Time flies when you've reconnected with someone you used to talk with literally every single fucking day.
That's not how the saying goes, and I'm aware of that. I can't say I'm having fun; as the weeks pass by, we have turned it into a habit to put on a Skype call but not really saying anything to each other as he focuses on his music and I focus on my writing. Sometimes he asks me what scene I'm doing and whether I need a boost of inspiration or not, and then he starts practicing his piano skills while playing a song with a tone appropriate to the scene I'm writing.
He tries his best not to mess up and fixes the sound if the old thing starts to give away--his mother passed it down to him after she tried a hand at being a singer and pianist once, playing at local bars and open mic nights, which was where his parents first met. But I don't complain when my concentration is broken every once in a while when he makes a mistake, and if he thinks he's messing up far too many times, he switches to his guitar--he says he has picked it up again only recently, but as soon as he plays, it's obvious that the skill he's mastered a long time ago has yet to fade out of him.
It's a regular thing now, especially when Drew is out of town or out of the country, which has happened once of each throughout these past two weeks. After calling Drew and told him goodnight, I called Cam and managed to finish two more chapters while he plucked away with his guitar. He was surprisingly still awake at those late hours, but he didn't seem to mind me calling him in the middle of the night and continued making music. Drew hasn't suspected a thing, not that he needs to suspect anything at all since it's all platonic between me and Cam, but I know he'll at least show signs of his possessive and jealous side of him again like he did back at the music festival, if he knows I'm still keeping in contact with Cam.
He may be my boyfriend, but he doesn't have complete control over my life. Only I do, and I intend to keep it that way.
But otherwise, life is pretty much good right now.
Just earlier this week, he tells me he needs to go to London now for another business trip, and I find myself upset again because as much as I want to say that I’m happy because that means I get to spend more time hanging out with Cam through online calls, I won’t because I’m also bummed out that I don’t get to spend more time with my current boyfriend as much as I’d like. He does takes me out to dinner once he gets home, and right before he had to leave for the land of the Brits, he had Vincent drive us back to his place and he actually cooked me something for dinner for once—fish and chips, and though they are relatively easy to make, they were made quite decently, as I may say.
It’s not a five-star restaurant date, but someone like me already has low standards and he has exceeded pretty much all of them, so there’s no way in hell I’m complaining.
I did tell him that I was going to a high school reunion this week, but I didn’t tell him that Cam was coming as well. I think he knew anyway, but seemed to have ignored it and just advised me to stay safe and don’t get too drunk or wasted by the end of the night, something I would’ve done without him telling me not to anyway.
I’m an adult, for fuck sake, not a sixteen-year-old party-loving brat.
We Skyped for a bit before he decided to retire for the day since he has to attend a meeting first thing in the morning, but not without being the typical overprotective significant other all over again and told me to watch over myself while I’m there.
The party starts at five so we first decided to leave at three since it’ll take at least an hour to drive to where the party is held, which happens to be another one of our friends’ place fifty miles away from where we are, but I forgot that my two companions are the tardiest people on Earth so we finally left at four.
We took a taxi again this time, and while I’ve become paranoid that I’ll meet that creepy taxi again, I breathed a sigh of relief when I take a peek at the rearview mirror and see that it’s just a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a greying beard who merely asked, and I quote, “Where in the tarnation are you kids heading off to at this hour?”
Our friend Maxwell gets to live in a mansion ever since he married a wealthy socialite about two years older than him who he met in a bar, not too long after we graduated from high school, but they do seem to care for each other very much. Plus, the place has its own backyard pool that’s twice the size of the one he used to have in his parents’ house and the man himself has been the organizer of many notorious school parties, so it’s only natural that he’s the host of this one. It’s not even an official reunion, just between us alumni, so I can already expect this to turn into a high school party as soon as we get there.
But once we do get there, almost nobody has showed up yet.
“Hey! Dudes and dudettes!”
Max greets us as he opens the door and reveals to us a lavish interior that makes my jaw want to drop. In contrast to the furniture and décor in his house, he’s only wearing an old white t-shirt, jeans and slippers, and he looks like he hasn’t shaved in a month. An opened bottle of beer is already in his hands, and I can bet that by the end of the night, he'll down at least four more.
And to this day, no offense to him, but I'm still surprised that someone like him scores what might be the perfect wife and she actually wanted to marry him. I mean, he does have his own job, working in as a marketing manager in some big company, but getting to marry a model-like socialite is, to me, way out of his league.
I guess people find love in the strangest ways.
“Long time no see, bro,” Cam says as he gives him the universal handshake for all men, then proceeds to fist-bump each other. “How’s the family been doing?”
Max sighs and shrugs. “Well, I was hoping I’d be able to tell you dudes this on another time, but…” He chuckles feebly. “Lucy’s pregnant. With our first child.”
Izzy clasps her hands around her mouth and almost bursts into tears while Cam hugs him.
“Really?” he exclaims in surprise. “Congrats, man!”
“Yeah, dude,” I add, shaking my head but grinning with joy for my friend. “Congratulations. I bet she’s one lucky lady, and soon-to-be lucky mother, eh?”
“Whoa there, Em, there’s still eight months,” he laughs. “But thanks. I’m glad that you’re all happy for me, even though I’m more nervous than happy right now even when we’re about to get wasted tonight. Although, Em, I think you’re the lucky lady, seeing how you’re back at it with my man Cameron over here.”
My heart almost drops. Cam’s eyes widen and I’m pretty sure that for a moment there, we’re sharing the exact same thought.
“Um, Max…”
“We’re not… together anymore,” Cam intervenes, staring at him with worry but refusing to meet my eyes. “We haven’t been for two years.”
Max’s mouth forms a large ‘o’ and for a split second, his eyes widen to the size of saucers then revert back to normal, cupping his mouth with his hand.
“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” he says in bewilderment. “Oh god, I actually thought… I mean, you two are here together and all, so I assumed you were…”
“Nah, it’s okay,” I say dismissively, and this time, I’m the one who doesn’t want to meet Cam’s eyes and direct them to Max then to the floor. “We’re still cool, you know. Just because we’re exes, doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. I mean, we were friends before we started dating, too.”
“Uh, yeah.” Max scratches his head. “Anyway, I've got the booze ready. And while nobody's here yet, you can just head on inside and set up your stuff by the DJ stand. Feel free to grab a bottle on your way there."
"Will do, good sir," Cam smiles as he enters the building and heads to the direction Max gestured at, before the latter turns back to us.
"In the meantime, I gotta make sure he doesn't break anything while he's setting up, but Lucy's been anxious to meet you two—I've told her good things about both of you, after all. Well, more about Emma since she's the nicer one out of the two of you..."
"Oh my god, why are both you assholes incriminating me?" Izzy groans and rolls her eyes, earning a good, loud laugh from Max as he opens the door a little bigger for us and gestures for us to enter.
"Don't worry; she's excited to share some make-up tips with you, Iz," he says as he leads us through the entrance hall and deeper into this maze of a mansion. There's so much gold decor everywhere that it confuses me from time to time. "As for dear Emma over here... you're safe joining the ladies, right? Or would you rather stick around with me and Cam, and I'll promise I'll stay out of any unfinished business between you too... In fact, I promise not to walk in on you two making the hell out of each other again..."
I cringe upon being reminded of that memory. "God, Max, we're friends but please don't bring it up... And Cam's the one who held that grudge on you, not me."
He scrunches his face in disgust, like he's already picturing that image in that sick mind of his. "Yeah, well, I had to stop you two otherwise I'm pretty sure he was going to eat you up... Right, I'm just gonna go now. I'll at least promise not to bring it up again—too soon, huh?"
Two years isn't too soon, but it saddens me to think about what we used to have back in high school. The thrill, the passion, the adventure—things lacking in mine and Drew's relationship. I don't want that to affect anything, though. God, I hope not.
“Nah, all’s good, bro,” I say, patting him in the back. “Actually, I think I need to use the bathroom for a bit. Mind telling me where it is?”
“Down the hallway, second door to your right,” he says, gesturing towards the left hallway. I tell him my thanks and holding my breath, I immediately rush to where he’s pointing at and throw open the door to the bathroom before breathing a sigh of relief as I slam the door shut. Although I actually do need to use the bathroom, the main reason why I’m here is because I just need to get the hell out of there, and recollect my thoughts before spending the rest of the night in hell.
I stop, however, and can’t help myself but stare at the interior of the bathroom. It looks just as ridiculously expensive as the rest of the house, with a gold-rimmed toilet, marble counters and sink, stone walls and light-up mirrors.
How the fuck did Max get this fucking lucky?
I move to the sink and turn on the tap to splash some water on my face. It’s a good thing I don’t use a lot of make-up to begin with—there’s no point in trying to look good anymore at this point, right?—and I’ve brought my foundation and lip gloss with me in my purse anyway. When I look up, a familiar pair of brown eyes are staring back at me, her dirty blonde hair a bit messed up, but her overall appearance is nothing more than an utter wreck.
I sigh. Why is it so goddamn hard to let go of the whole ordeal like I’ve always done the past month? I’ve been talking with him almost every two days or so for two straight weeks now, but as soon as it finally hits me that we’re being transported back into our high school years—or the Golden Ages, as many of them would say—it feels like history is about to repeat itself all over again.
Nothing’s going to happen, right? I say in my head, trying to convince myself that this is just another casual gathering that will end up with almost all of us half-drunk or half-sober. We’re adults at this point and the burden of responsibility must’ve changed us, especially the two carefree men. Cam has certainly changed after putting more effort into the one thing he loves to do most, and Max is a married man and a soon-to-be father now. Our other friend William has always been the voice of reason since the first day of high school, and if he ends up passed out drunk tonight then it’ll be a good change instead of a bad one. That is, if he’s even showing up to this reunion thing in the first place.
After splashing some more water on my face, I wipe the remaining water with a tea towel then reapply my make-up before heading out. My mind is actually considering on joining the guys because gushing about celebrity crushes, more make-up and fashion has never been really my thing, but thinking twice about the terrible mistake it would be if I do join them, I decide against it and head up the stairs to where Izzy has disappeared to.
When I enter the master bedroom, both Lucinda and Isabelle are sprawled on the bed with at least a hundred articles of clothing around them, looking like two teenage girls at a sleepover party and literally braiding each other’s hair.
“About time you got here!” Lucy greets and hops of the bed to usher me inside. “Max and Izzy has told me a lot of things about you—well, more specifically you and Cameron—but I think we have quite a lot to talk about right now.”
I glare at Izzy and she shrugs. I’m gonna slap that bitch.
We head back down about an hour later when guests have started to pour in and the party is in full swing. Many of them are outside by the pool, and I’ve noticed I barely recognize most of them after more than half a decade of being separated from each other, even though we all used to see each other every single day we barely greet each other in the hallways. Former classmates, schoolmates and a couple of former teachers—well, the ones who weren’t too strict or uptight, that is—were invited and they all seem to be having fun, even though it really is starting to look like a legitimate high-school party.
In the corner of the backyard is Cam behind the DJ booth, doing what he does best while playing one of the songs from his set at the festival. Max has a freaking lei around his neck after having changed into a red Hawaiian shirt and shorts, dancing in the center of the crowd with a bottle already in his hands.
I shake my head. Still the same Maxwell I’ve always known, it seems.
Then he lifts his head up to notice us and Lucy practically waves him over. He complies, dancing all the way to where we stand and suddenly grabbing his wife by her waist, then bending her over to give her a passionate kiss. My heart can’t resist melting upon the sight of the happy couple, even though part of me is still in shock that Lucy doesn’t seem to bothered with the sight of her husband still acting the same way he did six years ago.
I guess he’s not completely the same Maxwell anymore. Commitment was lacking from his eighteen-year-old self, being a notorious player and all, but after seeing this sight before me, I should’ve given him the benefit of the doubt.
Well, it’s already comforting to know that he didn’t marry her just for her fortune, but because he truly did love her.
“Ladies, welcome,” he says, handing both Izzy and I an unopened bottle of beer each. When Lucy glares at him, he shrugs and give her a stern look I’ve never seen from him before. “Honey, you’re pregnant. I’m making sure you’re not drinking a single drop of alcohol for the next eight months.”
“I’m just a month in and I can’t drink the only goddamn thing that keeps me alive?” she berates her husband, snatching the bottle in his hand and taking a large gulp of it. Max stares at her with wide eyes and an open jaw.
“But—”
“No buts,” she snaps, handing the bottle back to him. “I’m drinking alcohol tonight, or I’m disbanding this party right now.”
Unable to fight back against his wife, he watches in awe along with us as she practically struts away from him and towards the crowd, dancing along to the beat of the music blaring from the five-foot speakers on either sides of the booth.
“Dude,” Izzy says beside me as Max turns around to face her, his face showing him admitting defeat. “You got lucky.”
“Ugh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he groans, running a hand through his dark hair. “I know I typically advocate booze to party-goers so much that Guinness should be paying me for all the advertising I’ve done for them, but she’s pregnant. There’s a living human growing inside that belly of hers and its mine too! What the fuck is she thinking?”
To be honest with myself, it’s rather amusing to see my friend worrying about something else other than his dick for once. I bet he’ll be a great father in the future, and I’m not even sarcastic about it.
“Dude, it’s just beer,” Izzy retorts back, patting him in the back. “And she’s not that far along the pregnancy. As long as she’s not drinking too much, I don’t think that’ll do much harm to the baby. Just make sure she doesn’t get drunk, though. That’s the red zone.”
He glances back and forth from us to Lucy, then shakes his head. “Ugh, I don’t know how the fuck to be a proper husband and father! I’m scared, guys—I really am. What if the pregnancy goes wrong, what if I can’t be a good husband to her, what if the baby hates me because he doesn’t want his father to be a retarded asshole—”
“Max, you’re not a retarded asshole,” I say with the softest voice I can possibly muster. “Well, granted, sometimes you can be, but nothing’s gonna go wrong. The pregnancy will be long but it will be a smooth nine months if you do this right. Both of you love each other and that alone is pretty obvious, and there’s no doubt that your child—son or daughter—will love you just as much as you will love him or her.”
Izzy smirks. “Yeah, what she said. I mean, you’ve survived this far, and high school was a giant mess with us just running around like idiots pretending like we know what the fuck we want to do with our lives when we don’t, but I think we’ve all learnt at least a thing or two from all the shit happening in those four years, right?”
“Dude, I failed Home Ec because I accidentally dropped my flour sack practice baby on the ground and spilling its guts and blood everywhere. And you were there with me!”
“I found you passed out drunk the previous night after going to that stupid gathering by the park, egging Old Wilson’s statue, so that’s your own goddamn fault!” After her outburst, she clears her throat then continues, “As I was saying, high school’s in the past and we’re in the present. And I think you’ll do better this time, considering that this is an actual, alive baby and your own goddamn son. Or daughter. If you fail now, you’re failing at goddamn life itself. And, well, you’ll feel guilty after killing an actual human being than a flour sack with a face drawn on it with a fucking Sharpie.”
Max’s eyes widen again at Izzy’s threatening statement, so I know I have to step in before things get any worse.
“What Izzy’s really trying to say is, you’re going to be a great father, no matter what,” I say with a smile. “Just have faith in yourself. Trust in your instincts, in your wife’s instincts and don’t piss her off throughout the pregnancy. If she wants a sandwich with tuna, mayonnaise and pineapple, then make her one.”
His jaw almost drops again. “What?”
“You know, the whole hormone-induced food cravings—but that’s not what we want to talk about right now.” To be exact, that was my mom’s food cravings, according to her own account of pregnancy, along with a whole watermelon. “Just trust in yourself and everything will be fine. You’re already worried about anything happening to her if she drinks alcohol, so that’s a great start! Now, I think you may want to actually keep an eye on her because she’s heading over to that bar over there and has her sights on some more stuff she shouldn’t have with a baby inside of her.”
He immediately turns to where I’m looking at, which is Lucy approaching the bartender by the side and ordering a drink, which quickly sets Max back to ‘responsible’ mode as he rushes over to her to stop her from doing anything she might regret later on. After some talking, the couple then head back to the dance floor instead and start to waltz as soon as Cam puts a romantic slow song on.
I watch them for some time, wishing I can be like them as Max twirls Lucy around and they laugh while trading inside jokes with each other during their dance. I wish I can imagine Drew and myself doing the same, but I can’t even imagine him being casual and laidback, let alone at a house party. He’s never actually told me what he was like during his teenage years—all I know about his past is that he comes from a fairly wealthy background, graduated from Harvard and gets to inherit his father’s company. I’ve never even met his parents, for god sake, only his older sister who currently lives in Paris.
I haven’t even noticed Izzy disappearing from my side and blending in with the crowd, catching up with our old classmates until I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I turn around to see Cam instead, who have abandoned the DJ booth after seeing the crowd currently satisfied with the music choice for the moment. He offers the mouth of his beer bottle to me and, understanding what he meant, I bring mine to it and we clink our bottles before simultaneously taking a swig. The liquid burns down my throat but I ignore it, having grown a better tolerance to alcohol since the last time I’ve been in a party like this.
“This really brings back some memories, huh?” he says, his eyes scanning across the crowd. I can’t help but feel awkward at the distance between us, when we would usually be so close I would be sitting right beside him or even on his lap in situations like this.
Well I can’t do that now, can I? There aren’t even any damn chairs, for fuck sake.
“You don’t say,” I mutter back and take another sip, hoping the burning trail of fire will prevent me from remembering said memories. Unfortunately, I have a lack of control over my own mind because once I’ve started, I can’t really stop it anymore.
“To be honest, this kind of reminds me of the first time we’ve gotten close with each other,” he continues, his voice becoming increasingly distant with each word spoken out of his mouth. “Remember that night?”
“The first party I went to after my father died? How could I forget?”
I don’t realize the bitterness of my voice as I said so, not intending for the atmosphere around us to turn even worse than it already is. And to think I’m able to talk about that incident now without showing a single goddamn emotion on my face, let alone a flinch…
Cam, however, quickly catches on to the change in the mood and his voice turns somber, and more serious.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “It was a bad idea, to be honest. Dragging you to a party and all. We thought we could make you forget about it for at least one night and have fun for once. I can’t help but feel bad for being so insensitive—so inconsiderate. I should’ve known better. We all should’ve.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” I look up at him and give him a pat in the shoulder, but I’m unprepared to see his expression perfectly mimicking his voice, so much that it nearly breaks my heart. “I appreciate your efforts. I really do. I was just… in a really bad mood at the time. Not just about the incident—just with all the shit happening at school, and Izzy being screwed over by Derek the Asshole…”
“Yeah, almost forgot about that.” He himself takes another sip, too. “But that night… I don't remember some parts of it, but I remember..."
"We were both drunk," I say, looking away from him. "What can I say? Drunk people always make drunken decisions. That night was one of them."
He takes a brief moment of pause to think it over. "We didn't... do that, did we? Because I honestly don't remember most of it. I remember talking to you by the poolside. I remember you almost leaving and then I stopped you. And then..."
And then you took me home, I want to say to him, but leave his trailing voice the way it is just because I don't want to be the one stating out whatever happens next. And then the next day you wanted to DTR, and then asked me out on a date, and before we knew it, we went to Prom together and the rest is history.
"To be honest, I don't remember much either," I say instead and purse my lips. "But that doesn't matter now, does it? Let's just have fun for the rest of the night, back with the whole gang, back with our usual antics that drive the teachers nuts. Hey, look—Will's here!"
I point at a familiar figure sheepishly walking out the back door with his hands in his pockets, wearing a blue plaid shirt and brown trousers, along with the same pair of square glasses he's been wearing since forever.
My attempt to distract him apparently worked because Cam quickly turns to the direction I'm pointing at and goes over to greet the last member of our crazy group, otherwise known as the only sane member of our crazy group. Recognizing him immediately, the two give each other a bro-hug while I greet my friend with a normal hug, cooing about how I've missed them—how I've missed all of them.
I walk behind the two men as they talk and catch up about recent events, but I can't help but let my mind wander back to our conversation earlier, about that night.
I was lying to him. I remembered everything.
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