We Go Down (Bremmy 2)

Chapterish 17

Five games of beer pong and a round of quarters later, I decide I can't drink like I used to. Doesn't hit me like an 18 year-old anymore, but like the mid-20s wash-up I am. Still power through the neon Jell-O shots Trix passes around the circle.

"Here's to fast times at the Poconos!" Trix cheers the crowd.

Everyone raises to the toast and throws back the shot.

Alex and Nate start a makeshift karaoke sing-along party to the '80s tunes. Iconic songs. Iconic lyrics. I don't know them all, but almost every other song sounds familiar to me. My parents would be proud.

Brooks and I steal some sloppy kisses via clandestine meetings on the poorly snowplowed deck. The cool air feels prickly against our warm, overheated skin. We think we're being discreet.

We're not.

"You know, maybe I'll make an eighties line at Edge," Brooks says, eyes raking up and down my bod.

"Oh yea?" I keep my voice casual, but my mind is anything but.

Edge. I now associate his clothing company with Lexi and therefore with my own despair. I swallow the animosity in my throat. It's no one's fault but my own that I can't move past it.

"Yea. Retro workout stuff. I do look quite good in this track suit." Brooks pulls on the zipper until the purple nylon is almost suffocating him.

"You think you do," I tease.

"I'm really into this one-piece you got going on," Brooks grins, pinching my waist.

"I know I look quite good," I say, laughing.

My warm breath escapes my mouth in tiny spirals, evaporating into the night. The deck is calm and quiet and I'd stay here all night with Brooks, listening to the static of the snow mix with the muffled rock music inside. Sweet dreams are made of this.

I'm nippin' hard though. This polyester was not made for outdoors.

"Let's rejoin the party," I say, ungluing my lips from Brooks's.

"Do we have to?" Brooks asks, whining through kisses.

"One. It's fucking freezing out here. Two, yes. I'm losing my buzz." I drag him back into the kitchen. I can still feel the cold air clinging to my jumpsuit.

I sink into the couch next to Whit, who is basically in Alex's lap. Alex is now engrossed in the movie. My eyes flick to the TV screen; Say Anything is up in the marathon of '80s teen rom-coms. It's like number 12 behind Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink, Can't Buy Me Love, and a slew of others.

The nostalgia is seeping through the TV, palpable on my tongue.

"So anyway," Whit begins animatedly.

I can just tell by the way Lauren and Trix are nodding along that this is more wedding talk. I roll my eyes in my head.

"Maybe you two are next!" Lauren coos, conspicuously eying up Alex.

"Maybe," Whit says brightly. The firelight reflects off her perfectly white teeth.

The idea of Alex and Whit getting engaged –of being more committed than Brooks and I are –well, it doesn't sit well. I shift on the couch, slightly uncomfortable all of the sudden –only I can't tell if it's from the cushion or the conversation. JK. I definitely know it's the conversation.

Trix's eyes dart to mine and I look down, hoping no one else noticed.

"You never know! Could be Em and B, couldn't it?" Trix says, coy.

"Stop." I try to laugh –try to make my voice sound 100 pounds lighter than it really feels right now.

"I'm serious, Em," Trix urges, lowering her voice. "It's your turn."

"And I'm serious, T. We like just got back together, let's not go jinxing us now," I mumble.

"You may have just gotten back together, but we all know you two have been IT since high school." Meg rolls her eyes. Trix nods along, eyes eager.

"Like it, IT," Trix sings. I can tell by her drunken giggle voice that she's hammered. I can also tell because she's usually on my side with this type of baseless drama-gossip. Instead, she's coaxing Whit on.

"Even I know that and I'm new," Whit laughs.

I try to laugh along with them, try to pretend their words aren't cutting my skin like razor sharp shards of glass.

"Oh, calm down. Let's leave Emmy and Brooks alone," Lauren says, exasperatedly. "If they're next, they're next. If not, they're not."

Affection swells for Lauren right now. I flash her a look that says thanks and she nods back. My sweet sister-wife.

"What are you guys on about?" Travis says, plopping down on the couch next to Trix.

"Nothing that concerns you, sweetie," Trix says.

"So wedding stuff then?" Travis cocks his eyebrow. Alex laughs.

Brooks sits on the floor between my legs, his head leaning back against my lap. The tag on his undershirt sticks up and I recognize the little edge of mountaintops.

Focus.

"Next movie up..." Travis trails off. He swaps the disc in the DVD player with a new one.

I watch the screen, waiting to see the next time-warped plot we fall into.

Oh, misty mornings in Astoria.

"Do you think we're like the Goonies?" Alex asks sleepily.

"Like the Goonies?" Meg asks.

"Not the treasure hunting part, or the losing the house part, like the good parts," Alex explains.

Everyone is sort of quiet, mulling over our similarities with the Goonies. What lackluster qualities do we share in comparison? Do we have such loyalty? Are our personalities as intricately interwoven? Am I overthinking this question? 100%.

"Maybe," Travis says.

"Maybe drunken twenty-something Goonies," Brooks adds. The room laughs.

I can feel his laugh on my thigh. My fingers are still combing through his loose curls. I'm sobering up quickly and my last thought in this hazy cloud stupor is simple: I'd be a Goonie with Brooks.

"I'm beat. Can I leave the '80s babe," Whit asks Trix. A few others murmur in agreement as they stand from the couch and floor.

"Permission granted," Trix jokes.

"See you in the future," Lauren laughs, stretching on her toes.

"Back to the Future," Brody nods.

"Hey, one last reference of the night," Trix giggles.

I let everyone shuffle from the room before trying to move. Finally, Brooks stands up and pulls me from the couch.

"Bed?" He asks.

"Let's," I nod.