The Storm Approaches, Naomi Reproaches

A few steps of closed distance broke the author from her reverie.

"Excuse me. Would you mind letting the rest of the wedding party know if you see them? The tropical depression we were tracking earlier has developed more... shall we say… *personality* than expected."

The potential storm had been mentioned before the wedding this morning, so it didn't come as a complete surprise. Although judging by the energy of the staff…

"Bad?"

"The resort has been built for this, but we're advising everyone to stay in their rooms tonight. The weather service is suggesting it might reach hurricane strength by morning."

Renée nodded at the new information - her mind was almost grateful for the distraction it presented. As she ambled toward her room, she passed more staff members moving to secure outdoor furniture and check windows. They spoke into radios in clipped tones as if trying not to drown the communication line.

[Heh. Is that also why we say a few words then stop?]

Through a now open fire escape door, she caught a glimpse of the former reception space being rapidly transformed into a storage room for any loose items. The remaining staff had quickly abandoned their party cleanup in favor of storm preparation. Which meant Ayla was probably no longer stacking chairs in that absolutely devastating-

[Stop thinking about the dress.]

The wind picked up again and sent palm fronds scraping against the building. Renée breathed out, goosebumps spreading down her spine. She needed to get to her room and calm down. The forecast was the least of her current worries.

"Ms. Bozkurt? Sorry to disturb you, but we need to discuss weather precautions..."

A certain wedding planner could be heard speaking down the hall. The wine made it hard to categorize the feeling that bloomed in her chest at the sound of that name in her current state.

⛌-⛌-⛌

The ceiling fan spun lazily above her as Renée lay on her bed. The writer was still in her dress and makeup, though she'd managed to kick off her shoes hours ago when she flopped back onto the mattress. She'd been staring at her phone for twenty minutes.

Watching it tick from 1:59 to 2:00 AM - finally it was 'time' to hit the dial. 

The call rang three times, long enough for her to consider hanging up. She was probably being a bother. Calling at such an hour just because she couldn't sleep. Couldn't stop thinking about her ex.

"If you're calling to drunkenly confess your love again, at least tell me you're wearing clothes this time."

Relief flooded through her at Naomi's familiar drawl. The greeting was everything she'd hoped for. Blunt, playful, and safe.

"Still clothed. You're awake."

"Obviously. Just got in from a date."

The sound on the other end paused for a few seconds, but the one who called didn't speak.

"Why are you awake? Isn't it like three in the morning there?"

"Two. Same time zone. And… the wind's getting loud."

It wasn't a lie, exactly. The storm *was* picking up. The windows rattled with increasing determination. Weather stations were certain now that nothing good was going to happen.

But they both knew that wasn't why she'd called.

"Uh huh."

Naomi's voice grew that tone that meant she was settling in for a proper conversation. The woman was patient enough to coax things out when the writer wanted her to.

"So dialing had nothing to do with whatever happened at the reception?"

Renée pressed the phone closer to her ear, probably smudging her makeup on the screen. She couldn't bring herself to care. It could all be cleaned in the morning. Or after talking, if she still couldn't sleep.

[Probably the latter.]

"I called her 'dove,' Mimi. Like we were still... like nothing had changed."

"Ew, don't overcompensate and call me that! It gives me the chills. Like my cousin is the one talking to me."

The author hadn't forgotten, and her best friend was right on the money by insisting she was excessively correcting for having to say the pet-name aloud twice.

"Anyway… then you ran, right?"

"...I didn't run. I strategically retreated."

A slow sigh.

"To call me and whine about it?"

"I'm not whining. I'm... processing. Out loud."

"You're *wine*-processing. I can hear the little slur."

"I'm not drunk."

Naomi's voice gained the gentleness she reserved for Renée's careful fictions.

"You just called me Mimi. There's no way you didn't drink. How many glasses?"

Renée counted backward through the evening, wincing as she finished.

"...Four. Probably."

"Wow. I'm impressed you're still in your clothes and not in my bed. Is this what they call growth?"

The 'gentle' side retreated at the first appropriate chance to tease.

"You're never going to let that go, are you?" 

"My drinking buddy stumbling into my sheets and catcalling at me to come join her as she took her clothes off? No. I will *never* let that go, Ren."

Her emphasis had an undercurrent of understanding. It was a reminder that Naomi had seen her at her most vulnerable… and kept her safe. She owed her for that, though it wasn't why they were still friends.

"In my defense, you're very pretty."

[Well, that's not the reason either. But it helps.]

"And very straight, which you knew even then."

The awkward laugh coming from a bed on a Puerto Rican island was one the brunette heard up close plenty. Back in the urban apartment, the listener adjusted her disheveled pajamas.

"Nice try at deflecting, though. We're talking about you accidentally pet-naming someone at a wedding. An event you claimed more than one that you were just attending to show people you are 'doing fine'."

Renée groaned while throwing her free arm over her eyes. It was clearly the topic giving her a headache, but it made the light in the room sharper.

"What deflecting? You're the one who brought that story up. Also, can we not?"

"Hold on, you're the one who drunk-dialed me to talk about it. I could have already not."

The writer had nothing to say to that, so simply didn't say anything for a while. The silence allowed Naomi to grow gentle again.

"So this is the ex right? The one from university that we don't talk about?"

"Yeah."

"The one who made you show up at my place at 2 AM that time with an empty wine bottle and no shoes?"

"...Yeah. Sort of."

The wind rattled the windows, making Renée glance toward them. The storm was really picking up, but the sound was almost comforting. It was a decent excuse to stay in her room tomorrow and hide from any more encounters.