represented by an index card. They vary from a trip to the Dominican Republic to a dinner cruise in Philadelphia. Mostly all of the items already have 10+ silent bids.

I get to the cheap shit. The shit I can actually think about biding on without feeling bad about not paying rent next month. There's a basket of gift cards. Who doesn't love that? Then there's a charcoal grill that definitely wouldn't blend with my loft. I'm just about to bid on the spa day package when I hear my name.

"Emmeline?" I turn. Shit.

A woman is walking down the table towards me, a huge smile spreading across her face. Oh FUCK. I almost choke on my wine, but manage to just let it dribble down my chin.

"Hi, Mrs. Brooks." I hug her. It sounds weird saying Brooks's last name as an actual last name.

"Oh, Emmy, dear! How are you?" She asks, still holding me post-hug. She has the same almond-shaped eyes as Brooks. Or he has hers.

"Great," I say. "How are you?"

"Oh, good. I'm good." I read her eyes though, the way I read his eyes, and she's not good. Poor Marge. "I was just so happy to hear about you and Brooks."

"Hear about us?" I ask. BIG WTF.

"Yes, you know. How you two have been together lately. Brooks has been almost an entirely different person these past few months." She smiles brightly like this is her favorite conversation ever.

"Yea. It's been," I pause, biting my lip. What has it been? What do I tell his mom it's been? What does she know? How does she know what she knows? "It's been great."

"You know, I wasn't sure at first if I'm being honest. But when he told me about Thanksgiving, well then I knew." She waves her hand like she's saying something obvious. She's in her own world.

My free hand is still holding its glass, but shit I'm about to drop it. My fingers are going numb. Legs are following. I need to lean on something.

"Thanks-Thanksgiving?" I parrot. My dress is starting to feel V hot and prickly against my skin.

"Sure! When he went to visit you. You know, I had asked and asked him to come up from North Carolina. At least a dozen times. Whole family was there. But Jay, he insisted he made plans with you!" Marge smiles as she tells me this BRAND NEW INFORMATION.

"Y-yea. He visited. I –I mean we made plans." I stutter. I can't bring myself to say the words he surprised me –can't bring myself to say Brooks told me she and Brody went to Florida to visit Ken –can't a lot of things right now.

Brooks told me he had no plans for Thanksgiving. He just showed up because he had to be out west. His mother and Brody agreed to visit Miami. The conversation comes back to me in waves.

He skipped his family Thanksgiving to be with me? He told his mother we made plans? The fact he's telling his mother anything about me is giving me hives. Does Brooks want this –us –to be serious?

It is approximately 200 degrees in my dress. Marge is blind to my panic. Bless her.

"Then when he said you two were coming here tonight, together. You know I just adore the idea..." Her voice is trailing away, fading into nothing. "...No clue why you two ever broke up... Always say whatever happens..."

I only catch bits and pieces of her monologue. My mind is spinning.

"Yea, right." I nod, not even listening to her. Not even listening to myself.

"He's so happy, now. It's like–"

"Um," I say, pulling my hand back from her suddenly. I step back slowly. "I'm sorry. It was so so great to see you, Mrs. Brooks. I actually have to go and um, find Brooks. Jay, I mean. I have to find Jay."

"OK, Sure, sure." She smiles politely, her eyes lit up, as I abandon my glass on the table.

I tear through the party, my heels clanking on the fucking wood as I walk across the entrance. The white lights make me dizzy now. Hot. They're so fucking hot. I go straight outside and it's a breath of fresh air to feel the cold against my skin.  I turn down the side of the B&B, losing the sound of the music inside with every step. The courtyard is –wait for it –LIT UP. I don't have to take two more steps before I see him.

Brooks. He's sitting on a small bench next to the fountain, head down in his lap, snow dusting his head and his shoulders and legs.

"Hey." I sit down on my bench next to him.

"Hi." He answers without looking up.

"I ran into your mom," I say, biting my lip. Do I tell him? Do I give him up? Yup.

"Oh?" Is all he says.

"She told me, Brooks. About Thanksgiving," I say, quiet. I wait for the lash out –for his signature whatever.

Nothing. He's as silent as the auction.

"I'm not gonna just disappear." I say it, finally. At least I don't plan to disappear. "Not if you don't want me to."

Again, nothing.

I wait another five minutes.

Nothing.

I'm about to stand up when he grabs my hand. It's ice-cold, but I'm not sure that's why it's shaking. Brooks looks at me for the first time in an hour tonight.

"I don't want you to. But I don't know what I do want. And I know it's unfair of me to ask you for anything. It's all –this–" Brooks kind of shrugs.

"I know," I blurt out. "I mean, I don't know. But I know what you mean. But you can't keep shifting on me. We need to be in this together," I say, quiet.

"You're right. I'm sorry," Brooks says. "I'm just..."

"Difficult? Moody? A lot to deal with sometimes?" I offer.

"I can be a lot to deal with sometimes? Me?" He smirks. I hear the accusation in his question.

"Maybe we both can." I bite my lip.

"Not very promising is it?" Brooks looks up. His voice is all raspy and shit. Has he been crying? No. No way.

"Volatile for sure," I nod.

"I'll try to keep it at bay."

"Says the guy who just ran outside to pout, again," I say, remembering Thanksgiving and how he stormed out of my loft. "You seem to do this a lot."

"Yea but I knew you'd come find me this time," he says.

I sigh and start propping my own head up in between my legs.

Him. His face in the moonlight is a glorious thing. A shadow creeps across his face, pale in comparison to the darkness in his eyes. Hungry darkness.

"Dance with me?" He asks.

"If you insist," I smirk.

And then we're dancing in the courtyard, under strings of white lights and garland festooned with mistletoe and holly. He spins me around and back into him. Just his hand on my waist is making me want him.

Def not agreeing to another night of cuddling.

"And you said you can't waltz." I say, looking up at him.

"Shut up," he says, laughing.