LABOR DAY CARNIVAL

"Emmy, hun." My mom says.

"Hey," I look up. She's standing in my doorway, holding a box full of bags of flour. "That for tonight?"

"Will be when it's pie. Wanted to see if you'd help?" She asks, balancing the flour on her hip.

"Sure." I stand from my bed. "How many pies are you actually making?"

"I signed up for five. All different flavors. You know me. I need the whole spectrum." Mom rolls her eyes at herself.

"Let me take these before you keel over," I laugh.

"Always thinking I'm too old." She laughs, but hands me the box anyway.

I carry it into the kitchen and drop it on the counter. There are cartons and cartons of blueberries and strawberries, apples, and jumbo bags of sugar.

"What do you want to start with?" I ask.

"Hmm, wash the fruits and separate them into bowls. I can start on the crust," she says, nodding.

"Got it."

I open all the cartons and divvy up the berries into bowls. I peel and slice apples and de-pit like 1000 fresh cherries before my fingers start to feel funny on my hands. By the time I am done the entire kitchen smells like piecrust.

"It's been so great having you home, Emmy," my mom says, scooping apples.

"I know," I agree. "It's been nice."

"Maybe," she pauses. I steal a glance and she's focusing on the brown sugar and butter in the second bowl.

"Maybe what?" I egg her on.

"Maybe you can come back more often? Now that things are... OK?"

Things? OK? What does she know? I mean, OK she has eyes but this is not our thing. We keep to the quiet code.

"I, yeah–" I stop.

"Oh, come on, Emmeline. I am your mother. You can't expect me to not know things." She says, still mixing the apple pie filling.

"I don't," I say, lame. My throat is starting to go dry.

"Look, I don't need details. All I'm saying is I think it's OK. Maybe even good for you. You've been so happy these past few weeks. It's nice to see you home and happy at the same time." She puts the bowl of filling down and waves her hand as to dismiss the conversation.

"OK."

I'm thankful for this. Not sure I'm ready to discuss Brooks and me with my mother. I'm not even ready to discuss Brooks and me with Brooks and me.

Seriously, our situation is messier than this countertop right now.

The guilty gnawing is back. But I don't know what I'm guilty for. Really I think 26-year-old Emmy feels guilty for the nine years my past-self suffered. Guilty that I've dodged the what's next topic every time Brooks has tried to bring it up.

What's next?

Summer is over. So next is autumn. And autumn is no season for flings.

Five pies and a lot of filling mixture later, I leave the kitchen. I find my phone sitting on my dresser top. I see the usual messages from Trix and Meg. I scroll past Zoë's and one from my cousin in Delaware. None from Brooks. You told him to leave you alone!

I shake the feeling of disappointment and scroll back to the messages from Trix and Meg.

Can't wait 4 carnivale!! Ferris Wheel emoji.

COME OUTSIDEEEE :)

I lock my phone and put it back on my dresser. I scrub my hands in my sink to remove the last bits of flour from my arms and the fruit pulps from under my fingernails. I slip into my carefully curated carnival outfit, wand my hair, and apply my lip-gloss. If I didn't know any better, I'd look 18 again.

I'm still fucking pissed at Brooks. Our last conversation plays in my mind. The disrespect he showed –well I shouldn't be surprised by it. Double standards are still alive and well.

I guess I'm ready anyway. It's the last day I'll have to see him after all.

* * *

The carnival is on the fairgrounds. It's inland, away from the ocean and while I'm upset it's not in view, I don't miss it right now. Right now, nostalgia is my view –well, nostalgia is clouding my view. The carnival takes up the entire field. There's a large white tent that covers the food stands and prize vendors. Cheap games are set up in stalls along the far side. Giant stuffed animals hang above the kiddies' heads. A few rides are erect in the center –complete with flashing bulbs and emitting old-timey carnival tunes.

The end of summer hype is real.

Everyone's here today. My parents are here. I saw Brooks's mom and Trix's parents. I recognize some of the other kids too –if you can call them kids. They're from my class, some of them I saw at the bonfire on my first night back. They smile at me as they pass but they don't stop to talk. I recognize some of the younger kids too, kids below me a year or so in school. I wonder if any of them realize I haven't been home in years.

I stop behind Meg and Trix at the ticket booth entrance.

"Hey ladies!" Alex shouts from behind us.

Trav catcalls us.

I turn around and see them walking across the field. Alex is wearing his swim trunks and an old shirt with some 80s band on it. Travis in his skinny jeans and holding one of his occasional cigs. Nate wearing his pseudo gym clothes like usual. And Brooks, walking up in his black jeans with a white T-shirt –the one I can see his tattooed shoulder through –the one that kills me. His hair is pulled back into a bun, the short parts flying around his neck. He tucks a piece behind his ear as he looks up at me. He grins.

Goddamn. Why can't we stand our ground? Why do we melt at near-perfect smiles and tight jeans and muscly tattooed arms? WHY?

"Aw, you guys waited for us." Travis says, sweeping Trix into a hug.

"Not on purpose," Meg smirks. Nate is at her side in a second and I'm suddenly uncomfortable.

This is going to be another weird triple date + Alex scenario again. Only this time, Brooks and I are not on speaking terms. Well, at least for now. Not until he apologizes for being a hypocritical douche.

"Ready?" Nate asks. We all nod and follow him through the gate and into the crowd.

"I can't believe we actually used to ride these rides," Trix says.

"Like, non-ironically. We actually enjoyed them," I say, ridiculing our past selves.

We walk past the Scrambler. A line of kids is already queuing up in front of the open gates.

"We were kids," Meg says. She's already gotten a hold of a cotton candy baton. Nate pulls a piece off and sticks it on the tip of his tongue.

"And some of us still act like it," Travis laughs.

I roll my eyes and continue walking further into the fair. I feel Brooks fall into pace next to me and I have to look the opposite direction to stop myself from stealing a glance at him.

"How long are you going to stay mad at me?" Brooks asks, pretending to pout.

I ignore him and keep walking. I hear him laugh.

"So long then?"

I stop in my tracks and spin to face him. His lips curve into a smile.

"How does nine years sound?" I flip my hair and try to walk faster. He keeps stride.

"Sounds shit. Come on, Ems. I apologized, didn't I?" He asks, reaching for my hand.

"It was hardly authentic. And you only did it because I left. You missed the naked girl in your bed." Stay strong, Emmy.

"Not true," he insists. His arm grabs mine and he stops us. "Look, it was a shit thing to say and I didn't mean it like you think I did. I just, I don't know. I don't like the idea of it."

"The idea of it?" I ask.

"Yea, you know. You and other people." Brooks smirks.

Omg.

"That's ridiculous!" I shout through a laugh.

"Hence the apology."

I look at him sideways –at the loose pieces of hair he keeps tucking behind his ears –at the way his T-shirt clings to his arms. I hate myself. All the time I just keep thinking he didn't like the idea of it. How controlling. How incredibly hot.

"And what do you call last night's additional harassment, huh?" I shake my head.

"Terrible defense?" Brooks asks, frowning.

"Offense is shit too."

"I'm an ass, I know." Brooks grins. I roll my eyes, but can't stop from smiling back.

Travis and Nate are on the other side of him. Trix and Meg are walking with Alex ahead of us. We are walking together, in sync, the way we've spent most of the summer.

"Fine."

"Fine I'm an ass or fine you forgive me?" Brooks asks.

"Sure. I forgive you." I shrug, pushing into his arm. He falls back away from me. "Now do me a favor and walk over there."