One More Time (Bremmy 1)

Chapterish 77

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MARCH 17th

Fucking Tuesday. Who likes fucking Tuesdays?

So what if I want to eat ice cream all day and waste away in my elastic pajamas? So what if I listen to Kodaline All I Want on repeat. It's not even a soundtrack moment. I have literally racked up 237 listens in the last two days.

It's an emotional aesthetic. A vibe. A dream.

The new dream.

I don't want to sound melodramatic. But I am being melodramatic. It's been 48 hours so naturally my mourning is in full-fledge swing. I got back Sunday night and was surprised by how cold and empty my loft felt. Sure I got up yesterday and went to the 5 AM at Go Zen. Had to relieve Zoë of her duty at some point.

But my heart wasn't super in it. It was still in the non-dairy Ben & Jerry's pint I left behind on my nightstand. They never make it back to the freezer anymore. No need to when they're empty –unless I want a freezer full of hollow pints. Maybe I can use them to collect my tears.

But I got up again today. Made it to the 5 AM. Split the 8 AM class with Zoë. Somehow managed the 11 AM solo. Showered. Had three bites of avocado toast. Progress. Went back for the 2 PM.

I'm just clearing the mats for the last class of the day when Zoë sneaks up on me.

"Em?" Her voice is quiet. I can tell she thinks I'm fragile –like if she even just says my name too loud it might break me apart forever.

"Zoë."

I repeat her name back to her, forcing a smile on my face. She watches me as I stack the mats on the shelf in the back of the room.

We do our ending stretches and I can tell she's thinking something over in her head, chewing on her lip.

"We're going out tonight. McGrath's Pub. 10:00." She nods. It would sound like an invite, if I didn't hear the no ifs, ands, or buts in her tone.

"Zoë, I don't know," I whine. "I'm not in the going-out mood."

"You're going out," she insists. "Come on. It's St. Patrick's Day and we're Irish."

"Literally neither of us is Irish." I can't help but laugh at her. I know she means well.

"I am tonight. WE are tonight." She laughs. "Here, I got you a gift."

She tosses me a tiny round pin: Kiss me, I'm Irish.

"We'll see," I finally yield, taking the pin.

"Come on. It's like blasphemous if we don't drink tonight." She laughs.

"Ugh." I roll my eyes, giving in.

"Excellent! I'm picking you up at quarter of." Zoë turns and walks away, her dark hair swaying behind her.

The pub is crowded with 100 people, approximately 5% of whom are maybe Irish. I feel good though. Part of me is glad to be out of my apartment –glad for the distraction of noise and booze and people. Part of me is even glad that Zoë dragged me out by my ponytail.

We push ourselves further into the pub, making a clear cut for the bar. If I am going to be out then I am going to be drunk. #IrishWhiskeyMakesMeFrisky

I'm having major Halloween flashback vibes right now. I almost welcome them. Maybe it'll be just like that night. I'll make friends in bar bathrooms and go home with a semi-stranger. Maybe I'll drunk-dial some people I shouldn't and regret everything in the morning.