Chapter Text
Susannah’s funeral is just as awful as I expected it to be. A eulogy from a pastor who never met her. People sobbing who barely knew her. A closed casket because Susannah always said dead people look fake and she didn’t want anyone gawking when she didn’t look her best. She made my mom promise in the middle of Christmas dinner.
Friends don’t let friends look like creepy wax sculptures, Laur.
Do the people here even know who my mom was to Susannah?
Seeing the Fishers is the hardest of all. Adam with his hunched shoulders and pale face looking like a man lost in a snowstorm. Jeremiah sitting in front of me in the first pew crying harder than I’ve ever seen him cry, head bent like he’s praying. Conrad playing Susannah’s favorite song on his guitar and losing it partway through.
When his voice cracks and his eyes dart to mine, I make a promise to myself—no matter how messy our breakup was, I won’t leave his side for the rest of the day. He needs me, just like Susannah said. They both do, but Jeremiah has made it very clear that he wants me to stay away. Our relationship ran off the tracks the day I kissed his brother, and now there’s a jagged, Jeremiah-sized hole in my life that can’t be filled.
Losing him hurts almost as much as losing Susannah. It’s the kind of hurt that’s full of guilt and regret and disbelief because I never thought I could lose Jeremiah. And yet here I am, sitting not five feet away from where he’s falling apart alone, farther from my best friend than I’ve ever been even when we’re in different states, and it’s all my fault.
He doesn’t look at me once during the service, the receiving line after, or the burial. My desperate heart grabs onto the fact that Conrad does a couple of times. Maybe I don’t have to lose both of them?
When Steven and I arrive at the reception, the awfulness from the service is here, too, hanging from the inside of the Fishers’ Boston house like sagging wallpaper. Not even the faint sound of 'Silver Springs' hovering over the hum of voices can keep it away.
My brother is worried about Adam and I’m eager to find Conrad, but I spot Jere first and my heart trips over itself. He looks so tragically beautiful in his suit even though it’s very clear he’d rather be anywhere but in this house. After watching Susannah fade away for months, I understand why.
Missing him is so much worse on hard days like today because before last summer, the two of us would’ve hidden in his room and held onto each other until we could breathe again. Does he have anyone he can do that with now? I definitely don’t.
I take in how stiffly he’s standing as he accepts someone’s condolences. I still know this boy better than anyone and he needs an escape. Maybe he’ll let me help? At the very least, he’s too polite to shut me down in front of everyone and I’ll be able to check on him. This is probably the only chance I’ll get.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I make my way over. I reach for his arm but think the better of it at the last second. He wouldn’t like me touching him and I don’t think I can handle it if he jerks away.
“Hey, Jere, um sorry to interrupt,” I say carefully, glancing between him and the man he’s standing with. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
He looks at me for the first time in months and the sadness swimming in his impossibly blue eyes seeps into me like an ache. There’s also a flicker of surprise and maybe…curiosity? “Yeah.”
Whatever positive thoughts he might’ve been having don’t last. The second the man leaves, Jere glances away, blows out a breath, and waits, shutting down like every other time I’ve attempted to talk to him since that morning in his bedroom. I can’t seem to make myself give up when it comes to this boy, so I set my shoulders and press on. “Um, if you want to head upstairs, I can bring up a plate of food to you.”
“No, it’s okay.”
He still won’t look at me. I literally feel the distance growing between us.
“No, it’s no problem.” Please look at me.
Maybe our ESP hasn’t died completely because he does. His jaw is clenched and his glassy eyes are troubled but his expression is still mostly blank like he’s trying to keep what he’s feeling locked away. I’m sure he doesn’t want me to know what he’s thinking and it’d be a violation of his privacy after everything so I don’t try to read him. Just mentally plead with him to let me do this for him and hope he lets himself feel it.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”
He finally lets his mask fall, and for a moment, I see everything. He needs me or maybe just the escape I’m offering enough that he’s dropping his guard a little to get it. I’m so grateful I could cry. When he turns to go, I can’t help myself. I reach for his arm again and let my fingers trail over his sleeve as he walks away.
Eager as I am to get upstairs, there’s still another Fisher brother I need to find. I glance around on my way to the buffet table, but Conrad doesn’t seem to be downstairs. Maybe he’s already hiding in his room? As I fill a plate with fruit and water crackers for Jeremiah, I make Conrad one too. If he’s upstairs, I’ll drop it off on my way to Jere.
My mom chooses that moment to pick on me about the dress I wore for Susannah, but my mind is already on what I’m going to say to the boys that’ll convince them to let me be there for them. I don’t know about Conrad, but if Jeremiah is letting me bring him food, he might consider it? At the very least, I’ll make sure he knows I still care and will wait as long as it takes. Conrad too.
When she walks off, annoyed, Steven makes his way over to me.
“One of those is for Jere, right?” he asks. “I’ll just go up and take it to him.”
No. I don’t want that. This is my chance to try to make things right between us. I hand him the other plate instead. “Actually, can you see if Conrad is in his room? If he is, maybe you can get him to eat. I’ll come find him in a bit.”
I'm grateful when he doesn’t argue.
My dad stops me on the way to the stairs to make sure I’m doing okay. I love him for it, especially after my mom did her best to make me feel like an even bigger fuck up than I’ve been all year, but all I really want is to get to Jeremiah before he changes his mind and locks his door. I can probably pick it—he taught me how at the summer house when we were kids and I accidentally locked everyone out of the bathroom—but breaking in sounds like a terrible way to start fixing things.
Before anyone else decides they need to talk to me, I hurry upstairs and knock quietly on Jere’s door. He doesn’t shout at me to leave so I slip inside.
The room is cool and dim in a very non-Jeremiah way. Glancing around, my mind fills with memories of holiday nights where younger versions of us cozied up in his blankets and pillows while we talked and watched movies and shared snacks until the sun came up and my family had to drive home. Those nights were magical. The innocence of it all makes me want to cry because I don’t think we’ll ever get that back.
The tragedy of Isabel Conklin and Jeremiah Fisher.
I move deeper into the space and try to swallow the loneliness being in here dredges up. The last time I was, the only complications in our lives were my undying crush on Conrad and Jere’s growing hope that maybe I could see him that way too. This past Christmas, I wasn’t welcome in his room. I finally had my dream, though—I just didn’t expect Susannah to be sick or that I’d lose Jeremiah trying to hang onto his brother.
The whole thing is a complicated mess. It had to happen because the “what if” of Conrad once I found out he wanted me would’ve ruined everything I’d started with Jere anyway but I didn’t want this. Why do I always have to learn everything the hard way? The hardest of all was accepting that the dream I had for so long wasn’t worth what I lost.
I feel that loss all over again when my gaze snags on the wall by his desk and realize he’s taken down all of his pictures of us and the summers our families spent together.
Jere watches me take everything in from his bed. His eyes are even bluer than they were downstairs and full of hurt. Because I’m in here? Is he thinking about the same things I am? No matter what I do, I keep hurting him over and over.
Clearing my throat, I hand him the plate of food. “I made sure to get extra pineapple.”
He takes it with a quiet “thank you” but just stares at it in his lap. I don’t know what to do with my hands or my body so I stand awkwardly in front of him and wait for…something. If he’s not ready to talk, maybe he’ll at least eat?
A single tear streaks down his cheek. Then another one. Everything in me crumbles and it stops mattering how weird or broken things are between us—the only thing that matters is taking care of Jeremiah the way I should’ve been this whole time. Hoping it’s not too late, I take the plate and set it aside, drop to my knees in front of him, and wrap my arms around his waist as tight as I can.
“I’m so sorry,” I cry into his chest. “I should’ve been here sooner.”
He doesn’t answer, just holds onto me as misery rolls over him in waves I can feel. His fingers curl into my dress as his body shakes and mine fist his suit jacket as we cry and cry. After a few minutes of this, the room starts to feel stuffy and overly warm and I’m ruining his shirt and tie with all my tears. He lets me go just long enough to shrug off his jacket while I work his tie free, and then I’m right back in his arms as he gathers me closer and higher until we end up sprawled across his bed. I needed this—him, us, all of it—so much after the hell of this last month that relieved tears mix into the sad ones.
The space between us slowly disappears. My arms end up around his shoulders. His band around my back and hold me close. Our legs tangle together as much as my dress and his fancy shoes allow but it’s enough that we won’t come apart easily. When he tucks his tear-streaked face into the crook of my neck and breathes me in, I clutch him tighter and close my eyes.
We’ve never been this twisted up in each other, not even last summer. Whispering quiet nothings to calm myself as much as him, I comb my fingers through his crisply gelled hair, separating the stiff curls because they’re not Jere. He should be wild and free like the summer breeze in Cousins, not whatever this shadow of himself he’s become. I want to shove the darkness out of him so maybe some of the light will come back in.
When he shivers under my touch, I worry that I crossed a line or how I’m comforting him isn’t what he needs and start to pull away, but he stops me and presses our foreheads together. “Don’t go.”
My mind and my body misfire as his warm, uneven breaths gust over my lips. Mine would be doing the same if I could actually breathe. This is the closest to kissing we can get without actually doing it and it’s as familiar as it is scary. I’m a horrible person because I want to kiss him again. Even thinking it is reckless and wrong because kissing is something we definitely should not do.
His hand slides from my back to my waist and I suck in a shaky breath. This is heading in a dangerous direction and I don’t know what to do because I’m scared we’re about to mess everything up when it’s already so bad.
Our lips brush once. Not romantic, though. Just comfort. Love. Sharing those uneven breaths, nothing more. That’s what I tell myself over and over as I cup his damp face in my palm and very vivid memories of how perfect kissing Jeremiah used to feel floods my mind.
Maybe kissing could fix this?
I tip my chin higher.
So, so reckless.
“Bells—” he begins in a rough whisper like maybe he’s remembering kissing me too, but the word brushes our lips together again, and instead of pulling away, he closes the nonexistent space between us and kisses me.
My heart breaks open and a million butterflies flutter out because this single, careful press of lips feels like coming home and I haven’t felt that in a long time. Maybe not even since last summer when I was with him.
The timing is all wrong. His mom just died and we haven’t spoken in months. Conrad and I only broke up a month ago. And yet, neither of us pulls away, keeping that gentle contact. I need to, though. Even if this feels good to him right now, he’ll hate that it happened once he’s himself again. He'll probably avoid me for the rest of our lives. I won’t be okay.
Just a few more moments to soak up this connection to him and I’ll do it.
The bedroom door swings open and jerking apart takes half a second too long.
Conrad gapes down at us. “What the fuck?”
Jere’s hazy eyes go wide. “Con…”
My lungs knot up as I untangle our bodies and scramble out of bed, probably flashing both of them as I go in this tiny dress, but it’s nothing either of them hasn’t already seen. The sick feeling that follows that thought makes this so much worse. “I can explain.”
Conrad’s expression darkens as he takes in Jere’s messy hair, missing tie, and the suit jacket hanging haphazardly off the corner of his bed, then shifts to my rumpled dress. Oh, God. This must look so bad. But it is, isn’t it? I can’t even pretend otherwise.
His angry gaze settles on me. “Don’t bother.”
And then he’s gone.
Too afraid to face Jere after what I just let happen, I run out into the hall after his brother.