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A few hours into the night...

Vanessa stepped out, needing a moment from the constant hustle and bustle of the party to take in some fresh air. It was a welcome change from the clouds of smoke and marijuana, a quite moment to compose herself.

“Need a break?”

His voice shocked her, causing her to just about jump out of her own skin. But when she realize who it was, the most responding thought in her head was: They were different. Her hair grew out to the middle of her back while he cut off inches of his own. It had been two years since they'd broken up. There were invitations given but few words had actually been shared between them. Just pictures of new adventures spent without the other. The wounds left by what happened to them were mending. Time healed the worst of it, but time only does so much. The two were brought back together briefly for the funerals. But both had been largely little more than silent giants looking into one another’s lives. Unable to leave and always, always casting their shadows. It wasnt surprising to find him out here. He had always hated the smell of cigarette smoke and enjoyed the outdoor shenanigans of drunks.

It was just them, the silence of the night, and a small cloud of smoke that came out from the now closed door dispersing into nothing. They both downed a few drinks during the party. Alcohol made the conversation easier for the sake of their weathered hearts. She skipped the small talk, after all, they weren't strangers and asked him if he was still flying. She asked because she already knew the answer. Parts of her wanted nothing new of him.

"By tomorrow afternoon I'll be heading north," he said with a click of his tongue.

"Towards what exactly?"

He shrugged.

"Little airport with a grass strip. Heard there were good burgers up there," he told her, gripping his beer bottle.

"Are you still alone on these trips, Dex?"

"Sometimes," he responded. "I can easily say I'm never alone though; I'm always finding people to go on the ride with."

She scoffed. "Women included?"

He glared at the ground, deciding to take a drink before answering. "I'm just trying to make memories with other people now, V."

He remembered foolishly thinking that two years was enough time to move on, that next time he’s up with nothing in the sky but himself and the sea, he can look out at the horizon and her name won't come to mind. He can learn new names and faces and not think about her. But time is not kind to those that leave everything behind. Time is constant. Time preserves memories deep within an individual with thoughts and feelings they cannot shake.

"I know that," she told him. "I know you are—but promise, promise me that whoever you meet, tell them about us. Even if they're caught up with you. Warn them about what happens when people fall in love prematurely. Show them pictures of us at fifteen."

"Why fifteen?"

"Well," she breathed in, "I was ten when I first met you, and thirteen was when I knew for sure. We were fourteen when I told you I loved you," she said wistfully. "But fifteen was when we showed it."

He let out a curt, almost pained laugh. "I think fifteen was my favorite."

"It was mine too," she admitted, knocking her knees together. "But now we're older and I need you to let me know that even if you fall in love again please remember what happened to us."

It hurt him to talk about them. To remember and relive what they lost.
"How do you know I'm not in love right now, huh?" He questioned, his voice low and lips twisted. "I can have a girl waiting to call her and have her pick me up and you wouldn't know, so stop acting as I can never love someone again as I loved you."

He expected her to raise hell but she did not.

She didn't falter. She breathed in as her sea-glass eyes focused on the darkness of the sky above them.

"That's the thing," she paused, "you won't because people never love the same way twice."

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"Because I've been trying," she exclaimed, a hint of sadness on her smile. A bittersweet smile not of joy but acceptance.

Her frame looked smaller than he remembered. It stirred something in him. He almost reached over to pull her into his chest, to spill out every sin and prayer. He knew better to do such a rotten thing. If he held her once more, there would be no letting go. Instead, he took another brash sip of his beer and kept quiet.

"Look, I don't need you making the same mistakes," she voiced her wants. "What I need is to trust you to not break another person's heart. I need to know you'll be okay, with or without them. Whoever they turn out to be."

He listened to her request, heart open and exposed.

"Promise me you won't do the same thing to the next girl who loves you."

The glass shatters on the ground beneath them.

"Vanessa, I-"

"No!" She spat, turning to face him.

“Listen to me—remember me at my worst, remember me yelling at you to come back and crying to your mom when you wouldn't. Remember the broken coke bottles I threw and how your hand felt tightening my wrist. Remember the silence. Remember that I loved you and that you loved me but what we had wasn't enough."

They sat in silence beneath the hazy night sky. The inner thoughts he kept from her sat on the edge of his numb tongue. Messy, frazzled words he wanted to yell but held back because he knew he had no right. In another life, a life where he had the heart, Dexter broke the silence and cried out: "I remember it all. I remember that you were my first and how I just took for granted that I believed you'd be my last. I could never tell you then but it has made me better, loving you. Now, we are here and you're… guiding me to the next love of my life as if you know that I’m hopeless. The universe screamed at me and took away half my family and I dealt badly. How is any dumb kid supposed to know how to handle that? We were just kids. We just… did it wrong."

In this life, Dexter manages a concise, simple truth and tells Vanessa: "You know, I thought we would end up together in the end. Drinking lemonade as we watch our grandkids play in the garden, right under my mom's oak tree."

She laughed in a way that took him back to his youth. "So did your mom."

"You know there are still times that I look back at my rearview mirror and swear that you're standing at the end of the lot watching me drive off."

"And there are times I think maybe we'll meet again once we're older and our minds are less hectic, and everything will settle as the universe intended."

"You're such a romantic, V."

"Bite me," she quipped. "I'm pouring my heart out to you for the final time and that's your response."

He tensed up. He didn't like the way the final time poured out of her lips so easily.

"The thing is no matter what I say, sometimes you don't listen," she pointed out. "I know that there are people out there waiting for you to meet them and they won't be able to stop themselves from falling in love with you."

He placed his hands over hers as she continued.

"And maybe you'll find a pretty blonde, her eyes bluer than mine or green or brown or hazel. She'll be so sweet that it doesn't take much for you to fall. So even if I warn you to remember what the world does to people like us that fall in love, you're going to do it again anyway."

She tilted his face sideways to face her.

"That's who you are, Dex," she said with love, gripped his hand in her other palm. "You'll always go against the inevitable and I love you for it."

His eyes began to dwell with tears. Her smile was heavy with melancholy but just as sweet as he remembered. For a moment, they were fifteen again and life took them down a kinder path.

He let her wipe away his tears. "I'm sorry I left."

"I know."

"I'm sorry that I hurt you."

"Me too."

"I loved you, so much."

"I know, I remember."

The stayed in silence for a while longer. Eventually, Vanessa pulled away. “I need to go inside. I- uh, I have people. Waiting for me.”

Dexter nodded wordlessly, but allowed a small smile to let her know it really was okay. He watched her make her way to the door, but she stopped just as she reached for the door handle. “Oh, and Dex? You should call me. Sometime. Not tonight obviously cause-“

“Party.” He said, grinning now. Vanessa matched his, nervous and emotionally raw, but happy herself. She continued. “It’d be nice to have you around again. I miss your mom.”

“She misses you too. Now go. It’s your-“

“Party. I know.” She says with a laugh. “Thanks for coming, Dex.”

“Happy birthday, Vanessa.”

And like that he was alone again.

---

Dexter froze, his shoulders tensed as if he was about to bring his hands up to surrender. As if he had been caught red handed doing something he shouldn't have been doing. But despite his body language, there was a small smile on his face. He recognized her voice anywhere. “Guilty,” Dexter said easily, dropping his hands. “You know cigarettes and I don't mix.”

Andy moved to stand beside him. Her body turned to lean against the railing and she looked over his expression. The slight puff to his eyes. The small downward turn of the edge of his lips. He’d been crying. She knew the look too well. She turned to face the pool in front of the patio and she busied her eyes with the dancing water. “I came out for the air, too,” she murmured. She was quiet for a few moments before she gave him a sideways glance. “It means a lot to me that you came tonight. To Vanessa too.” Dexter seemed to straighten a bit at the mention of Vanessa’s name, but it was subtle. The kind of motion that wouldn’t be picked up by a stranger, but someone like Andy might very well notice.

“Yeah, she told me.” Dexter confessed. “We talked and it went… Okay? I think? I’ve never been any good at stuff like that. I always leave the talking to you-” He poked her in the side playfully. Andy flinched at the jab and gave him a sour look in response. “You’re way better at it than I am. I just kinda word vomit and hope for the best.”

Dexter raised his drink and finished the remaining third in one go, and upon realizing he was out of drink, seemed rather off put about it. “I need to get another beer,” he started. “Do you, I uh…” He caught himself stumbling over his words and recovered. “Should I, y’know, grab you something while I’m up?”

Andy was smiling like she was trying not to laugh; her eyes crinkled at the edges. She took a moment to look down at her half empty juice, and then held out the cup to him. “Would you get me a juice refill? With some ice too.” Dexter nodded wordlessly, and was off. It only took him a moment or so before he returned with two solo cups in each hand- he was not one to be out done by his friend even if she did debatably have a greater constitution than he did. He would stay in the race, dammit!

Dexter ended up leaning against the railing next to her, abandoning his chair so some other sap could sit at some later time, and passed her the drink she had requested. He cracked a smile when she took it. “I put some cyanide in. Just for you.”

“Mmm, my favorite.” She stated before taking a swig and grinning afterwards. “Should we just stay out here all night? It’s peaceful.”

“Well, I’ve found that after a few hours people start meandering out and throwing up on the lawn. I figure if the cops show, we’d be the first to book it.” He explained. “Y’know you don’t have to wait out here with me. Won’t bother me any if you leave to go socialize.”

Andy shook her head and swirled the juice around in her cup. “I think if I went back in there I’d end up staying until dawn. Can’t afford that tonight.” She smiled over at him. “Plus, I’ve barely seen you all week because of practice.”

I’ve missed you too. Is the first thing that goes through Dexter’s mind, and he eyes his drink for a moment, trying to decide how he wants to answer that. So he drinks, and decides that the liquid courage is enough to merit a little risk. So he says what he thinks. It’s simple and concise, but it's all he really needed to say. “I missed you too,” he starts. Dexter, for all his wit and intelligence, is not very good at saying all he needed to say. Usually it’s too much or not enough and, well, this was one of those times. “Shame, was hoping to spend the night with you.”

And with that, well, Dexter doesn’t even realize how she might potentially misconstrue his words. It wasn’t meant to be a double entendre, but it certainly ended up that way. Dexter is too preoccupied looking at his shoes to notice her initial physical response, but he wasn’t exactly comprehending his words properly at the moment to begin with anyway.

Andy’s smile was small when he said he missed her. The kind of smile someone would have if they knew the meaning of the words, but didn’t want to admit them out loud. She was looking at her drink too, until he spoke again. Andy, usually so confident and smooth with her words and actions, was suddenly the complete opposite. She opened her mouth, but not even air escaped her lips, and her head turned to look at him. For the first time in their friendship, Andy was the one left speechless.

But she wasn’t scared. Her mind may have been a whirlwind of thoughts, but her body had made up it’s own mind before her brain could catch up. Her cup was left on the balcony’s edge as she slowly edged closer to him. “Do you really feel that way, Dex?” Her voice was soft. It lacked it’s usual gusto.

“Well, yeah of course I do you’re-” And before he can properly ask her what the hell that's supposed to mean because of course he’d want to spend all the time he could with her, Andy is leaning forward and proving that she doesn’t mind giving potentially nosy neighbors a show. Except she doesn’t punch or kick him like some sort of scene from Karate Kid. God, she doesn’t punch him. She opposite-of--punches him.

When Andrea Walsh gently grabs his face and kisses him, Dexter thinks one thing (quite eloquently considering the situation):

Oh.

---

Written with @Skai

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The party was already in full swing when Jenny Venom and her cronies arrived. She’d had to walk, her parents refusing to give her a lift, and despite her father’s lucrative job they had not gifted her with her own vehicle upon her birthday, unlike many of her more fortunate peers. Micheal had offered his daughter use of his bike, a gesture that was equal parts genuine and passive-aggressive. Jennifer had quickly decided that the only way she would depart on the rusted, out-of-style old frame would be to ride it directly into River Shannon, and then dive in after it holding the sincere hope that no one she knew had seen her on its saddle in the first place. So she’d walked instead, setting off as early as she could so she could loop around into town to her usual hang-outs; it was there that she found, as she’d hoped, her usual companions, a mixed bag of Mathers Memorial students and alumni, all on the social fringes and united under a banner of defiance and ‘fuck you’.

Whys and Hows and Whos aside, they arrived late. The gang immediately went for the kitchen, a roving pack of booze-seeking missiles; Jennifer hung quiet and secluded on the outer circle of the party, carefully observing. Everyone was here - most of MMH in fact - and as Jennifer’s eyes scanned the ebbs and flows of social interaction, cliques forming and breaking and reforming, she spotted the key players: Dexter, the ex of the star guest; Andy, the best friend; RJ, the bad-boy wannabe with a thing for the girl-next-door. Autumn was hanging around, by herself as usual, moping and likely pining for the birthday girl. Victor was flitting about as well, once again playing understudy at his own birthday. No one of note had noticed her belated entry, or the uninvited she’d brought with her. Better that way. She slunk across the living room towards the kitchen after her friends, silently sneering at the records piled up next to the stereo waiting to be played, and no sooner than she had crossed the threshold from beige carpet to white tile, she had a plastic cup of beer thrust into her hands. She drank quickly, handing it back to be filled again.

“Man it’s all kids here, Venom. The place reeks of freshmen. ’ Danny piped up, the oldest and tallest of the group, kept around by virtue of his fake ID being the one most consistently accepted. He’d passed the initial beer, and now passed her the refill, of which Jenny threw back half the cup before responding.
“It’s the Bordeaux’s party. Who did you think was gonna be here? Most of Mather’s here tonight.”
Danny shrugged, looking to the others, who also shrugged. Half of them were Jennifer’s year anyway, and were well aware of Vanessa Bordeaux. The party had been well-anticipated by most of the school.
“If I didn’t show after getting Vanessa’s pity invite I’d have caught hell from most of everyone. I don’t need every grody loser and nerd getting rips on me for not being at the ‘It’ party of the year. Shit, half of these burnouts have just clawed their way up to zeek just by being here. ”
Danny nodded, half-listening. Jennifer was sour - it wasn’t a pity invite, it was Vanessa extending an olive branch, but Jenny wasn’t the accepting-olive-branches type, and she damn sure wasn't going to show just what kind of years-old regret and heartache the gesture had dredged up in her.
“Not even,” he eventually replied, but it was clear he was only rebutting for rebuttal’s sake, “but we’re bouncing anyway. Scoop a couple dollars and score some more booze from the 7-11 downtown. You in?”

Jennifer took stock. There wasn’t really anything here that she felt the need to hang around for; her face had been seen by the miscellaneous and she would be officially recorded as ‘in attendance’. But still, something wanted to linger here, a misplaced sense of wistfulness. Jenny looked around and saw, clear in her mind, a ‘What If’. She could have been here early, welcomed in by the twins before enjoying a slow glass of wine as more guests trickled in and then switching to beer as the energy and tempo in the house built. She could have kissed someone and laughed about it with Vanessa, speaking in hushed tones about who likes who and who had a totally hot bod and who needed to bag their face. Jenny put her hand in her jacket pocket and held a tight fist around the object she’d stashed in there to be presented tonight, crudely wrapped in some torn up newspaper. At the same time, she watched from the far side of the kitchen island as Vanessa trailed through the lounge straight to Andy’s side, dancing and laughing, before collapsing onto the sofa next to Autumn. Jenny’s knuckles were white gripped around her present as Vanessa led Autumn away by the hand to the upper stories of the house.

“I’m out.” She said simply, taking Danny’s cup of beer and swiping a liquor bottle from the countertop before pushing away from the kitchen, snaking her way through the lounge - swiping a pack of nails from someone’s back pocket as she did - before quietly climbing a short set of stairs and pushing through a door onto the balcony that overlooked the backyard. She finished the beer and poured in some liquor - gin? fucking gin? - and then sipped that as she sparked up a cigarette. Her plan was to reluctantly sip the gin until everyone else was inebriated enough to sneak out, and then finish the cigs on the way home to cover the smell of booze. And then Jennifer heard the balcony door open and close behind her, and she stiffened up as she turned around to discover who had deliberately sought her out, despite her caution to avoid those that would otherwise only serve to make her uncomfortable, or instill her with melancholy nostalgia.

Out of the door stepped the older of the Bordeaux Twins. He had a sheepish smile on his face. He walked up next to Jennifer and leaned over the railing on the balcony, gazing out at the people in the yard.
“Party too lame for you Jennifer?” He joked, as he got out a cigarette from his pack. Producing his father’s zippo lighter from the other pocket and lighting the smoke.
“Jenny.” She corrected emphatically. Victor conceded wordlessly as Jenny turned around to lean next to him.
“If I have to fake one more conversation about football, I’ll blow my brains out.” Victor said, miming two fingers next to his head.

Jenny “hmphed” instead of laughing, not wanting to give Vic the satisfaction, and they silently stood side-by-side, taking drags from their smokes and watching as the party began to spill out from the house into the spacious Bordeaux garden. She finished her measure of gin and poured another, pushing the cup across to Vic and keeping the bottle for herself. She sipped again before she spoke.
“You ever get sick of sharing your birthday, Vicky? Being overshadowed every year?”

Vic smiled as the cup slid it’s way over to him, catching it, he didn’t drink from it. He simply whisked the alcohol around in the cup by playing with it in his hand, watching the gin float from one side to the other. He glanced over at Jennifer and a soft smile crept up on his face. Dragging the last bit of tobacco out of his cigarette.

“A little. But I often put myself in the background. My sister thrives in the spotlight. I think I work best in the shadows. Behind the scenes.” His words were soft, almost solemn. It was clear he wasn’t jealous of Vanessa, but he also wasn’t satisfied with his position in the grand scheme of things.

This time Jenny did laugh. “You sound like you’ve practiced that line a lot, Vicky.” She drank, swilling the gin around in her mouth, letting the flavour mix with the rough smoke of the cheap cigarettes. “Believe yourself yet?”

Victor chuckled. “Maybe I have. At least twice a day in the mirror.” He finally took a swig out of the gin and almost spat it out. That was disgusting. As much as he tried to hide the fact that he thought so from his companion. “Remember when we were kids and I’d punch you for calling me ‘vicky’?” He said, after he had finally forced the alcohol down into his stomach, the burn hitting.
“Yet, I feel like you’d kick my ass now. So I guess I’ll just have to live that nickname down.” He concluded. He opened his pack again and got out another cig. Lighting it up, flipping the lighter with the dexterity of a Wild West desperado, thoughtlessly.

“You’re welcome to try.” She replied. More quiet. Jenny stubbed her cigarette on the railing. “Why are you out here, Vic? Go enjoy your party. Nessie’s hogging the guests. I came out here to be by myself anyway.”

Victor smiled. “It’s my balcony. Isn’t it? Party’s getting a little too much for me. I like smaller crowds. We ended up getting talked into inviting the entire school with their plus one. I haven’t talked to half of the people downstairs before in my life, and suddenly they’re buying me birthday gifts. It just doesn’t feel genuine.” He looked up at the sky, and then back down again. Eyeing the tree that had branches that almost reached all the way up onto the balcony. It was a big oak tree. Had been there for fifty years. Planted back when his mom was a kid. “Remember when we’d climb that tree and Vanessa couldn’t get down? She got so scared.” Victor chuckled, taking another swig of gin. It was truly awful.

Jennifer considered the tree and the memories its branches bore. The memories of childhood turned sour mixed with the experience of aging, and she felt bitter about Vic’s seeming ungratefulness for the outpouring of friendships laid before him. Jennifer remembered her last birthday; a sixer from Danny that she split into 3 pairs, and her father refusing to purchase the latest Ramones record, instead banning Jenny’s music from the house. She put her hand in her jacket pocket, and pulled out the gift. Scraps of torn newspaper drifted to the floor, but the sellotape and sheets held together. It was rough, and crude, and messy, but so was Jenny. She set it on the railing, balanced carefully between the two of them.

“That’s your present. Joint present. But Vanessa's too busy with her real friends, so you can have it. Hopefully it feels more ‘genuine’ for you than everything else you’re getting tonight.” She sparked up another nail, finishing the dregs of Vic’s cup for him before pouring the last of the gin into it and tossing the empty bottle over her shoulder onto the grass. She sipped as she took two short steps to the door, pulling it open and lingering on the threshold back into the house, head cocked to look over her shoulder, the shape of Vic blurry in her peripheral. “Happy Birthday, Victor. Enjoy your night.”

And with that she left him alone on the balcony.

The rest of the night passed quickly for Jennifer. The gin settled in her stomach as she emptied the cup before she made her way from the Bordeaux house, and by the time she walked through the garden, kicking the discarded bottle as she went past, moving past the tree line with a third cigarette lit and burning, she was decidedly drunk and well on her way to wasted. ‘Home’ barely registered in her alcohol-addled mind, and instead she just wandered as the roads took her, eventually ending up downtown again and causing trouble.

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