[2022 Watty's Shortlist]
*OMT's SEQUEL*
Emmy and Brooks made it work One More Time. Sure, it was messy and not always sexy but that's what their love is about. It's low key unhealthy and high key relatable.
Dealing with Trix and Travis's wedding pl...
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We're standing in the yard at Back Bay. You can make out people behind us, blurred like inkblots in the misty backdrop. Me and my blue dress are front and center. Brooks is behind me, his head leaning down like he's whispering something in my ear. I'm mid-laugh. My right hand is holding his at my waist and my left hand is raised to his head.
The butterfly is back, this time with some wasp-like qualities. My throat constricts into nothing; I almost can't breathe. I look away from the photo and away from Brooks. My eyes are filling with what are soon to be tears. Fuck, Em. Get a grip.
"What's wrong?" Brooks asks. I can hear the concern in his voice.
"Nothing," I lie. "Just remembering the kids."
"It's not just photos I have." Brooks brings the box into his lap again.
I can see now under the pile of pictures; I can see there are random odds and ends strewn across the box's floor. A ticket from the Labor Day Carnival. A Hot Fries foil. The place card setting from the Benefit Festival.
"Is this?" I stop, my voice catching in my throat. My fingers trace over embossed lettering on a gold card.
"The fin de l'année invitation? Yes." Brooks says with a grin.
"I handed this in at the door. How'd you get it?"
"Talked the guy into misplacing one." Brooks shrugs, sounding rather impressed with himself.
We spend the next hour sifting through every item in the box. Most are old photos of our days spent in Cape May, the high school days.
Alex, Nate and I playing volleyball at the pier. A 17 year-old Travis brooding with a cigarette. Trix and Brooks on the deck at Back Bay, contraband beer bottles in hand. What I am pretty sure is Meg and Nate's first kiss caught by camera. Then there is my favorite photo: A picture of how I always pictured us. It was taken during the days of the Coupling. We're on the beach, Meg leaning on Nate's chest, Trix in Travis's lap, and Brooks and I looking not at the camera, but at each other.
All the faces are the ones I remember, not the ones out in the cabin right now. Perpetually 18, how it should be.
"We were fools. Man, we used to get into so much shit back then," Brooks says, looking at the photo in my hands.
"Maybe the boys," I say, rolling my eyes.
"Not so fast. You were there for a lot of it. The old tracks were your idea, I remember correctly," he says.
"Oh my god, the tracks!" I squeal. I haven't been there in years but I can still see the abandoned train tracks on the edge of town. We would sneak beers and hideaway and pretend to be rebels. We were invincible there. "We should go back."
"See! I told you. The tracks are always your idea," Brooks laughs.
"Well you made me think of them!" I laugh back. He rolls his eyes at me, shaking his head in disbelief. "I still can't believe you kept all this shit."
"Some I found when I was home. Others," he pauses, his thumb fumbling over our taco photo from last Valentine's Day. "Others I kept."
"Hopeful." I can't tell if it's a statement or question I'm asking. Judging from the look on Brooks's face, he is wondering the same thing.
"I think I just wanted to hold on." Brooks looks away.
He wanted to hold on? He's the one who gave us up. He's the one who left, yet again! I shouldn't get it, but I do. He started dating someone else because it made him happy, because it didn't come with baggage. But all this time, he was holding on anyway.
Brooks pulls away from the edge of the bed and lays a blanket in front of the fire. It is 100 degrees, so I pull my sweater off and lean against Brooks's warm torso. Skin on skin. I prop myself up on my elbow and search his stormy eyes.
"I just don't want to forget anything. I don't want to forget who I am," Brooks says with rasp in his voice.
"You could never forget who you are," I say playfully. "It doesn't work that way."
"I have."
He sounds defeated. And I can hear what he means in his tone.
"You remind me. It's like I know who I am with you. It's why I always need to know you. To know you is to know my heart." Brooks's eyes glint like coals under the flames. He watches me, closely and fiercely.
I'm fully sober now, but his vulnerability is intoxicating.
His fingers trace the skin over my shoulder, up my neck, and disappear into my hair. He pulls my head to his and I'm not ready for his kiss. I wish kiss had a stronger word for it.
I roll on top of him just as he pulls me onto his lap. My thin black panties are pressed against his gym shorts. I can feel the warmth on his legs. Brooks glides his hand down to my ass, slipping it under the fabric. His long arms reach enough to fill me.
"Brooks." I exhale my breath, unaware I had been holding it. "I want you."
"I want you," he answers. And I can feel how much he does through his shorts.
I grind my hips into his, propping myself so I can lean down and kiss him. Waves of white-blonde hair fall over my head, framing his face. Brooks removes his hand from my panties and takes my face in his palms. One hand travels to my chest and my nipples harden in anticipation. I press myself into him further and he lifts his hips in response. A low moan escapes between my lips.
Somewhere deep in the house, music starts. The heavy bass reverberates in the walls and the floor beneath us. I smile to myself, assuming someone is using it to mask noise. Good thing for us.
Brooks flips over to his side, holding me to him the whole time. I push his gym shorts down, watching his lips curve up as I do so. He knows I am ready to jump his bones.
My body tingles with anticipation. He kisses me long and deep and when I'm least expecting, Brooks pushes into me, groaning. My breaths quicken instantly, matching his rhythm. I tilt my head back, allowing myself to ride the wave of pleasure that comes with every thrust. Brooks licks along my neck, his fingernails digging into my skin.
The orgasm doesn't wait for me. O waits for no one.
Our legs are entangled with the blankets. My back is against the fire; it's dying down, but still cloaking the room with a magical amber glow. Brooks is sound asleep beside me, breathing slowly. I admire his lashes and how much longer they look with this eyes closed. I admire almost everything about him.
I'm not ready for this last night to end. Maybe it's for selfish reasons I wish we could stay here forever, surrounded by snow-dusted trees, getting lost on wooded trails. No real life. No problems. No expectations.
