Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It came when I was curled up on the couch, not really having the motivation to wedding plan, adult, or anything that required more brain power than watching the stack of old films I had basically memorized by heart: I have news.

I stared at Taylor’s message for a solid fifteen minutes trying to formulate a response. Jeremiah was at his internship in Boston, Conrad had vanished into thin air, presumably also at work, and the only thing really on my to-do list was to call the restaurant and inform them that she wouldn’t be making my shifts…ever again. But I had been putting that off ever since I’d arrived at Cousins Beach four nights ago. I’d really been putting my life on hold for the past four days, because I didn’t really feel like doing anything when Jeremiah wasn’t here. Wedding planning was way more work than it seemed like it would be, but that was beside the point. Taylor never sent cryptic texts like these. She was always direct and to the point, something I always envied but could never emulate.

I typed back quickly, pausing the movie: Like what??

Her answer also came immediately, which was something Taylor never did: In-person news, not the texting kind. When is good for you?

I hadn’t actually told Taylor that I’d made an impromptu trip to Cousins…because of how quickly it had all happened. Jeremiah appeared bearing cake and flowers…Laurel primly told us she refused to attend our wedding…the backlash…and next thing I knew, I was taking Jeremiah’s hand in mine and we were making the drive down to Cousins. The drive between Cousins and back to Philly was over six hours, and I didn’t have experience making that long of a drive. I suppose I could rough it on public transport, but the thought made me shudder. How had Taylor managed it every time she came to visit me?

I may or may not have gone to Cousins…something came up with my mom.

Oh my god, and you didn’t tell me? Wait, Steven is coming to pick you up. Or I am. Bc I have to tell you this in person.

Steven? Steven Conklin, like, as in, my brother? The guy who was a cardboard cutout of every Ivy League graduate and never wanted to lift a finger to help anyone, least of all me? Well, I supposed Steven had been more open to helping Taylor when they were together, but I thought they’d barely spoken ever since his car accident. 

But I guess they always found their ways back to each other; Don’t tell me you’re back together again.

She responded: Is he coming for you, or am I?

The lack of an answer told me all I needed to know–it did have something to do with Steven. Telling me they were back together was obviously text-message news, so it wasn’t that. What if she was pregnant? Both Taylor and Adam assumed I was pregnant when I told them I was marrying Jeremiah. I wasn’t ready to be an aunt. But I didn’t think Steven would risk his career, at least not at this age. My mom would certainly have a heart attack if one of her children were getting married and the other was procreating all in the same year. I mean, both he and Taylor were pro-choice, weren’t they?

Okay, I was spiraling. But I couldn’t ask either of them to spend their entire day shuttling me from city to city; I’ll take the bus. See you tomorrow? At 10?

Taylor liked the message, and I tried to continue the movie but my mind kept wandering. To fill my time, I booked the earliest ticket between Cousins to Philadelphia and packed an overnight bag. I considered telling Jeremiah…then decided against it–it wasn’t as if I wouldn’t be back by the weekend, and I could tell him then. In person. I then considered telling Conrad, who had been entering and exiting the house like a passing ship, but ultimately decided against it too. It wasn’t like he was my keeper, and if he didn’t feel like telling me where he was going, I didn’t need to do him the courtesy of telling him either.

I texted Taylor a quick update instead: I’m actually coming earlier. I’ll let you know when.

The bus ride from Cousins to Philadelphia was every bit as miserable as I'd imagined it would be. Six and a half hours of cramped seats, crying babies, and watching the Cousins’ sandy landscape being replaced by towering buildings. I'd brought a book, but my mind kept drifting to Taylor's mysterious news and the way she'd dodged my question about Steven. By the time we pulled into the city, the air didn’t smell sandy and salty like before and my legs were stiff and my anxiety had reached new heights.

Taylor was waiting for me at the bus station, looking not nearly as nervous as her texts had made me. Had I just overthought the entire thing? I was pretty prone to doing that, which I liked to think balanced Jeremiah out. He was the spontaneous one, I was the one who made sure we didn’t end up stranded on the side of the road. Balance in relationships was a good thing.

"Hey," she said, pulling me into a hug that lasted a beat too long. "How was the ride?"

"Terrible," I admitted, adjusting my overnight bag on my shoulder. "But I survived. Now are you going to tell me what's going on, or do I have to guess?"

She laughed, but it sounded forced. "Let's get coffee first. There's that place you like on Walnut Street."

The café was busier than usual for a Tuesday morning, filled with the typical mix of college students hunched over laptops and business people grabbing their morning caffeine fix. We found a table in the back corner, and I waited while Taylor ordered us both lattes—oat milk for her, regular for me, extra shot for both because we looked like we needed it.

"Okay," I said once she'd sat down across from me, hands wrapped around her cup like it was anchoring her to the table. "I'm sufficiently caffeinated and prepared for whatever bombshell you're about to drop. Hit me."

Taylor took a deep breath. "I'm getting married."

I blinked, sure that I had misheard. “I’m sorry? To who?”

“To Steven.”

“Steven? My brother, Steven? I mean, it’s a common name.”

For a second, it looked like Taylor wanted to laugh. “I mean, you’re not mad, right? We kind of just decided on a whim.”

On a whim? That sounded like Steven and Taylor, all right. “How ?”

“He asked, and I said yes.” she said slowly, like it wasn’t totally obvious.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

The words hung in the air between us like a physical thing. I stared at her, waiting for the punchline, for her to break into that laugh that meant she was just messing with me. But her expression remained serious, almost defiant.

I mean, this was Taylor we were talking about. And Steven. The two had been on and off ever since we were sixteen, and I always knew that things ran deeper than I was aware of, deeper than just that one night at Nicole’s party. More importantly, Taylor had been with Davis until like, yesterday. And Steven had Mia. I thought they liked their not serious, totally casual, no feelings, no relationship. Even if it would have driven me up a wall. 

I loved Taylor like a sister, but that didn’t mean I thought she would literally become my sister.

“When?” I managed to ask. It seemed today was a day of all one-word questions.

“We were thinking before the summer ends, so I can have all of that busywork done before school starts again,” Taylor explained. “But don’t worry, we won’t pick the same time as you and Jeremy. I wouldn’t steal the spotlight from you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” I said. “Don’t you think this is sudden? Like, really sudden?”

The smile vanished from her face. “What’s sudden about it? You and Jeremy are doing the exact same thing.”

“It’s not the same. Me and Jeremiah have been together for the past four years, but you and Steven…”

“Have known each other our whole lives. Just like you and Jeremiah,” Taylor finished for me, flatly. “And it isn’t like you and him haven’t had your ups and downs. To be honest, I thought you of all people would understand. That you’d be happy for me…for us.”

“I am happy for you,” I insisted. “Sorry, I’m definitely happy for you.”

I said that, but I wasn’t convinced. I grew up alongside Jeremiah, and throughout our four year relationship, we’d only taken one break. Sure, he’d made a mistake or two during then, but so had I, and who didn’t do things they were less than proud of? But I never thought that Taylor or Steven had been serious about each other, even if I never admitted it aloud.

"Really?" She looked almost surprised by my response. “You can say so if you’re not.”

If I wanted to get my head bitten off, sure. "Really. Steven's lucky to have you. He's always been lucky to have you, even when he was too stupid to realize it." I said. “You have a ring, right?”

“Of course,” Taylor extended her hand to me.

It was definitely a ring, but nothing like the inspiration pictures Taylor had showed me throughout our entire friendship. She had always wanted a massive diamond, the kind that made it hard to lift your hand up. This one was a lot smaller, not that there was anything wrong with that, but it…kind of didn’t even look like an engagement ring? It sort of just looked like one of the million jeweled rings that Taylor owned, something that I could testify to after seeing her bedroom at home and dorm room.

“This is it?” I asked, realizing very belatedly that I sounded disappointed. “I mean-”

“Babe, you’re not one to talk,” Taylor smacked me on the arm in the playful way that only Taylor could manage. Coming from me, it might have been assault. “But maybe you were right about smaller rings, they’re actually kind of cute.”

Taylor then launched into the engagement story, which honestly sounded rather unrealistic for my brother, but I wasn’t going to accuse her of lying. She spoke of him telling her that the universe had given them chance and chance again, evidenced by how they never really ended things with each other. How it just happened after one night, like an epiphany. I wanted to point out that getting engaged after one late-night conversation seemed like the definition of rushing into things, but Taylor looked so happy that I bit my tongue. Besides, who was I to judge? I'd gotten engaged to Jeremiah after he'd proposed on the hospital’s steps after Steven nearly died, still in yesterday’s clothes. 

"Have you told my parents?" I asked instead. “Or Lucinda?”

The latter seemed more likely than the former. Taylor’s mother, Lucinda, was like one of those mothers you thought only existed on TV, not in reality. She ran a salon and had Chardonnay in the day and wore Taylor’s clothes on occasion. My mother, Laurel, was very authoritarian and motherly and serious in comparison. 

Taylor's face fell slightly. "Not yet. We wanted to tell you first."

I was a little honored, I’d be honest. "Because you knew they'd have opinions."

"Because we knew your mom would have a heart attack," Taylor corrected. "First you get engaged, now Steven. She's going to think there's something in the water."

I wouldn’t have been surprised if Laurel came around to Steven’s wedding, but not mine. She always had this insane, distorted opinion that he was more mature than I was, just because he was one year older, a Princeton graduate with summa cum laude or whatever. It made me want to scream, but if I had, she would just take that down as evidence 1000 as to why I was still immature.

Adam thought that Jeremiah was immature, too. I didn’t understand why he made such a big deal over Jeremiah having to retake a semester, I understood being upset about the extra 20 grand, but making him pay him back every penny plus interest was crossing the line. But that was one of many reasons we worked so well; both younger children, both overlooked by our families, both had stupidly high-performing older brothers, and the list went on. Steven and Conrad were always off being important somewhere, be it a fancy internship at Adam’s office or medical school on the other side of the country…

But I didn’t want to think about Conrad Fisher. Ever again, if possible.

We spent the next hour talking through details—venue ideas, guest lists, whether they wanted something small or if Lucinda would insist on turning it into the social event of the season. Taylor seemed more relaxed now that the initial shock had worn off, and I found myself genuinely getting excited for her. Even if the timing felt rushed, even if I couldn't quite wrap my head around Steven being ready for marriage, Taylor deserved to be happy.

"So where is Steven, anyway?" I asked as we walked out of the café. "I thought he might want to be here for this conversation."

"He's at work. Some big presentation today." Taylor glanced at her phone. "But he said he'd cook dinner for us tonight. Apparently he's learned how to make more than just grilled cheese."

The thought of Steven voluntarily cooking dinner was almost as shocking as the engagement news. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"He's changed, Belly. I know that's hard to believe, but the accident...it really affected him. Made him think about what he wanted out of life."

“Okay,” I agreed, not really listening. “I’m going to call Jeremiah.”

Before Taylor could say otherwise, I had my phone out and I was calling Jeremiah’s number. I’d always turned my nose up at those girls who couldn’t go one afternoon without bringing up, texting, or calling their boyfriend, but I feared I had become one of them. But what could I do? More days than not, it felt like he was all I had in the world.

He picked up on the first ring. He was still in his work clothes, and it hit me too late that most working people didn’t have the freedom to answer personal calls during the workday as they pleased. It was too late, anyway. 

“Belly? What’s wrong?”

“Just wanted to see you,” I said. “Is this a bad time? Are you busy?”

“Not too busy for you, obviously,” he told me. “It doesn’t look like you’re in Cousins. Did you go somewhere?”

“I met Taylor for coffee. Took the bus and everything,” I tilted the phone in Taylor’s direction. “See?”

Taylor waved at him. “Hi, Jeremy. How’s life as a nepo baby treating you?”

Jeremiah exhales. “Not you too, Taylor. Everybody at the office has already been telling me that. Even my dad, even though he’s the one who got me the job.”

Adam did tend to be like that. Taylor was using that voice of hers. There wasn’t exactly a way I could put it into words, but I guess it was kind of like a ‘no shit’ voice? It was like an octave higher and about as sweet as aspartame–only on the surface. “Usually when a lot of people tell you something, you should listen.”

“Belly, turn the phone back, please.” He asked, and I complied. He smiled then, the kind that brought out his dimples and melted my heart a little. Okay, a lot. “Much better.”

“But Taylor has news,” I prompted her. “Right?”

“Belly!” Taylor gave me a look of betrayal. “I just told you I haven’t even told my mom. Am I telling just everyone now?”

Jeremiah looked faux-offended. “I didn’t realize I was just anyone now.”

Taylor leveled him with a look that he missed because of the camera angle. “I still haven’t forgiven you, you know.”

“It’s not your place to forgive me.” His smile died on the spot, and his expression tightened. “What’s important is that Belly did.”

All I wanted was for people to stop bringing it up, personally. But it seemed that my wish would never come true. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Taylor waved him off. “Ask Steven. He’ll tell you.”

“Yeah, I will,” Jeremiah said slowly. But he smiled again when he met my eyes. “Gotta go, actually. Love you, Bells.”

“I love you more.”

He cut the connection then, but a warm feeling still lingered within me. It was still kind of unreal that we would be married, husband and wife, by the time summer was over. I mean, this was Jeremiah Fisher. Conrad’s brother. My Jeremiah.

“I know I say this a lot,” Taylor said when the call disconnected. “But he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Yeah,” I answered, locking and putting my phone away. “You do say that a lot.”

“Because it’s true,” Taylor added as we crossed the street toward her apartment. "I mean, I know he’s cute and kind and knows your Starbucks order, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready for marriage. And neither are you. Even if his magical blue eyes convince you otherwise.”

I laughed, despite myself. “His eyes are so pretty, right?”

“Not my point, Belly.”

We crossed the street, and once we were on the sidewalk I stopped. “What is your point, Taylor? That you and Steven are perfectly suited for each other and what, Jeremiah and I are divorce-bound?”

We aren’t the ones who broke up and got back together on rotation, I didn’t say. Their relationship was the very material of sad breakup songs.

She shrugged, too casual. “My point is maybe you’re rushing it. Like I said before, when a lot of people tell you something, you should probably listen.”

“We’re not rushing anything,” I insisted, for what felt like the millionth time. I was getting so sick of defending myself to every person who knew, it wasn’t like I was a teen bride, I would be old enough to order a drink. Since when did being young completely discount your decisions, too? “We’ve known each other since we were born. That’s slower than glacial speed.”

“You’re forgetting a super important detail right now.”

Conrad, my mind offered unhelpfully.

“It’s not important. He’s not important.” I said aloud. “Jeremiah and I already want to be together forever, so what’s the point in waiting around? I’m sure it’s the same with you and Steven.”

“Forget about me and Steven for a second,” Taylor waved me off. “But you’re going to Paris, right? What if you waited until after-”

“Oh, I already emailed the exchange program to tell them I won’t be going.”

I meant to say it casually, but Taylor’s expression shifted, and not for the better. “You’re not going?” She echoed incredulously. “Why?”

“Because it’d be awkward to get married and then take off for another country,” I explained, even though I really wasn’t sure why I had to explain anything. The logic seemed crystal clear to me. “And with Jere repeating a semester, it’s not really realistic that he can fly out that often. I don’t want to just leave him behind.”

Taylor stared at me. “I’m going to be in school, too. Not repeating a semester–but I’m definitely coming to visit you.”

This obviously wasn’t working. “How would you feel if Steven flew out to another country the day after you got married?”

“If it was his lifelong dream like it is yours, I’d let him go for sure,” Taylor said like it was obvious. “What did Jeremy say when you told him you weren’t going?”

“That he didn’t want me to go in the first place.” I recalled.

“And that’s bad.”

“It’s romantic. He’d miss me too much.”

“It’s definitely not. He didn’t seem to have any problem leaving you behind to go gallivanting around Cabo, did he?” Taylor unlocked the front door and let us both in, brooking no argument. “Oh, Belly.”

Lucinda’s house was cute in a way that didn’t feel like we were in Phillidelphia, all pastel blues and yellows. It felt like living inside a large-scale dollhouse. It was pretty in a way that my own house wasn’t, which was all very practical and monotone. Whenever I visited, I wished my mom would pick up some interior decoration inspiration for our own house, but alas.

But there definitely wasn’t a completely vacated room, last I remember. “What’s up with that?” I asked Taylor, pointing.

She didn’t seem very surprised by it. “Salon drama, don’t even worry about it. But back to you,” She sat on the couch and turned toward me, all fake casual. “When did you picture yourself getting married? Like, when you were little.”

I sat down and gave her a look. “Taylor.”

She held her hands up and gave me a ‘what?’ look. “I bet you didn’t think you’d be anyone’s Mrs. before you graduated college.”

“I always wanted to be Mrs Fisher,” I said, all defensive.

“This wasn’t the Fisher you were planning on though, was it?”

I thought back to what Jeremiah had said to my mom a few nights ago; ‘ You know you’ve always wanted me as a son-in-law’, and that look that she gave him in lieu of a response, a look that said nothing and everything at once. 

“Taylor, you’re not going to change my mind. Nobody will.” I finally told her. “Believe me, my mom tried. She even threatened to withhold her attendance.”

Taylor brushes a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Knowing your mom, that’s not just a threat.”

“I know. Don’t you think I feel bad enough about it?”

About not having either of our moms at this wedding. I wanted to believe Jeremiah, that Susannah would have been over the moon about us and would have supported us wholeheartedly. But I knew in my heart that my mom was right on this one; that none of us would ever know what Susannah would have wanted or done.

We sat in silence for a moment. Then she got up and went to her bookshelf. "Okay. Plan B. If I can’t convince you with reason, I’ll convince you with data."

She pulled out a thick binder. Not a metaphorical one—a literal binder.

"What is that?" I asked, already regretting it.

"A full presentation. Case study. Charts. Historical references. All the reasons why you, Isabel Conklin, should not marry Jeremiah Fisher, at least right now."

“You made a binder?”

She flipped it open with a flourish and pointed at the first page, titled: 'The Premature Marriage Epidemic: A Taylor Madison Jewel Production.’

“You named it?” I asked, staring at her.

She promptly ignored me. “Exhibit A: The Divorce Rate for Under-25 Marriages is Over 60%. That’s like…flipping a coin and losing every time."

"Where are you getting these numbers?"

"Wikipedia. And ChatGPT. Obviously."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Great. Solid academic sources."

I took the binder from her and skimmed the pages. She'd actually put a surprising amount of work into this: complete with printed screenshots, statistics, snarky notes in the margins like "red flag" and "WHY THO???"

I looked up at her. “Taylor, are you seriously trying to convince me not to get married with a scrapbook?”

“It’s not a scrapbook. It’s an intervention.”

“Intervention, sure.” I didn’t think I’d ever seen her put this much effort into her actual schoolwork. “You’re surprisingly dedicated.”

She looked pleased. “Only because I love you. And because I don’t want you waking up next year next to a manchild wondering how you got here.”

I gave her an unimpressed look. “Jeremiah is not a manchild.”

She didn’t answer. Just raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Steven is not any better,” I pressed. “He didn’t even do his own laundry until he was forced to when he moved out.”

“Which was five years ago. Belly, that’s your brother . No offense, but you’re biased and your opinion doesn’t hold weight.” Taylor said, flicking a strand of hair from her face. “And you know I’m telling you the truth because I’ve basically been the CEO of Team Jelly since Day 1.”

“I still think that you getting spontaneously married to Steven is worse.” I extended the binder back to her with both hands. “Maybe you should consult your own binder.”

Taylor retrieved the binder. “Not the point, but what do you think about me and Steven?”

I turn my hands. “I think you could definitely do better…”

“Well, that’s a given, but what else?” she pressed. “Like, about us getting married?”

“I think it’s your choice,” I lied thinly.

“Your expression says otherwise.”

“What do you want me to say, Taylor?” I asked. “I can’t really say anything without seeming like a hypocrite.”

“Which means you have things to say,” she concluded. “So say it.”

I hesitated. Not because I didn’t have things to say, but because I had too many, and most of them were jumbled. Taylor being Taylor, she could see it all over my face.

“I don’t know, Tay,” I finally admitted. “I just don’t think you and Steven have ever really been serious. Not like long-term serious. I know you love each other, or at least care about each other, but that’s different from marriage. That’s…like, permanent.”

“Mhm,” she nodded, “And?”

“And?” I was confused, for one. “There’s more?”

“Well, there should be.”

-

I thought about what she’d been saying the entire evening, even into dinner with Steven. Taylor had been right: he really had learned how to cook, even though I wasn’t completely convinced that he hadn’t deposited takeout food into a pot and turned on the stove. What he’d prepared seemed several notches above what my brother–whose culinary skills capped with PB&J–could’ve made.

As Taylor led me to the dining room, I couldn't help but notice how comfortable she seemed in Steven's space. She knew where the good silverware was kept, which glasses to use for wine, even how to work his overly-complicated coffee machine. It was like she'd been living here for months rather than just visiting occasionally.

"How long have you two been serious again?" I asked as we arranged place settings.

“We’re not serious,” she answered immediately.

I stared at her. “Getting married is the definition of serious.”

"What I meant was–define serious," Taylor corrected herself evasively. “Like in the past.”

I wasn’t convinced, but I let it go. "Using his expensive dishes, knowing his Netflix password, having a drawer in his bedroom."

Taylor paused in the middle of folding a napkin. "How do you know I have a drawer?"

"Lucky guess. But I'm right, aren't I?"

She shrugged. "We've been spending more time together since the accident. And maybe I've been staying over more often than I probably should have."

"How much more often?"

"Most nights for the past two months."

I stared at her. "Two months? Taylor, you were still with Davis two months ago. School was still in session, too."

"I know, I know. It's complicated."

"Complicated how?"

Before Taylor could answer, Steven appeared in the doorway carrying a bottle of wine and wearing what I was pretty sure was the first apron he'd ever owned in his life.

"Ladies, dinner is served," he announced with a flourish that was so unlike him it was almost creepy. Not even almost–clearly, a doppelganger had replaced my actual brother.

The meal was actually good, which was perhaps the most surprising thing that had happened all day. I had been expecting something barely edible, but Steven had clearly put effort into this, from the perfectly cooked chicken to the wine pairing that actually made sense. He was also strangely taking an interest in my life: asking about my classes and my summer plans without once mentioning how I should be thinking about my future or taking things more seriously. I had been kidding, but maybe my doppelganger theory had more credit than I had lended it.

“What month were you thinking?” I asked, when the conversation eventually turned back to weddings and wedding planning.

Steven answered. "Taylor and I were thinking about August. Something small, maybe even at the beach house if Mom and Dad will let us use it."

I nearly choked on my wine. Jeremiah and I had been thinking about August–and the beach house. I guess Steven and I were more alike as siblings than we cared to admit. 

"The beach house? In Cousins?"

"Do you know of another beach house we would conveniently have access to? Why not?" Steven asked. “And it’d be free. Well, mostly free, because there’d be catering and all of that, but.”

Taylor pokes him. “You’re such a cheapskate.”

“You’re marrying this cheapskate.” Steven pokes her back. He then notices my expression, and becomes solemn again. “I get the sense that you are less than happy about this.”

“No, it's fine," I said, though it really wasn't. The idea of Steven and Taylor getting married at Cousins, at the house that held so many memories for all of us, felt like they were claiming something that didn't belong to just them. Taylor didn’t even spend summers there, just one or two days out of the entire year. "It's your wedding. You can have it wherever you want."

Steven was watching me carefully. "You seem like you mean that."

"I do. I'm just...surprised. That's all."

"Because you wanted to get married there?"

The question hung in the air like a challenge. The truth was, I hadn't really thought about where Jeremiah and I would get married. We'd been so focused on the when that the where had gotten lost in the shuffle. But now that Steven had mentioned it, the idea of not being able to use the beach house for my own wedding felt like losing something important.

"I don't know what I want yet," I admitted.

"Well, we called dibs," Steven said with a grin that reminded me of when we were kids fighting over the last piece of cake.

I looked at Taylor, for some reason hoping to get some backup–I mean, she was my friend first. But she just looked back at me, helplessly. I’d never seen Taylor helpless.

Steven sets down his utensils. “Well, we can't both get married there in the same summer. Someone has to go first."

"And it has to be you?"

"I'm older."

I put down my fork a little harder than necessary. "By eleven months."

"Still counts."

“Jeremiah’s family owns the beach house,” I pointed out. “Not you.”

“Then cry about it to him.” Steven shoots back.

"Okay, can we not do this? We're all adults here." Taylor cuts in. “But Belly, do you see what’s happening? You’re arguing with your own brother over a house that neither of you technically own. There are other venues in the world.”

But Steven wasn't done. "Besides, Belly, you haven't even set a date yet. We have. August fifteenth."

"August fifteenth?" I repeated, feeling something cold settle in my stomach. "That's six weeks away."

"Exactly," Taylor said, though she wouldn't meet my eyes. "We want to get it done before school starts again."

I stared at both of them, trying to process this. Six weeks to plan a wedding? Even for someone as organized as Taylor, that seemed impossible. And Steven had never been one to rush into anything—he'd deliberated for six months before choosing his college major.

"Don't you think that's...fast?" I asked carefully.

Steven shrugged. "When you know, you know."

The irony wasn't lost on me. These were almost the exact words I'd been using to defend my own engagement to Jeremiah. But hearing them from Steven's mouth, they sounded hollow, rehearsed.

"Have you bought a dress?" I asked Taylor.

"I'm working on it," she said vaguely. “You know, booking appointments.”

"Sent invitations?"

"We're keeping it small. I mean, we told you."

"Booked a caterer?"

"Steven's handling that."

Each answer came too quickly, too smoothly. I knew Taylor well enough to recognize when she was deflecting. And Steven...Steven was fidgeting with his napkin in the same way he used to when Mom caught him in a lie as a kid.

"Okay," I said slowly. "So you've been planning this for...how long exactly?"

They exchanged a look. It was quick, but I caught it.

"A few weeks," Steven said.

"Since right after you got engaged?" I pressed.

"Around then," Taylor agreed.

Something wasn't adding up. Taylor was the most detail-oriented person I knew. She'd started planning her sweet sixteen when she was thirteen. She had Pinterest boards for hypothetical future apartments, complete with furniture layouts and color schemes. The idea that she would plan a wedding in three weeks without a single concrete detail nailed down was absurd.

"Can I see your Pinterest board for wedding ideas?" I asked.

Taylor's face went blank. "My what?"

"Your Pinterest board. You've had one since we were sixteen. 'Future Mrs. Jewel's Dream Wedding' or something like that. Or will it be Mrs. Conklin?"

"Oh." Taylor looked genuinely flustered for the first time all day. "I...deleted it."

"You deleted it?"

"Yeah, I decided I wanted something different. More spontaneous."

I almost laughed. Taylor Jewel, the girl who planned her outfits a week in advance, wanted a spontaneous wedding. "Right."

Steven cleared his throat. "Maybe we should talk about something else. How's Jere's internship going?"

But I wasn't ready to let this go. Something was off, and I was going to figure out what it was. "Actually, let's talk more about your wedding. I want to help plan it."

"Oh, that's not necessary—" Taylor started.

"We're going to be sisters-in-law. This is what family does." I smiled sweetly. "What's your color scheme?"

Another exchanged look.

"Blue," Steven said at the same time Taylor said, "Pink."

"Blue and pink," Taylor corrected quickly. "A...nautical theme. You know, because of the beach house."

"Nautical," I repeated. "That's funny, because I remember you saying you'd rather die than have a nautical wedding. Something about it being 'basic' and 'overdone.'"

Taylor's cheeks reddened. "People change."

"In three weeks?"

"Belly," Steven interjected, "what's with the third degree? Can't you just be happy for us?"

“Steven,” I turned to him when I decided that between the two of them, he was the worse liar. “Are you really getting married? In three weeks, on August fifteenth?”

He opened his mouth and then closed it. He gave a look to Taylor, and I knew it was over. 

"I am happy for you," I said. "I just want to make sure you're not rushing into anything."

The silence that followed was deafening. Taylor stared down at her plate, and Steven suddenly became very interested in refilling everyone's wine glasses.

"Like you and Jeremiah?" Taylor asked quietly.

"That's different."

"How?"

I opened my mouth to explain, then closed it again. Because suddenly, I couldn't think of how it was different. Steven and Taylor had known each other their whole lives, just like Jeremiah and I had. They had history, just like we did. They claimed to love each other, just like we did.

"It just is." I said, standing up abruptly. "I need some air."

I walked out onto Steven's small balcony without waiting for a response. The city stretched out below me, all twinkling lights and distant sounds of traffic. It was nothing like the view from the beach house, where you could see stars and hear waves and feel like you were the only people in the world.

Behind me, I could hear Taylor and Steven talking in low voices, but I couldn't make out the words. I didn't try to. Instead, I pulled out my phone and called Jeremiah.

He answered on the second ring. "Belly? How's Philadelphia?"

"Weird," I said honestly. "Really weird."

"What's going on?"

I found myself telling him everything—about Taylor's mysterious news, about Steven's sudden domestic skills, about the engagement that didn't quite make sense. As I talked, I could hear him moving around, probably getting ready for bed.

"So you think they're lying?" he asked when I finished.

"I don't know. Maybe? It just feels...off."

"Maybe they're just nervous. Getting married is a big deal."

"Is it though?" The words slipped out before I could stop them. "I mean, we're getting married, and I don't feel nervous. Shouldn't I feel nervous?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then a laugh. "Don’t I make you nervous?"

“Yes, yes! Of course, but I mean, I don't know. Maybe?”

“You sound sure. That’s reassuring,” he said, a beat slower than I was comfortable with. “Belly, are you having second thoughts?”

“No, no, no, of course not. I love you," I said.

"I love you too. More than anything."

But I couldn’t put it out of my mind."Then why does everyone think we're making a mistake?"

Another pause. Longer this time.

"Maybe because they don't see what we see," he said finally. "Maybe because they don't understand what we have."

"I should go," I said quickly. "Taylor and Steven are probably wondering where I went."

"Okay. Call me tomorrow?"

"Of course."

"I love you, Bells."

"I love you too. Come back quickly, the house is super boring without you."

“Friday can’t come quick enough.”

I neglected to mention that Conrad was still there on occasion, but that wasn’t a detail worth mentioning. When I went back inside, Taylor and Steven were clearing the table in silence. They looked up when I entered, both wearing identical expressions of guilt.

"Feeling better?" Taylor asked.

"Sure," I lied.

We finished cleaning up without much conversation, the easy atmosphere from earlier completely evaporated. When Steven excused himself to take a work call that I wasn’t fully convinced existed, Taylor and I found ourselves alone in the kitchen.

"Belly," she started, "about earlier—"

"Forget it," I said, even though I wasn’t convinced. "I was just being overprotective. Pre-wedding jitters, probably."

But Taylor shook her head. "No, it wasn’t that."

Something in her tone made me look up from the dish I was drying. "Taylor?"

She was gripping the edge of the counter, her knuckles white. "I need to tell you something."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

She took a deep breath. "Steven and I...we're not really getting married."

I stared at her. "What do you mean you're not really getting married?"

"I mean we made it up. The whole thing. The engagement, the ring, the wedding plans. All of it."

The dish slipped from my hands and clattered into the sink. At least it didn’t shatter into a million pieces–Steven would have killed me on the spot."You made it up?"

"It was my idea," she said quickly. "Steven just went along with it."

"Why?" The word came out as barely a whisper.

“Because I've been watching you plan this wedding to Jeremiah, and everyone knows—I know—you're making a mistake. But every time I try to talk to you about it, you shut down. You get defensive. You stop listening."

"So you decided to lie to me instead? Great plan, Taylor, really well thought out."

"I thought if you could see it from the outside, if you could watch someone else making the same choices you're making, maybe you'd understand."

I felt like I'd been punched. "You thought you'd trick me into changing my mind?"

"I thought I'd help you see what everyone else sees!"

"Which is what, exactly?"

"That you're twenty years old, Belly. That you haven't even finished college. That you've never lived anywhere but home and Cousins Beach. That you're about to give up studying in Paris—your dream—for a guy who couldn't even keep it together for the one week you weren’t around."

"That's not fair. We both know that’s not what hap—"

"Isn't it? Belly, when was the last time you did something just for you? When was the last time you made a decision that wasn't somehow connected to Jeremiah Fisher?"

I didn’t get why everyone was so insistent in telling me that I was making some terrible mistake that I would apparently never recover from. Even if I was inadvertently ruining my life–which I was pretty sure I wasn’t–wasn’t it my life to ruin? I was turning twenty-one, not eleven. “I don’t have to take this. I’m leaving.”

“Belly-”

“I’m going back to Cousins. You can tell Steven,” I told Taylor, and I paid for my second bus ticket the minute I left Steven’s apartment. 

-

It was only once I was in front of the house that I realized I had left my keys inside the house, like a complete scatterbrained idiot. My phone was dead, I had no charger, and ringing the doorbell until it fell off wouldn’t do any good if nobody was home. Jere obviously wasn’t, and I wasn’t holding out hope that Conrad serendipitously decided to return home.

I checked both potted plants in front of the house, hoping there might be a spare key like in old television shows. Needless to say, there wasn’t. It hit me then that the back door was usually kept unlocked, probably not for emergencies like these, but it would do. I would just have to somehow get around the picket fence that was taller than I was…and it just so happened I was wearing one of the shortest skirts in existence, no shorts. 

The universe must’ve really felt like testing me today. I had half a mind to wait until Jeremiah came home from his internship…about four days from now. I suppose I would’ve had to live as a doorstep woman until then.

After my impromptu rock climbing that left much to be desired, I was on the other side of the fence. I really hoped that Conrad or Jeremiah hadn’t installed some fancy security system against burglars, because I would probably trip up all of the alarms, if I hadn’t already. I pulled open the back door, which swung open relievingly easily, only thinking about taking a hot shower and then passing out until Saturday morning.

But the scene that was before me evaporated my plans in an instant. Conrad Fisher. Kitchen counter. Semi-darkness. Serendipity. He looked mildly amused, but I had a pretty credible theory that he had been born looking mildly amused.

“Belly,” he said slowly, the corners of his mouth pulling up. “Why are you sneaking into the house like a thief? Don’t you have keys?”

If he thought I was a thief, why didn’t he try to stop me? My mind brought me back to all those winters ago, when I nearly attacked him with a firestick poker, thinking he was trying to ransack the house. And I definitely didn’t want to admit that I’d completely forgotten my keys somewhere in this house.

“A change of scenery. Why are you sitting in the dark by yourself?” I countered. 

“Change of scenery,” he echoed, completely ignoring my question. It was probably one of many idiosyncrasies of his that would always be just beyond my horizon of understanding. “That’s Belly for you; the world’s least graceful burglar.”

“And that’s Conrad,” I mirrored his expression and tone. “Too good to just say hello.”

He exhaled. “I’m sorry. Hello. But, like,” he said, still with that infuriating half-smile. “Where did you go?”

“Philelphia. And back.”

“All in one day?” Conrad studied my face in the dim light filtering in from the hallway. "You look like you've been crying."

"I haven't been crying."

"Your mascara says otherwise."

I reflexively touched my cheek, feeling the telltale smudge of makeup I'd forgotten about. Damn Taylor for making me cry in the first place, and damn Conrad for noticing.

"It's been a day," I said finally.

“Jere?”

“No,” I snapped, before I could think it through. “Not everything in my life revolves around him.”

“Okay,” Conrad relented, even though I knew he had more to say. “Want to talk about it?”

“Who, with you?” I asked reflexively. The question caught me off guard. Conrad offering to listen? To me? Belly Conklin? About my problems? This felt like some alternate universe where up was down and Conrad Fisher actually cared about my emotional state.

Conrad dramatically turned around, making a whole show of looking both ways. “Unless you see somebody else here…?” A bit more seriously he added, “I’m sorry. I’m probably not the brother you were hoping to see.”

His tone was deliberate, like he was choosing his words carefully. 

“No, no, I know Jere’s at his internship,” I told him quickly, even though he didn’t look convinced. 

“Okay, well,” He gestured toward the kitchen table. "Sit. I'll make coffee."

My eyes flickered to the clock. "It's past midnight."

"Decaf then. Or tea. Whatever you want, Belly."

Even against my better judgment, something about his tone of voice got to me–that made me sink into one of the kitchen chairs before I could stop myself. I watched him move around the familiar space, pulling out mugs and tea bags, filling the kettle. His movements were sure and practiced, like he'd done this a thousand times before. Well, he probably had; this was his house.

“How long are you staying?” I asked him.

“I’m technically supposed to be on a flight back to California right now,” he said, with the casualness of someone simply commenting on the weather. Putting down a kettle on the stove, he asked, “How long are you staying?” 

“Until the end of the summer,” I said, pretty reluctant to say too much more. “You know, wedding planning. It’s easier to think here.”

He didn’t meet my eyes. "Must be nice, having everything figured out at twenty."

There was an edge to his voice that I didn't like. "Not everyone takes years to make a decision, Conrad."

"That seems targeted." But he was smiling again. “"Some decisions are worth taking time with."

"And with some you just know."

The kettle whistled, cutting through the tension that had settled between us. Conrad poured the hot water over the tea bags, the familiar ritual giving us both something to focus on besides the weight of everything we weren't saying.

He set a mug in front of me—chamomile, my favorite, which he somehow still remembered—before taking the seat across from me.

"So," he said after a moment. "What happened in Philadelphia?"

I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, debating how much to tell him. On one hand, Conrad was the last person I should be confiding in about relationship problems. On the other, he was here.

"Taylor lied to me," I said finally.

"About what?"

“She told me she was engaged to Steven. Getting married in August. But the whole thing was fake."

Conrad's eyebrows shot up. "Fake how?"

"Completely made up. Fake ring, fake engagement story, fake wedding plans. All of it."

"Why would she do that?"

"Because she thinks I'm making a mistake marrying Jeremiah." The words came out bitter. "She thought if she could show me how ridiculous it looked from the outside, I'd change my mind."

Conrad was quiet for a long moment, staring into his tea. "And did it work?"

"Did what work?"

"Did seeing it from the outside change your mind?"

I wanted to say no immediately, wanted to defend my choices the way I had with everyone else. But the words wouldn’t come out.

"I don't know," I admitted quietly. "Maybe. I mean, watching them pretend to be engaged, it felt...wrong. Rushed. Like they were trying to convince themselves as much as everyone else."

"Sounds familiar."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Conrad looked up from his mug, meeting my eyes directly. "Come on, Belly. You know what it means."

"No, I don't. You’re being cryptic.”

“You.” The look Conrad on his face, like he was seeing something that I wasn’t. The same look Taylor had, and Steven. It was like everyone in the world felt like they were seeing something else, like they knew better than Jeremiah and I, even though they really knew nothing. It was subtly infuriating, in a way that just builds and builds and builds until you can’t ignore it anymore. “And Jere. Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

I spring to my feet, mind racing. “You’re not going to change my mind. And didn’t you already agree to become Jere’s best man? It seems pretty backhanded that you would try to convince me otherwise while he’s not around.”

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Belly.” he said, and his eyes were serious. Resigned, too, which reminded me of the Conrad I knew all too well. “Forget I said anything.”

“No, stop doing that.” My voice came out more forcefully than intended. “I mean it.”

I mean, I knew he was an accomplished sailor, but he was an expert at throwing out bait and reeling me back in as the tide went in and out. I was just the fool for going along with it each time. 

“Doing what?” Conrad was only two years older than me, but he had a way of always making me feel like a little girl getting scolded for tracking sand inside the house. One look from him and I was breathless, totally immobilized. “I think I’d have to know what I was doing to stop.”

“Just-” I took a sip of tea, which was way too hot and I should have known. I flinched when it burned going down. “Forget it. I’m going to bed.”

“Good night,” he called over his shoulder, his voice perfectly opaque.

I didn’t bother responding, and stomped up the stairs. I scrubbed off my makeup with less precision than was probably advised, and collapsed onto the bed. I plugged my phone into the wall, and watched the notifications roll in. Two missed calls from Steven, another three from Taylor. I wasn’t interested in talking to either of them tonight. One call from Jeremiah–just as I sat up to dial him back, I saw his text:

Tried calling you, but I guess you’re sleeping. Just wanted to let you know I got Friday off, so I’ll be back a day early. Love you, Bells xxx

At least there was that going for me. I put a heart on his message, and tried to just go to sleep. Cousins was supposed to be our safe haven, the only place where all the problems in the world couldn’t find us. I’d never felt this conflicted when I was here.

But maybe I was wrong. Maybe Cousins wasn’t my safe haven. Maybe it was just Jeremiah all along.

to be continued...

Chapter Text

I woke up to the sound of someone moving around downstairs, which could only mean one thing: Conrad was still here, and he was apparently an early riser. My phone on the nightstand read 7:23 AM, which felt obscenely early for someone who had spent the previous day on two bus rides and having her entire worldview challenged by her best friend's elaborate deception.

Thursday. Today was Thursday. Which meant Jeremiah would be here in less than twenty-four hours, and I still had no idea how I was going to explain why I'd disappeared to Philadelphia out of the blue, or why I felt like someone had taken my life and shaken it like a snow globe.

I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower, hoping the hot water would wash away some of the confusion that had settled over me like fog. It didn't work. If anything, standing there with nothing to do but think made everything worse. Taylor's words kept echoing in my head: When was the last time you made a decision that wasn't somehow connected to Jeremiah Fisher?

The truth was, I couldn't remember. Not since we'd gotten together, anyway. We were mostly friends with the guys in his fraternity, peripherally with the girls in his sister sorority, largely only attending his friends’ parties, and only ordered food that he liked, time and time again. I wanted to tell myself that I didn’t just follow him around like a lost puppy—for example, he had wanted me to rush Zeta Phi, and I told him no—but even I knew that was a weak excuse at best.

When I got downstairs, Conrad was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and what looked like medical journals spread out in front of him. He glanced up when I walked in, taking in my still damp hair and the oversized Cousins Beach t-shirt I'd thrown on. It was basically my uniform year round.

"Morning," he said, going back to his reading. "There's coffee made if you want some."

"Thanks." I poured myself a mug, grateful that he wasn't bringing up our conversation from the night before. The last thing I needed was more cryptic comments about my life choices. And hoping that he wasn’t just waiting for me to become sufficiently caffeinated to broach the subject.

"What are you reading?" I asked, settling into the chair across from him with my coffee.

“Oncology journals,” he answered without looking up. “I won’t bore you with the details.”

“I want to know,” I said against my better judgment.

“You know what oncology is?”

“Cancer prevention,” I was feeling pretty proud that I could actually rise to his standards for once. “I’m not going to Stanford medical school, but I’m not a complete idiot.”

“Never thought you were.” Conrad sipped at his coffee. “But to be honest, I’m not sure I understand it myself. Wouldn’t want to come off as the actual idiot, so,”

That was a lie if I ever heard one. But I let him be, and I took a sip of coffee, which was perfect—not too strong, not too weak. Conrad had always been good at things like that, the small details that made a difference. 

"When do you go back to California?"

"Originally? Yesterday. Now?" He shrugged. "Whenever I get around to booking another flight."

"Why didn't you go?"

He finally looked up from his journal, and I saw something flicker across his face before he masked it. “Did you know I got fired on my first day? It took me months to get screened for that internship, too.”

That was also a deflection if I ever heard one. “What did you do?”

“Mislabeled a vial. And got called a liability.”

“That seems kind of harsh.”

He nodded, setting his coffee down. “Yeah, well, apparently hospitals don’t mess around with their blood vials. It’s serious shit.”

I studied his face, trying to read between the lines. His nonchalance aside, Conrad never talked about his failures, never admitted to making mistakes. The fact that he was telling me this felt significant, though I couldn't quite figure out why.

"So you're taking a break?"

"Something like that." He turned a page in his journal, clearly done with this line of questioning. "What about you? What's on the agenda for today?"

I realized I had no idea. For the past few months, my days had been structured around Jeremiah's schedule, his classes, his internship, his friends. Without him here, I felt oddly unmoored.

"I don't know," I admitted. "Maybe I'll go to the beach."

"Want company?"

The question caught me off guard. Conrad offering to spend time with me voluntarily was about as likely as finding a unicorn on the beach. "Don't you have reading to do?"

"I think I can spare a few hours for the bride-to-be."

There was something in his tone—not quite sarcasm, but not sincerity either. I couldn't tell if he was making fun of me or genuinely offering to hang out. That seemed to be just the only thing that remained constant with Conrad Fisher.

"Okay," I said, surprising myself. "Give me twenty minutes to get ready."

I ended up taking thirty—having overthought the hell out of whether the tone of my lipgloss matched my sundress.

-

The beach was mostly empty at this hour, just a few joggers and dog walkers dotting the shoreline. Conrad and I walked in comfortable silence for the first few minutes, the only sounds being the crash of waves and the cry of seagulls overhead. It felt like being kids again, when the four of us would spend entire days down here, building sandcastles and racing each other into the waves.

"Remember when you tried to surf for the first time?" Conrad said suddenly, as if he'd been reading my thoughts.

I groaned. "I was twelve and had no business being on a surfboard."

"You were so determined though. Kept getting back on even after wiping out five times."

"Six times," I corrected him. "And you and Jeremiah and Steven spent the entire time laughing at me."

It had been just after Conrad and Jeremiah had gotten back from some fancy surfing camp or whatever, where they ended up apparently becoming professional surfers in less than a month. They’d insisted on showing Steven all of the tricks they’d learned, and in another month, he became a royal pain in the ass with all of his talk about surfing. We lived in Philadelphia, keep in mind, which was near exactly zero beaches. Just as the summer was nearly over, I had gotten completely sick of being constantly left out, and forced the three of them to teach me to surf.

It was a terrible idea. I had zero innate talent for surfing, unsurprisingly.

"We weren't laughing at you," Conrad protested, though his smile suggested otherwise. “But you were.”

"I wasn't laughing. I was dying of embarrassment."

It was also the first summer that I tried really hard to get Conrad to notice me—but needless to say, looking cute and falling off a surfboard every two seconds didn’t really go hand in hand.

"But you kept trying."

I glanced at him sideways. "What's your point?"

"No point. Just...remembering."

We continued walking, and I found myself relaxing for the first time in days. There was something about being here with Conrad that felt familiar, comfortable even. It reminded me of all those summers when the three of us were inseparable, before everything got complicated.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

“Sure.”

"Why did you agree to be Jeremiah's best man?"

Conrad stopped walking. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you don't think we should get married. You said it was ‘ridiculous’." I added, using air quotes.

“So you keep reminding me. But I…” He paused, and I put way too much meaning into that one pause. “I didn’t mean it like that, Belly.”

“But you don't think we should get married."

Just like everyone else , I didn’t add. But some insane, deluded, far removed from reality part of me wondered if Conrad had alternative motivations. Even if I wasn’t willing to give a voice to it.

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to. It's written all over your face whenever the subject comes up."

“What do you want me to say, Bells?”

The gentleness in his voice made me feel ten times worse. I pursed my lips, as if I could physically restrain myself from saying something I would inevitably regret.

“The truth?” It came out like a question. Then, “Unless that’s too difficult for you.”

Conrad didn’t answer me, and that was an answer in itself. His eyes turned towards the sunrise, as if the universe’s answers were all laid out there. I found myself wishing I had brought a pair of sunglasses, but moreover wanting to leave immediately. I wanted to storm away, to prove that I didn't need his opinion or his concern.  But my feet were rooted to the spot, like I couldn’t bring myself to leave until we hurt each other’s feelings sufficiently.

"What happened to us?" I asked him quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"We used to be friends. Real friends. Before, at least. And now..." I gestured helplessly between us. "Now we can barely have a conversation without it turning into this."

Conrad exhaled. "I don't know. Maybe we grew up."

"That's a cop-out answer."

He just said it again. "I don’t know."

I looked at him then, really looked at him, trying to see past the careful mask he always wore. I don’t think I was successful. "Do you miss it? Being friends, I mean."

It wasn’t really what I meant, but it was the extent of what I was willing to admit.

"Yeah," he said, and for once his voice was completely honest. "I do."

"Then why can't we just...be friends again?"

"Because it's not that simple, Belly. Too much has happened."

"Like what?" I didn’t really know why I was playing oblivious, but I did anyway. Maybe because I wanted him to admit it, using his own words, finally putting a name to all of the things that were purely speculation up until now.

He gave me a look that made my stomach flip. "You know what."

I did know what. My junior prom night was still burned into my mind like it was yesterday, always followed by the night where we almost lost the house for good. Things could have been so different. But they weren’t, and there was no point in thinking about what would never happen.

"That was a long time ago," I said.

"Was it?"

"Conrad—"

"I'm not trying to make things weird," he said quickly, holding up his hands. "I'm just saying that pretending it never happened doesn't make it go away."

"It did go away. I'm marrying Jeremiah."

"Are you? Or are you marrying him because it's easier than dealing with everything else?"

I stared at him, feeling like the ground was shifting beneath my feet. "That's not fair."

He stared at me with those striking eyes of his, saying everything and nothing in a look.

"You're impossible," I said, starting to walk back toward the house. "This is exactly why we can't be friends."

"Belly, wait—"

But I was already walking away, my feet sinking into the sand with each step. I heard him call my name again, but I didn't turn around. I couldn't. Because if I did, I probably would have eventually been convinced by him.

-

By the time I got back to the house, I was thoroughly worked up. I went straight to my room and called Jeremiah, needing to hear his voice, needing the reassurance that came with talking to him.

"Hey, beautiful," he answered on the second ring, and just the sound of his voice made some of the tension leave my shoulders. The background looked distinctly like an office, and I realized very belatedly that taking non-work related phone calls and getting off scott-free probably didn’t do wonders to erase Jere’s perception as a nepotism hire. But I put it out of my mind.

"Hi," I said, settling onto my bed. "How's work?"

"Boring. Lots of spreadsheets and coffee runs. My dad still hates me, I’m pretty sure. But I have good news—I definitely got tomorrow off, so I'll be there by tomorrow morning."

"That's great. I can't wait to see you."

"How's the wedding planning going? Did you call the florist like we talked about?"

I realized I hadn't called the florist. I hadn't done any wedding planning at all since I'd been here. Even though that was ostensibly the reason we had come to Cousins to begin with. "I got a little distracted. But I'll do it today."

"What kind of distracted?" There was something in his voice—not suspicion exactly, but curiosity.

"Just... stuff with Taylor.” I said, taking care not to mention Conrad. Their relationship was already kind of contentious, and I didn’t want to pile on. “It’s kind of complicated. I’ll tell you all of the details once you get back.”

“Should I be hating Taylor for now? I mean, she already hates me.”

“No, don’t hate her.” I said, feeling a twinge of guilt for not having answered any of her calls or texts. Or any of Steven’s, for that matter. “And she doesn’t hate you.”

“Then she’s pretty convincing at pretending to, at least. But you know that I’m still sorry for what I did, right? I’ll be forever in your debt for it.”

“You don’t have to go that far.” I said, even though I couldn’t help but smile. “I miss you.”

I could hear the smile in his voice when he responded. "I miss you too. Twenty-four more hours and then I'm all yours for the weekend."

"Twenty-four hours," I repeated, though it felt like an eternity.

"I love you, Bells."

"I love you, Jere."

After we hung up, I stared at the ceiling for a long time, trying to sort through the mess of emotions swirling in my chest. Jeremiah's voice had been exactly what I needed—warm, familiar, reassuring. But underneath it all, I could still hear Conrad's words echoing: Are you marrying him because it's easier than dealing with everything else?

I grabbed my laptop and opened a new browser tab, determined to prove everyone wrong by actually doing some wedding planning. The florist's website loaded slowly, and I scrolled through pictures of bouquets and centerpieces, trying to imagine them at our wedding. But every time I tried to picture the scene—me in a white dress, Jeremiah waiting at the altar—my mind went blank.

What kind of bride couldn't even imagine her own wedding?

My phone buzzed with another text from Taylor: Belly, please call me. I know you're mad but we need to talk.

I turned my phone over without responding and went back to the florist's website. Roses? Too traditional. Peonies? Too expensive. Sunflowers? Too casual. Nothing felt right. Nothing felt like me . And I didn’t even begin to know what Jeremiah would want—he just said that he would trust whatever I chose. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

A knock on my bedroom door interrupted my spiraling thoughts. "Belly?" Conrad's voice came through the wood. "Can we talk?"

"No, we can’t," I called back, not moving from my bed.

"I brought coffee."

I considered this. On one hand, I was still furious with him for what he'd said on the beach. On the other hand, I could really use some caffeine. Coffee did sound really good after I barely touched mine this morning. Or because coffee at any hour was welcome. "What kind of coffee?"

"The good kind. From that place downtown you like."

I gave up and got up to open the door. Conrad stood there holding two cups from Coastal Grounds, the local coffee shop that made the best lattes on the entire East Coast. He was wearing a navy Cousins Beach t-shirt—the same one I was wearing—and his hair was still messy from the beach wind. Standing there dressed down, he almost looked younger, like my sixteen year old first love and not the best man for my marriage to his brother.

“Hi,” he passed me one of the cups.

“Hi.” I answered, sitting on the edge of the bed. Conrad remained in the doorframe, kind of like he was afraid to come in. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you, by the way.”

“I didn’t expect you to.” he said quietly.

“It doesn’t mean you have to just stand there, though,” I place the coffee on the nightstand and gesture at him. “You can come in.”

He looked at me for a second, as if he were laboring over some life and death decision. He leaned against the doorframe. “I’m good here.”

“Suit yourself,” I said, then, "Why did you really come back here? And don't say it's because you got fired. I know that's not the whole story."

Conrad was quiet for a long moment, not meeting my eyes but instead staring out the window at the ocean beyond. "Remember when we were kids and you used to get nightmares?"

The change of subject caught me off guard. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You'd wake up crying, and my mom would let you sleep in our room. You'd end up on the floor between me and Jere's beds with every stuffed animal you owned."

I did remember. I'd been maybe eight or nine, going through a phase where I was convinced monsters lived under my bed. Susannah had been so patient with me, never making me feel embarrassed about being scared. I felt pretty embarrassed, myself. Out of all of us kids, I was already the youngest, the only girl—I didn’t need to give the boys more ammunition to make fun of me with.

Though, I suppose in retrospect, Conrad never made fun of me. Teased me, sure, but never to the extent of Steven or even Jeremiah. But Steven was by far the biggest offender.

"Your point?"

"My point is that you always felt safest here. In this house.” He looked at me then, his expression serious. "I came back because I wanted to feel safe, too."

The words hung between us, heavy with implication. I picked up my coffee cup in a vain attempt to quell my shaking hands.

“I was supposed to go back on Monday, actually.” he continued. “Yesterday was the second flight I booked. But I couldn’t get to the airport on either day.”

"Conrad, what are you—"

"I wasn’t going to say anything. I was going to let you marry him without saying anything," he continued, as if I hadn't spoken. "I was going to stand there as his best man and watch you promise to love him forever, and I was never going to tell you that I've been in love with you since that last summer we all spent here."

The room went completely silent except for the sound of my heart hammering in my chest. I stared at him, sure I must have misheard.

‘I thought you knew,” I suddenly thought about what he’d told me all those years ago, ‘From the moment we kissed on the beach, I thought you knew.’

“Shit, this isn’t…” Conrad suddenly seemed painfully interested in the ceiling, as if the answers were close enough. Close enough to touch. “This isn’t coming out the way I wanted. But you asked me why we couldn’t be friends, and now you know.”

“You shouldn’t have told me.” I said, only because I didn’t mean it.

“And maybe I would have been better off keeping it to myself,” he finished, his eyes never finding mine. “But now you know.”

“I don’t know what you think will happen with you telling me this now,” I stumbled over my words, mind still racing. “It’s…wrong.”

"When else was I supposed to say it? After the wedding? After you've been married for five years and have kids and a mortgage and a whole life built with someone else?"

I was starting to see why he had positioned himself in front of the door—it completely stopped me from leaving. I scrambled towards the head of the bed—away from him. “You had multiple chances. Over, like, five years. You chose not to take them.”

“You’re right,” Conrad told me softly, in that so very Conrad way where he thought he was being selfless but I was more of the opinion that he was being cowardly. “You’re completely right.”

“Well—” I cleared my throat. “We’re on the same page, then.”

Conrad steps off of the doorframe, and I could smell his familiar scent—salt air and that cologne he'd worn since high school. “Are we? It doesn’t seem like we’re saying the same things.”

I didn’t think it would scare him off, but I said it anyway: “I’m telling Jeremiah you said this.”

“Do it,” he shrugged, but it was almost like a dare. “I think he’s always known.”

I opened my mouth to deny exactly that, but the words wouldn't come. Because he was right. Despite everything—despite Jeremiah, despite the engagement, despite all my protestations—I did still have feelings for Conrad. I'd buried them so deep I'd almost convinced myself they didn't exist, but they were there, as strong as ever.

It was such an unfortunate circumstance that it was almost laughable.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I blurted out, my face hot. “I mean, don’t you want your brother to be happy?”

He takes a step deeper into the room. His eyes were impossibly soft, and it honestly made me feel weird inside. “Of course I do,” he hesitated, and I hate that I thought it meant something, “but maybe I’m putting your happiness first.”

Tears were streaming down my face now, and I wiped them away angrily. “And you think I’d be happier with you? That I’d upend my life for the past four years just because you changed your mind overnight? Jeremiah will be here tomorrow, and we're getting married, and that's final." And just because I wanted to spite him, I added, “You should book that flight to California. And actually get on it. I don’t think you should stick around when Jere gets back.”

“Belly, I didn’t mean-”

But I was already pushing past him and heading down the hall. I guess it was kind of ridiculous of me to hope to avoid him all while living under the same roof as him.

I got in my car, but realized I had no idea where to go. I may have visited Cousins every summer of my childhood, but I didn’t really go anywhere outside of the house. And to the few places I did know—there was already too much history. Because Conrad was Cousins—he was everywhere I looked, even when I didn’t want to see him. Especially then.

Without really thinking about it, I found myself calling Taylor.

She answered on the first ring. "Belly? Oh my god, I'm so glad you called. I’ve—I mean, me and Steven have been—”

"I think I'm making a mistake," I interrupted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

“What kind?” She asked me carefully.

“I don’t know, with everything?” I felt like laughing and crying all at once. “Everything is upside down.”

“With Jeremiah, or…?”

Her pause felt deliberate, or maybe I was putting too much stock into things that were meaningless again. 

I closed my eyes, feeling tears start again. "I don't know anymore. I don't know anything anymore."

"Okay, breathe," Taylor said, her voice gentle in a way I wasn't used to hearing. "Tell me what happened."

I told her about everything that Conrad had told me over the past two days. About how his confession felt partway unexpected and partway a long time coming. 

When I finished, Taylor was quiet for a long moment.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I'm sorry I lied to you, and I'm sorry I tried to manipulate you into seeing things my way. That wasn't fair."

I kind of meant it, everything that happened with Taylor felt pretty insignificant in comparison. “It’s fine-” 

“It’s not. But if you’re not sure about marrying Jeremiah, you should say something.”

"As if it’s that easy.” My voice came out more bitter than intended. “What am I supposed to say? 'Sorry, Jere, I can't marry you because your brother confessed his feelings and it made me realize I don't know who I am anymore'?"

“If that’s the truth, then yes.”

“Taylor,” I said slowly. “I’m not you. I can’t be that forthright.”

“Belly, everyone’s lives would immediately improve if they decided to act a little more like me. But,” her voice softens, “Why not?”

"He'll hate me."

“Maybe, but you’ll probably end up hating him more if you ended up never wanting this marriage at all.”

“But I do,” I tried to protest, but my words rang unbelievable, even in my own ears. “...want this marriage.”

-

Sleep didn’t come easy that night, or at all. I put myself to bed at 8:00 sharp, thinking that if I closed my eyes, time would pass a little quicker, and thereby Jeremiah would arrive sooner, but instead it crawled by, like the universe was mocking me. At 5:00 the next morning, I threw in the towel and watched the sunrise on the beach. 

When the sun was properly up and it started becoming unbearably warm, I reentered the house through the back door—not over the fence this time, of course. 

Jeremiah was standing in the kitchen, still in his work clothes.

He dropped everything he was holding and wrapped me in a hug that smelled like his cologne and the drive from Boston. For the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe.

"God, I missed you," he said, kissing the top of my head. He spun me around like I was the lightest thing in the world—and after all of the stress eating I’d been doing, namely dirt bomb muffins—I was positive that I was not. "Four days felt like forever."

"It was forever. I missed you too," I said, and meant it, even though nothing was as it had been when he left.

He set me down and held me at arm’s length. “Where’s Conrad? I didn’t see him,”

Conrad had been gone by the time I finally mustered the courage to come back inside the house—had he escaped out the back door just as I had last night? I must have somehow missed his car driving off the property, even though I was right there. I was both relieved and disappointed that he was gone. It felt like the most terrible sense of deja vu—even though I had been the one that pushed him to leave in the first place.

“Around,” I said vaguely, because it was better than admitting I had basically kicked him out of his own house. Realistically, I knew he was probably in California by now, or at least in transit, but I didn’t want to confront that it may have all been because of me. “He might’ve had to go back to California for work.”

“Oh,” Jeremiah said, loosening his tie. “But he’ll be back before the end of summer, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” I just hoped I wasn’t lying.

Even though I held the threat of telling Jeremiah over Conrad’s head, now that I was actually presented with an opportunity to do so, I wasn’t so sure.

I was acting like a mess. The fifteen year old version of me who was painfully in love would never have approved, needless to say.

“You’re probably tired from driving, like, twelve hours, so I’ll-” I let the moment pass me by and tried to step back.

But Jeremiah just held me closer. “No, I haven’t seen you all week. I’m not just going to go to sleep right away.” He turned to look at the mess I’d made all over the counter, which was presumably what he had been so occupied with earlier. “How’s wedding planning going?”

I had tried to focus on wedding planning, spreading brochures and printouts across the kitchen table like some kind of bridal war room. Flowers, venues, catering menus, photographer portfolios. It should have been exciting. This should have been the happiest time of my life. One of the tell signs that told me that Taylor and Steven’s ‘wedding’ was a sham was the lack of concrete details they had fleshed out—but it was exactly the same for me now.

And then I had the most terrible thought, the worst of them all: what if my wedding was a sham too, and I was the only one who couldn’t see it?

"It's going well," I lied, gesturing at the scattered papers. "Sorry I made a mess, I’ll clean it up. I've been narrowing down options."

Jeremiah picked up a catering menu and flipped through it absently. "These all look good to me. Whatever you want, Bells."

That phrase again. Whatever you want. It should have felt romantic, that he trusted my judgment completely. Instead, it felt like another weight on my shoulders. How was I supposed to make all these decisions when I couldn't even decide what I wanted for breakfast most mornings?

"Don't you have any preferences?" I asked. "It's your wedding, too."

He set down the menu and pulled me closer, his hands settling on my waist. "My only preference is marrying you. Everything else is just details. Except-"

"The two tier, mirror glaze chocolate with raspberry coulis, I know." I finished for him.

He grinned at me. "You know me so well."

That aside, his words should have melted my heart. I mean, they did—kind of. But not to the point that it superseded my want to get some actual input outside of cake flavor on what was supposed to be a joint project between us.

Taylor would never settle for "whatever you want" from Steven—fake engagement or not, she would have had opinions about everything from the napkin color to the font on the invitations. Steven was already kind of opinionated to begin with, I’d never seen any man spend so much time on one pair of pants. But if I told Jeremiah that, he would have said that Taylor and Steven were their own people, just like we were ours, and probably followed by a snide comment.

"Jere," I started, then stopped. What was I even going to say? That his lack of investment in our wedding planning was making me question everything? That would sound insane. It was insane, there was no getting around that.

"What is it?" he asked, studying my face. "You look like something's bothering you."

“I just realized that I never told you about what happened with Taylor.” I said, because it came to mind. “She told me she had news, so I took the bus up to Philadelphia."

“By yourself? I could have picked you up.”

“The drive between Boston to Cousins is already twelve hours, why would I ask you? The bus was fine.” I said. “But do you know what she told me when I got there? That she was getting married. To Steven, of all people.”

“Steven?” Jeremiah looked disbelieving. “And Taylor. The people who have never been serious about each other for more than two seconds at a time.”

“I know, right? I don’t know why I didn’t immediately think it was crazy. But to make a long story short, she thought that…making something like that up would help me see us from some outside perspective. Like some…messed up funhouse mirror, I don’t know. I don’t know what she was thinking.”

“That’s kind of fucked, to be honest,” he said. “Taylor needs to stay out of it, if you ask me. It’s not like she’s got her life all put together, considering how she wants to become everyone’s moral compass all of a sudden.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”

“Sorry.” He gave me that look, the one he had when he knew I wouldn’t like what he had to say. Why he would still go ahead and say it anyway was completely beyond me, but it was the same look when we had that conversation about Cabo. Just like that. “Let’s not talk about Taylor. I only have you for three days, I want to make the most of it,” he suggested quickly.

I really didn’t want to tell him about Conrad. Not ever, preferably. But maybe that was all the more reason to do so.  

“One more thing,” I said, regretting every word as I said it. “About your brother.”

He pursed his lips, giving me a look that almost looked disappointed. “I didn’t mean I wanted to talk about Conrad instead.”

“Right. I’m sorry.” I said, my confidence quickly abandoning me. “We don’t have to talk about him, if you don’t want to. It’s not really anything important, and it can totally wait.”

Oh my god, I was being such a coward right now, wasn’t I?

Jeremiah smiled at me—he always looked like a little boy when he smiled like that, or like those little angel baby charms that clipped onto your phone. Then he kissed me, and it made my mind go completely blank. I mean it, I don’t think I could answer correctly if somebody asked me what my name was right now.

“Shit, I love you so much,” he told me, when we broke apart. His eyes were bright and blue and so magnetic, like the pool where we’d had our first kiss—I always wanted to swim in them, to feel him around me, to be within his very thoughts. “You’ll never know how much.”

I blinked, and for a brief second, I saw Conrad’s eyes instead; they were a deeper shade of blue, more striking almost, like the ocean at night. Like the night he told me he thought I knew he loved me, even though we’d been broken up for months. ‘ I was never going to tell you that I've been in love with you since that last summer we all spent here.’

“I already do.”

-

Jeremiah talked a big game, but his ability to follow through was questionable at best—he fell asleep nearly immediately. I’d put on a movie that neither of us had much interest in, and he’d gone out like a light, his head heavy on my shoulder. I was still running my hands through his hair when the ending credits started rolling, trying to reconcile that this was my life now. Two months ago, my existence had been centered around being dragged to mixers and parties on behalf of Jeremiah and Taylor, and, you know, not failing any of my finals and getting kicked out of school.

Now I was less than six weeks away from being somebody’s wife. Well, not just anyone’s wife, but the sentiment still stood.

Without the buy-in from my brain, my hands took out my phone and opened my texts with Conrad. The last one was dated a few months back, which made texting him now feel kind of weird. Or like it was never really over.

Not that it was that. It was very much over. Definitively. Nothing left to say. Except closure. The best stories always had the best conclusion, and from a storytelling perspective, it’d be kind of anti-climatic to just pull the curtain with the characters in different states…

But for as much as I tried to justify it to myself, I couldn’t think of what I actually wanted to say. ‘ Hi, sorry I kicked you out of your own house’ didn’t sound great, truthfulness aside. ‘Thanks for making it awkward, brother-in-law’ was objectively worse. 

How was your flight? If you even booked one, I typed, then hit backspace on it. Too casual. It overlooked everything from this morning. Sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it, but I deleted that too. I finally decided on: Good luck with job hunting, I’ll see you at the wedding? But just because I was the kind of person who could never make up their mind and stick to it, I unsent it a second after.

I slammed my phone down on the couch cushions and let out a groan. Life was too complicated, I would have much preferred to be a twelve year old again, whose biggest problems were trying and absolutely failing to surf cutely. I should have appreciated it when I had it.

Jeremiah stirs, his eyes open, and I remember again where I am. “What?” he asked, blinking heavily. “What happened, Belly?”

I clutch my phone close to my chest. “N-Nothing. Sorry, did I wake you?”

“I was not sleeping,” he protested, even though the truth was obvious. He sat up and pulled me closer, his body warm. 

"You were totally sleeping," I said, trying to inject some lightness into my voice. "You were even snoring."

"I don't," Jeremiah insisted, but he was smiling now, that easy grin that had made me fall for him in the first place. "You're the one who snores."

"I do not!"

"You do. Sometimes. It's cute, though." He kissed my temple, and I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders. This was what I needed—normalcy, playfulness, the easy rhythm that had always existed between us. "What were you doing while I was definitely not sleeping?"

"Just thinking," I said, which wasn’t technically untrue.

"About what?"

You know, the usual. About your brother admitting he’s been in love with me since I was sixteen. About how Taylor’s whole engagement scheme inadvertently made me question everything about. About how I don't know if I'm marrying you for the right reasons anymore. You know, nothing serious.

“You know,” I shrugged, “Wedding stuff.”

Jeremiah stretched, his shirt riding up slightly and revealing a sliver of tan skin. "Cool. Want to go for a swim? The water looked perfect when I drove up."

I glanced out the window at the ocean, sparkling invitingly in the late afternoon sun.

"Yeah," I said. "Let me get changed."

Twenty minutes later, we were walking hand in hand down to the water's edge. Jeremiah had thrown on board shorts and a tank top that showed off the sunkissed tan that never really seemed to leave him, even in the winter. I was wearing one of the bikinis I’d left in the dressers—navy blue with tiny white anchors, which now seemed inappropriately nautical given Taylor and Steven's fake wedding theme.

The water was perfect, warm enough that we didn't have to ease in gradually. Jeremiah immediately dove under a wave, surfacing with his hair slicked back and water streaming down his face. He looked like something out of a magazine, all golden curls and easy confidence. He was the kind of guy that all girls liked, but he was all mine. In six weeks, he’d be all mine forever.

"Come here," he called, reaching for me.

I waded over to him, and he pulled me close, his hands settling on my waist under the water. We'd done this a thousand times before, even when we were just kids. Back then, it had been spoiled slightly by the fact that Steven always insisted on dunking me in the water, even though I had been hoping to stay pretty by keeping my hair dry and makeup intact. The concept of being one of those girls who only dipped their feet in was completely foreign when you had one biological brother and two who were kind of like honorary ones.

"This is nice," I said.

"This is what I missed most," Jeremiah said, spinning me around in the water. "Just being with you. No distractions, no pressure, just us."

“How were things with your dad?” I studied his face. “Did you get to talk to him at all about the wedding?”

His expression stiffened. “No, actually. He completely shut me down each time I tried to approach the topic. I think I can quote him exactly: ‘easy there, intern’ .”

Adam had always been tough on Jeremiah, and he seemed to take his every mistake as confirmation bias that he was…I don’t know, destined to never do anything meaningful with his life.

“I’m sorry.” I touched his arm. “Is he making work more difficult for you?”

“Yeah. But I mean, the other people working at Breaker are already doing a great job on their own. But forget about them,” he smiled at me. “As far as I’m concerned, work is just something to fill the time while I’m counting down the days until I can come back home to you.”

“You’re sweet.”

“Only for you," he answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Did you get to talk to Laurel?”

“No.” I admitted, feeling a twinge of guilt that I hadn’t spoken to my own mother in exactly one week. Not since I stormed out of the house and basically forced Jeremiah to come with me. But it wasn’t like she had called me either, my mother had always been terrible at giving me space, but I kind of hated the fact that this was the matter she chose to break her own rule for. “No, I haven’t.”

“To be honest, I’ve been thinking,” he swung our joined hands back and forth. “I feel kind of bad that everything happening is making you and her not talk. I mean, that’s your mom.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.” It was a complete blank faced lie, and I wonder if he could see that. “If she doesn’t support us—you and me—then I have nothing to say to her.”

He paused. Then, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged, trying to emulate that easy confidence he had with literally everything. And then it just came out. “Speaking of support, Jere, I have something to tell you.”

I could see it in his face, he didn’t suspect a thing. Why would he have? But if I was really going to choose this life—to choose Jeremiah—this was kind of a necessary conversation. “Yeah?”

I started, “I did see Conrad here. Before you got here.”

Jeremiah didn’t let go of my hands, but I could feel him tense. “And?”

“He told me some things,” I began, suddenly not wanting to say it with my own words. “Things that he said you would already know.”

“Belly, what exactly did he say to you?”

The air around us suddenly felt unseasonably cool. I tripped and stumbled over my own words, starting to get nervous. “Um, I don’t think saying it explicitly is-”

“Belly,” he said again, his tone terse and expression to match. “What did Conrad say?”

“That he was in love with me,” I admitted in a low voice, nearly lost behind the sound of the waves. The sound of children playing in the distance. Even the sound of seagulls flapping their wings noisily in the sky. Everything seemed to get in the way. “That he has been ever since that last summer we all spent here…before your mom passed.”

His eyes held me captive, no longer the sparkling calm of the inground pool, but instead turbulent waves like the ones around us. “And how did you respond?”

“That I was with you, obviously,” I said, panicked. “I told him that I was going straight to you with what he said.”

“That’s not an answer, Belly. We both know it.” He dropped my hands, and turned away from me, starting to head back towards the house. The waves lapped more furiously around us. It was barely perceptible, but I heard him mutter, “I’m going to kill him.”

“Jere, wait—Jeremiah!” I tried to follow him, but his legs were longer and I couldn’t match his pace. “Where are you going?”

“Probably to California,” he said without looking back.

I hadn’t expected him to react like this, but at the same time, I was all kinds of crazy for expecting anything else.

“No. Stop. Don’t do that,” I called after him, but he either didn’t hear or intentionally ignored me. I forced my way out of the water, and broke into a run to catch up with him. He was already almost at the house. “You’re not really going to California, are you?”

“I don’t know, should I?”

“No! No, you shouldn’t go.” I said, my tone wild. “Promise me that you won’t go.”

Jeremiah didn’t say anything.

“I mean it, Jere.”

He looked back for a second, but his eyes slipped past me. “Sure. Whatever.”

“Why are you being like this? Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you, Belly.” he opened the back door with more force than necessary. “Not about this.”

I followed him into the house, water still dripping from my hair and onto the hardwood floors. Jeremiah was already halfway up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“Don’t be mad,” I said helplessly at the base of the steps, even though I didn’t see why he wouldn’t be.

His expression softened for a split second, but only then. Only then. “I’m not mad.”

“Liar.”

“Yeah, well,” he turned away. “You would know about that best, right?”

“What is that supposed to-” The words died in my throat and I instead followed him up the stairs. He was in his room, rifling through his dresser. I stood by the doorframe, just like Conrad had done earlier this morning. “Don’t go. Jere. Jere, look at me.”

He finally relented. “I’m not mad at you , Belly. I just don’t want to talk about it.” 

I looked at him, and his dresser. “That doesn’t mean you have to go.”

“I’m not,” he said. I almost called him a liar again, but I didn’t want to make things even worse. If that was even possible.

He used to say I was the one thing that calmed him down. But right now, I was the one making things worse.

Chapter Text

The reason that Jeremiah had been looking through his dresser with such intensity was apparently to take a shower, not hop on a red eye and take off for the other side of the country. I’d thrown on a t-shirt and a random pair of sweatpants laying around—probably Jere’s—and I seated myself at the kitchen counter, not wanting to track seawater into the house. From there, I listened to the sound of the water running somewhat miserably from downstairs, irrationally afraid that if I followed suit, he would be gone by the time I was out of the shower.

I ended up writing to Taylor, wishing Cousins and Philadelphia weren’t so far apart: I’m pretty sure I messed everything up.

She responded right away, almost like she had been waiting for me to text: With Jeremiah? Call me right now.

I knew things were serious when Taylor called Jeremiah by his name and not some mocking iteration. So I did. 

When she answered, the background looked suspiciously like Steven’s apartment, but I decided not to dwell on it. If the prospect of their engagement was actually a semi-believable lie, that probably meant their relationship was a lot more serious than I was privy to. 

“Taylor?”

“Belly?” she asked. “What happened?”

“I messed it up,” I said.

“You’ve already said that. What else?”

Taylor was always more straightforward than I was. Where I waffled and deliberated, she made choices, and she usually stuck to those choices. She would never have ended up in this situation. But I was, and now I probably had to figure a way out of it.

I listened to the sound of the running water while I tried to make up my mind. “I told him about Conrad. Without really thinking about it. Which probably wasn’t the best idea.” 

"Oh." A pause. "How did he take it?"

“Probably about as poorly as he could’ve.” I said. “I don’t know what I was thinking, telling him like that.”

“Babe,” Taylor said, her voice careful. “You told him the truth. And I mean, if hearing the truth made him crash out like that, then that’s kind of on him. He shouldn’t need somebody to hand-hold and baby him.”

I knew Taylor was telling me all of this from a place of goodwill, because she was my friend and not Jeremiah’s. But it was that very fact that made it impossible to believe her, it was because she was my friend that she would take my side inevitably.

“It’s not like that, Taylor.” I put my head on the counter, the marble cool against my forehead. “I told Conrad to leave, and Jeremiah’s probably going to stay in Boston for the rest of his internship. He probably hates me, to make things worse. It’s over.”

“I mean…maybe this isn’t all bad.” she said pointedly. “You did say that you didn’t know how to break the news to Jeremiah.”

I looked up at her, and her expression was one of serious calm. “Not like this.”

“I’m just saying! One loves you, and one hates you. The answer seems pretty obvious to me.”

“Do you hear yourself right now?” Despite myself, I laughed—humorlessly. “Marriage isn’t something you can just give up on a whim. Life isn’t a movie.”

“You’re not married yet,” Taylor nodded sagely. “There’s still time to get out, Belly.”

“I can’t do that, Tay,” I said softly. If saying it aloud made it real, then I would. “I still love him. A lot. More than anyone.”

I didn’t say that almost more than anyone was more accurate, but ‘ hey, I love you second most’ is a pretty bad sentiment to convey.

Taylor looks like she’s about to respond, but before she can, I hear Jeremiah clear his throat. And there he is—at the foot of the stairs and a fresh set of clothes. How long had he been there? How long had he been listening, was a better question. Had he heard what I just said—even the thought of that filled me with mortification

He takes a step closer, then another. Then another, until he’s closed the distance between us and there’s nothing left. His hair is still damp, and he smells like shampoo and a touch of salty air and everything good. 

“Hi, Taylor,” he said, stepping into the camera frame, his voice deceivingly casual. “Can I have a word with my wife?”

My wife, the words reverberated in my mind.

But Taylor recovered faster than I did. “What if I said you couldn’t, Jeremy?” she said, with a familiar sparkle and challenge in her eyes.

“Then I would ask you what you could do to stop me. Oops,” with that, Jeremiah hit the red ‘end call button’ and Taylor’s image vanished.

“You can’t just hang up on my best friend,” I said, even though that wasn’t really what was on my mind.

“Well, I already did, so it’s kind of too late.”

“Ready to talk?” I suggested, trying to keep my tone light. I suddenly felt kind of embarrassed that I had stolen his clothes, in light of everything, but he didn’t even bring it up.

“No, actually,” he said, and he didn’t even hesitate. “I just wanted to tell you, I’m gonna pretend like you never said anything. I’m not discussing this with you.”

Jeremiah paced back and forth between both ends of the dining table, like he was trying to keep busy. I watched him carefully the entire time, not entirely convinced he wouldn’t make a break for it the second I looked away.

“You can’t just avoid it forever.” My tone was incredulous, I was in near disbelief.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have put me in a position where I’d have to think about something like that.” he said, in a completely fake-reasonable tone.

“Do you hear yourself? You’re being so immature about this,” The words were spilling out of me, hot and angry, and it was kind of like an out of body experience, like I didn’t have any control over what I was saying. I couldn’t get over the thought that he was acting like this just to spite me, and if he was, I wanted to spite him more. “I knew that I should have listened to-”

“Conrad?” he snapped, but his tone was audibly hurt. I’d never seen him like this before. “Then go be with him. See if I care. Because I don’t.”

“I was going to say Taylor.” I said instead, now feeling the exact same as him—I didn’t want to talk either now. “She was right, you are a manchild.”

Jeremiah stared at me for a long minute—long enough where it felt like time stood still. I could barely believe that those words had come out of my mouth, I’d never been the type to say something that harsh to anybody, even people I kind of hated. I felt like crying, only my eyes were dry and tears wouldn’t come. And Jeremiah wasn’t just anyone; he was him . He was someone I had just told Taylor that I loved more than anyone.

“Whatever,” he muttered, turning away from me. “I don’t have to take this. I’m off.”

“You said you weren’t leaving.”

He didn’t answer, but instead headed up the stairs. When I heard the sound of a door being slammed unnecessarily loudly, I figured he wasn’t going anywhere, at least for now.

-

It was common knowledge between the Fishers and Conklins that Conrad was my first love. It was like embedded in our language, if Conrad was there, Belly would come running. When I was little, I wore it like a laurel of pride, and everybody laughed. When I got a little older and developed an actual sense of shame, I wanted to disassociate from Conrad as much as possible, but everybody laughed anyway.

He had my heart anyway, but I’m not sure if he knew. I don’t even think he was concerned or aware of the effect he had on me on that day. I had gotten stung by a jellyfish at the beach—I didn’t even know jellyfish could be that close to shallow waters—I’d only been eleven, probably? Steven totally freaked, mostly because Mom had told him to watch over me. Jeremiah, younger then, cried like it was the end of the world.

But Conrad didn’t do any of that. He lifted me out of the water like I weighed nothing—which I didn’t, because I spent the days leading up to that gorging myself on homemade Slurpees and dirt bomb muffins—and wordlessly returned me to the house. It’d been one of the first summers that the boys stopped wearing rashguards to the beach, and I remembered trying to encode this memory in my brain. Which was pretty weird in retrospect. He’d probably only been thirteen at the time.

“Don’t die,” he mumbled before Susannah and Laurel rushed to find a first aid kit. I tried to beam at him, like, I won’t die, but it probably didn’t come off that way. My attempt probably looked like I was in even more pain than I actually was, and it already hurt like hell. He was like anesthesia. 

I obviously didn’t die, evidenced by my existence today. My eleven year old heart attributed that solely to Conrad.

-

The cause of all my problems was standing on my doorstep. Rather, I was standing in his house.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my throat already tight.

“Jere called me,” he explained, and that was that. I stepped off to the side, and Conrad undid his laces with surgical precision. He did everything with the utmost deliberation, his intentionality had been one of the things that initially drawn me to him, but on the flip side, his difficulty to think fast and stay true was probably what had pushed us apart the first time around. “He sounded serious, even though he didn’t tell me what over the phone.”

“You just dropped everything even without an explanation?”

“Okay, that’s giving me more credit than what’s due,” he said, looking up at me. His eyes scanned me up and down, and I wonder if he noticed I was wearing Jere’s clothes. I wonder if he even cared. “I wasn’t really doing anything, unless overspending on coffee at the airport counts.”

So he had gone to the airport. Probably because of me. 

“I saw your text, by the way,” he added. “I assume Jere didn’t tell you, considering…we’re seeing each other sooner than expected.”

Text? I didn’t send him a text—except I did, the one that I had unsent because I chickened out. I didn’t think that he’d even seen it, but leave it to Conrad to be scarily on top of his texts. I almost told him that I had told Jeremiah what he’d said, even though saying as much would feel like violating some intimate space between us. So was apologizing for kicking him out, it was just on the tip of my tongue. It would have been easy, and it would have cleared the air.

“You must have wasted a fortune on flights,” I said instead, just to fill the space. “What is this, the third one cancelled?”

“Technically, I’ve been just applying for flight credit and deferring my flights. You know, switching to a less crowded flight,” Conrad admitted. There was something intensely attractive about competence, especially for something as random as this. Not in relation to him specifically, of course, but just competent people in general. It had absolutely nothing to do with Conrad Fisher specifically, or so I would keep telling myself. It was just a coincidence that he was unfairly good at everything, even things he’d never done before. “So I haven’t actually spent any money—and I have over a grand in flight miles. Might be time to book a vacation?”

He was kidding, I knew he was, even behind that completely straight face. But I laughed anyway, even if laughing was the last thing I should be doing, given how things were currently with Jere. “Sure. Anywhere but Cabo.”

He tilted his head. “ Cabo . That seems weirdly specific.”

“It’s a long story.”

“I have time.” He shrugged.

“No, you don’t,” I steered him in the direction of the stairwell, nearly pushing him. “You need to talk to Jere. You cancelled—sorry, you deferred your flight for that reason.”

“Do I have to?” he said, his tone way too light. He was almost smiling faintly, not quite there but close to it. Why was he doing that? The whole reason he’d come was for Jeremiah. “What will you give me if I do?”

“A brother of the year mug—go be a good best man.”

Conrad gave me one last look that I couldn’t read, before reluctantly trudging up the stairwell. He could have said that what he told me was just a mistake, a slip of the tongue, but even if he had, I don’t think I would have believed him.

The me from all of those summers ago would have probably had a mental breakdown in my room, all the while trying to make out every word from between the thin walls. It wouldn’t even have been difficult: Jeremiah’s room was right next to mine, and the Fisher men weren’t exactly known for using their inside voices when they got worked up. 

But instead, I took a breath and dialed my mom. It would mark the first time we’d spoken in over a week. I’d never gone that long without talking to her.

“Hi,” I said a little breathlessly when she picked up, trying to work up my nerve. I was a little surprised that she answered so quickly, even though people old enough to be mothers were objectively too old to be childishly dropping calls. “Mom.”

“Belly?” Her tone of voice when she answered gave me hope that she had stopped being mad at me, even though I knew better than anyone that Laurel did not arbitrarily forgive people. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I said, my voice an octave too high. “You have my location, you can see I’m in Cousins.”

“I didn’t just mean physically.” she said, then, “With Jeremiah?”

“With Jeremiah,” I confirmed. A bit guiltily, I added, “And Conrad.”

My mom always had an otherworldly faith in Beck’s boys, something that did not transfer to her own children. I’d even argue that she trusted them more than she trusted me. Conrad in particular, they shared a bond like no other—it was a little hard not to get jealous after Susannah passed and while he was dropping my calls left and right, he always made time for hour-long conversations with my mom. But maybe that was plain ageism—Conrad was only two years older than me and yet you’d think it was two decades by how differently people treated us.

“I see,” she said, not unkindly. “Why did you call?”

“I—” The words caught in my throat, but I said them anyway. “I wanted to say that you might have been right. Not about marrying Jeremiah, but that we might be rushing it. You were right, mom.”

“Belly,” she only said my name, but I could already tell her tone had softened. My mom was like that, she didn’t give an inch until you knew what you did wrong, but after that, it was pretty easy to win her forgiveness. Strict but fair. “I’m proud of you for coming to such a mature decision. What changed your mind?”

I didn’t feel more mature. And I definitely wasn’t about to share all of the details about Jeremiah and Conrad with my own mother.

“Well, you know,” I said vaguely. “I’ve had a lot of time to think over the past week. Cousins is pretty quiet.”

Just as if the universe wanted to call me out at that moment, I’m pretty sure I heard something shatter upstairs. Not metaphorically—literally. I just hoped it was faint enough that my mom couldn’t hear on the other side.

“Have you talked to Jeremiah about this?” Laurel asks me instead. “Is he on the same page as you? Will you be postponing the wedding?”

“I haven’t really gotten around to that,” I lied. Only it wasn’t really a lie, it was more of a half-lie. “I don’t know how to break the news to him.”

“Just be honest,” she advised. “He’ll appreciate the honesty.”

He didn’t seem to be very appreciative of my honesty earlier on the beach, but I held it in. Instead, I asked, “Is that how you asked Dad for a divorce? Like you woke up one day and decided it was over?”

“Not really?” her voice held a note of uncertainty that was rather uncharacteristic of my mother. “It was a long time coming. But I guess all it takes is waking up one day with enough courage to tell the truth.”

Difference was, my dad was a pretty understanding guy, he rarely raised his voice or got angry at anyone. I thought Jeremiah was the same way, all goodnatured smiles and never got insecure about anything, but I was starting to wonder if I read him wrong.

“Okay. Mom, one more thing—” I was cut off prematurely by what sounded distinctly like raised voices. Conrad’s and Jeremiah’s. “I actually have to go, I left something on the stove.” I lied.

Laurel sounded amused on the other side. “You’re really all grown up, you’re even cooking for yourself.”

“Yep, gotta go. Love you, bye!” I hung up and dashed upstairs.

 I scaled the steps slowly, the wood creaking beneath every step. Conrad and Jeremiah’s voices were growing clearer and louder to me—neither of them with particularly pleasant things to say.

“—should’ve just said nothing—”

“—don’t you think I tried? Shit, I didn’t want—”

“—like you suddenly got fucking amnesia and you forgot who you were? Try harder, Con.”

I made it to the top of the stairs, but neither of them saw me. Jeremiah was standing a little off to the side, his expression concealed from me. But Conrad—Conrad was gripping the doorframe so intensely that his knuckles turned white, I could even see it from this distance. Neither of them had marks on their faces, so I took that as a sign that the damage was strictly relegated to whatever I heard shattering earlier.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” Conrad said quietly. “It just came out. I didn’t want it to play out like this.”

“But you always thought about it, didn’t you?” Jere wasn’t shouting, but his tone was like venom. It was somehow worse, way worse. “The only thing that didn’t go to plan was that she didn’t run off into the sunset with you.”

Susannah would have had her heart broken a million times over if she’d seen how the relationship between her boys had totally fallen apart. And…it was all my fault.

Conrad didn’t say anything. Not at first.

“Answer.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve, pushing me like this.”

"You just couldn’t resist,” he insisted. “You couldn't just let us be happy."

"Happy?" Conrad's composure finally cracked. "Jesus, Jere, look around. Does she look happy to you? Does any of this look like happiness?"

Jeremiah finally turned, and I could see that his entire face was red. He stared at him, eyes unblinking. "She was happy before you showed up and messed with her head."

"Was she? Or were you just not paying close enough attention?"

There was a long pause, and I held my breath, afraid they'd hear me breathing.

"You don’t know anything. Get out," Jeremiah said finally, his voice deadly quiet. “I called you because I wanted closure, but you don’t do closure, do you? Leave.”

"This is my house too."

"I don't care. Get out. Go back to California, go anywhere, just stay away from her. From us."

"You don’t mean it. You can't just—"

"Watch me."

It was like somebody had possessed my body, one second I was lingering by the stairwell, unable to move, and the next, I headed straight towards Jeremiah’s room and right into both of their lines of sight.

Conrad saw me first, and then his face turned just as red as Jere’s.  He let go of the doorframe and I positioned myself in the middle of the room, equidistant between the two. Though in full transparency—if the two suddenly broke out in a fight, I knew I was in no position to stop them.

“Belly,” he said my name slowly, like it was foreign, or like he wasn’t sure that was my name. 

But Jeremiah wasn’t done. “I mean it, Con. Get out. From the house, from the wedding party, from everything.” He had this look in his eyes like he wanted to hurt somebody, and at this moment, that person was definitely Conrad. “You’re not my brother anymore, and I mean it. I don’t even know who you are.”

I turned my head to look at him. “You don’t mean that.”

“He does,” Conrad said, in his so very resigned way. “But I’m not leaving.”

“I will throw you out the window if I have to.” Jeremiah threatened.

But Conrad was always unreasonably reasonable. “There’s a window guard, Jere.”

He turned to me. “Tell him, Belly. Tell him that literally nobody wants him around.”

I kind of hated him at that moment, just a little, for putting me in the middle like that.

“I only told you the truth, Belly,” Conrad said in a careful tone, before I could answer. “That’s all I have ever done.”

“At the worst possible time,” Jeremiah interjected.

“I already said that I didn’t want it to be this way,” he exhaled. “There was no better time-”

“How about never?”

Conrad turned to look at me, his eyes intense. "Would you have preferred never?"

I wished he hadn’t asked me that. I just wished I wasn’t in this situation at all. 

My throat was tight, and the only words I could make out were: “I don’t know.”

Jeremiah leveled me with a hurt look that made me want to curl up into fetal position and die. It would be a mercy if the ground could swallow me up right now. Being skinned alive with a butter knife wouldn’t hurt this bad. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t know,” I said again. “I don’t know anything. Figure it out between yourselves.”

-

I could probably recall one of the very first moments that I knew I loved Jeremiah word for word. It was the summer before my senior year, before we started ‘officially’ dating, but we hung out everyday like we were. We’d gone to 7/11 in Philadelphia, which was kind of a rare treat because there wasn’t any in Cousins. 

I unilaterally decided that we would both be getting half-cherry, half-coke Slurpees, because that was my specialty and objectively the best flavor, anyway. I’d taken all but one sip when Jeremiah—who had somehow grown an extra two inches during the school year and was the kind of jerk who used his height to his advantage—plucked it out of my grasp and held it out of reach.

“What gives?” I asked him. “Give it back.”

“Mmm, no,” he decided, taking a long sip from mine. “Maybe I wanted two.”

“Then refill yours,” I told him incredulously. “It’s going to melt, give it back.”

“I’m not giving you anything until you say you like me.”

At the time, my only goal was retrieving my drink before it turned into cold syrup. “Fine. I like you.”

“Sounds pretty insincere,” he teased, holding it further out of reach.

And just because I was seventeen and apparently fearless, I stood on my tip toes even though it would crease my new sneakers and kissed him then. He tasted like cherry and coke. And then I’m pretty sure I drank mine and his all in one go.

-

Jeremiah was the one who was following me, not Conrad. But now, ironically enough, I was the one who didn’t want to talk. I left the house, through the front door this time, and just started walking. Cousins was not a walkable town, everyone who had been here for so much as a minute knew that, but I would get somewhere eventually. A train station, maybe. Because I was so painfully avoidant that the thought of going back in that house would probably cause my untimely death.

“Belly!” Jeremiah called after me, and I heard his shoes pound against the pavement. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” I called back.

“Okay, well, stop.”

I would rather not. But Jeremiah was taller and faster than I was, and he caught up to me in an instant. So much for my plan to make my dashing escape via public transportation.

“Belly Bells,” he said, in the softest voice possible. “What are you running from?”

It caught me off guard because he hadn’t called me that in a long time.

“I’m scared,” I admitted, which felt basically adjacent to taking all of my clothes off and running through town just like that. I suddenly felt very exposed, beyond uncomfortable. 

“Of?”

“I don’t know,” I said again. It seemed to be the only thing I’d been saying as of late.

“What’s there to be scared of? We’re getting married,” Jere said gently, taking my hand. “You and me, like we always said we would.”

His anger from earlier seemed to have totally evaporated, or at least been redirected to a different target. It was kind of unsettling. Despite myself, and despite everything that was my present and future, I looked back at the silhouette of the house, now seeming so far away. Where Conrad was. Where he was probably packing up his belongings to leave, for good. Jeremiah seemed to follow my gaze, and I could feel him go rigid beside me.

But to his credit, at least he didn’t immediately lose his shit for it. “For whatever it’s worth, which honestly, is probably not much,” he said “I’m sorry I said I didn’t care. Because I do—probably too much.”

“I’m sorry I called you immature,” I whispered back. “And a manchild.”

“We both said things that we regret,” he nodded, looking away. “So.” 

“So.” I repeated. Conrad, my mind repeated.

He studied my face with the most intense expression I’d ever seen from him. I’d think he was Conrad, with the face he was making right now. Like they’d switched places in the blink of an eye. 

And then I just knew I had to say something.

“Jere—Jeremiah, I’ve been thinking,” I said slowly, “Maybe everyone around us is right. Maybe…Maybe getting married right now is too fast. Maybe we’ve been trying so hard to prove to everyone that we’re adults, and we know what we’re doing…that we’re forgetting we’re still kids. At least, I always feel like a kid whenever I come back to this place.”

If he asked me, right here and right now what I wanted, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to answer him sufficiently. I wanted everybody to be happy, but I was pretty sure I ended up making everybody totally miserable instead.

All he said was: “Belly, not you too.”

“No, no, no,” I was shaking my head furiously back and forth. He was getting the wrong idea, I could already tell. “No, not ‘me too’. I’m on your side, Jere, I’m on our side .”

“No, you’re not.” He corrected me, his expression…blank? I didn’t even know what a blank expression was supposed to look like, but I was looking at one now. “Maybe you genuinely believe that you are—I think you’re sincere—but you’re not.”

I closed my eyes. “What I mean is…I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You still love him, right?” he decided all of a sudden, his voice perfectly neutral and composed. It wasn’t a question, either. “Conrad. Because of what he said to you.”

“This has nothing to do with Conrad,” I tried to say firmly, but it came off unconvincing. Trying to correct myself, I added, “Not the way I love you, Jere. I-I only love Conrad like a brother. He’s-he’s like Steven! He’s annoying, and kind of overprotective, and-”

But even as I said the words aloud, I knew they weren’t true. And Jere did too.

“I want to believe you, Isabel, I really do,” he said. “But that was the most unbelievable lie you’ve ever told. You’re a terrible liar.”

“Isabel?” I echoed, like that wasn’t my name. Nobody called me Isabel, except Steven sometimes when he wanted to tease me or people who didn’t know me. Jeremiah never called me Isabel.

“Yeah, Isabel. Because the Belly that I know would never be acting like this,” Jeremiah gestured wildly with his hands. “Like you’re having some existential crisis just because you got confirmation on something we all knew already. ”

“I…” I stopped, and thought about what Laurel had told me earlier. “I wanted to be honest and tell you what I was thinking.”

“Keep doing it, then. Be honest, what do you think about Conrad?”

“I don’t know, but why are you fixating on him?”

“Why are you?” he shot back. “If he’s nothing to you, then say so.”

But he wasn’t, and we both knew it. If I told the truth now, it would change everything. The only question was would it be for better or for worse. From the start, I had only wanted to prolong our engagement, but break up completely, but with the way things were progressing, I didn’t think I would have a choice in the matter soon.

If I told the truth now, it would be the first time in a while. And knowing that, I chose. “I still think about him sometimes.”

Jeremiah’s expression flickered, for a second it almost looked like he was about to cry. Then, his voice was deathly calm. “Honestly, I feel so bad for you, Bells. That’s it.”

That stopped me. “What?”

“You know how you should believe people the first time they show you who they really are? He lets you down time and time again, and you just let him. You fucking idolize him,” Jeremiah insisted, and I was a little taken aback because he’d never cursed at me before. “And I don’t think you ever extended me the same grace.”

“I gave you lots of grace! I was nothing but graceful after what happened with Lacie Barone, and-”

“Okay, but these are completely different things, though,” his voice lowered. “Lacie Barone is just another girl, one we don’t ever have to talk to again. Conrad is…”

“Didn’t you just tell him that he wasn’t your brother anymore?” I finished for him.

Jeremiah's face went pale, like I'd physically struck him. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the distant sound of waves and the cry of seagulls overhead. I immediately regretted throwing his words back at him, but they'd already left my mouth, hanging in the salt air like an accusation.

“He chose that,” he said quietly.

“No, you chose that.” I said, before I could consider the repercussions of what I was saying.  "You can't just cut people out of your life because they make things complicated, Jere."

"Watch me," he said, echoing his earlier words to Conrad. But there was less conviction in his voice now, more hurt than anger.

I stared at him, this boy I'd promised to marry, and felt something crack inside my chest. "Is that what you're going to do to me too? If I'm too complicated?"

He didn’t have an answer to that, and I think that said more than any words could have.

“Wanting to postpone the wedding has nothing to do with Conrad,” I said softly, but more forcefully this time. “It has to do with you and me, that’s it.”

“Then what does it have to do with?” 

“I…don’t know.” I finished lamely, mostly because it was too hard to describe the events of the past two days. Conrad was one of them, but so was Taylor and so was Laurel. It was difficult to pinpoint the exact moment where everything changed. “A lot of things.”

“Okay,” he said, with emphasis. “What’s one of those things?”

I snapped, “I just said I didn’t know!”

"Stop saying you don't know!" The words exploded out of him, louder than I'd ever heard him speak. His blue eyes watered, they turned so shiny that they looked like a pair of diamonds. "You know something, Belly. You have to know something, or you wouldn't be doing this."

“You just…” Tears pricked at my eyes, and I looked away. “You don’t know how hard the past few days have been for me, Jere.”

He looked at me then, and for whatever reason, it felt like I was transparent and he was looking through me instead of looking at me. “Belly, I don’t think you know how hard the past few years have been for me.”

I couldn’t believe he’d just said that. “Well, I’m sorry if our relationship is such a chore to you-”

“I don’t mean it like that. I mean for the past ten years, maybe even longer.” he said. “Don’t you know how you look at him? Like he hung the damn moon.”

“Jeremiah, I chose you.” I said weakly. “I did that summer and I do everyday. It’s you and me, just like it’s always been.”

“Did you?” he asked me flatly, giving voice to the lingering question we always had. “Or was it only because Conrad wasn’t an option?”

“Jere-”

He cut me off. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we are rushing into things. Maybe I proposed to you so quickly because I thought it meant you couldn’t change your mind and go back to him. And that I thought that you saying yes—I thought it meant I’d won.”

“Why would you ask him to come back, then?” I asked incredulously. “You’re making it seem like him coming back confirmed your worst fear, but you were the one who asked him back. I don’t believe it was just for closure.”

“Maybe I was curious,” he said simply. “About what you would do once he became an option. I think I got everything I needed to know.”

So he’d tested me. Tears were properly streaming down my face now, hot and angry and sad all at once. "That's not fair. You make it sound like I'm some prize to be won."

"Aren't you?" he asked, and there was something desperate in his voice. "Isn't that what this has always been about? Me and Conrad competing for everything—grades, football, Mom's attention, Dad's approval, your love. And he always wins, Belly. He always fucking wins."

I thought back to our childhood. It was true that Conrad was unbelievably good at everything, even things he’d never done before. He always won whenever us kids played cards with Susannah and Laurel. He was the strongest swimmer out of all of us. He was the one going to medical school right now, for God’s sake. And while I’d always admired that about him, I’d never considered what Jeremiah thought.

With this in mind, it was like the foundation of everything that I knew had been shaken. Like an earthquake.

“How could you say that? It’s not a competition.” I shook my head violently. “It never was.”

"Don't you see that?” he pushed. “It's always been a competition. Even without trying, Con got the straight A’s, the opportunity to play D1 Football, he was Mom's pride and joy. I got the consolation prizes. And you...God, Belly, I thought you were the one thing that was actually mine."

The pain in his voice was so raw it made me want to hold him, to take back everything I'd said. But I couldn't. Because as much as his words hurt, they also revealed something I'd been trying not to see—that our entire relationship had been built on his need to prove he could have something Conrad couldn't.

"Is that why you proposed?" I asked quietly. "To win?"

The question hung between us like a challenge. Jeremiah's face cycled through a dozen emotions before settling on something that looked like defeat.

“Yeah.” he decided on at last. He sank to his knees and took a seat on the edge of the sidewalk, his legs dangling over the street. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Really?”

“Really.” he confirmed.

I took a seat beside him on the pavement. I was properly crying now, and I think he was too, albeit more silently. “I wished you would’ve lied.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Everything.”

My phone pinged, bright in my hands. I didn’t want to read it, but I accidentally did anyway. 

It was from Conrad: You were right. I was being selfish, telling you now. I wish you and Jere a lifetime of happiness.

Jeremiah saw the text, and then the look on my face. I credited my heightened emotional state, because Conrad’s text singlehandedly made me feel worse than anything Jere or I just said to each other.

-

I remember one summer, when Conrad had suddenly gotten super uneasy about his appearance. He had always looked good, at least to me, but my mom and Susannah were convinced he had a crush on somebody. They’d even taken bets. 

I unfortunately had no hopes that it would be me.

“Belly,” he called my name when he was in his room and I was in the hallway, causing me to peek my head in. I think I was on my way to helping my mom with book stuff. We didn’t really do anything those days, and yet it was fun anyway, time was fluid. Weeks passed like one very long day. “Come here for a second.”

My heart pirouetted. Mind you, I was still in early middle school and getting invited inside a boy’s room felt special in a way I didn’t have the vocabulary to put into words.

“You know a lot about hair, right?” he asked. “Styling it, and…all of that.”

“Um, no, not really?” Not as much as Taylor did, at least. Her bedroom could have been mistaken for Sephora.

“But you’re a girl,” he countered, unreasonably confident in his gendered logic. “And you’re always putting mayonnaise in your hair.”

“Mayonnaise—no!” I touched my hair self-consciously, suddenly realizing what he meant. Sourly, I added, “It’s keratin hair treatment, you neanderthal. My mom got it imported from Korea for me.”

“Sure,” Conrad said, and just as I had assumed that he did not care the slightest for my international hair products, he added, “Well, your hair always looks good. It looks soft. Help me out with something, will you?”

He melted me with two sentences. I spent the better part of the afternoon helping him wrangle his greasy, teenaged hair into something semi-presentable. Ostensibly for a date with another girl, just because I was pathetic like that.

-

“I can’t marry you,” I decided then.

I could feel Jeremiah’s gaze on me, even without looking at him. “Belly…?”

“It’s not because I don’t love you,” I continued, feeling like I had gone base jumping without being properly harnessed in. I was freefalling. “It’s not because I love Conrad, either.”

At least right now. On the first day that I chose Jeremiah, I tried to shut out any possibility of ending up with Conrad—we’d both chosen other people and other things—but that didn’t mean I was successful. 

“I thought I could grow out of thinking about him, and I did. For a while.” I said. “But once he comes back—and he always does—everything else comes back, too. And I can’t stop thinking about what could have happened.”

I kind of expected him to yell. Or cry. Or do anything except what he actually did.

When I finally found the courage to look at him, his eyes were red-rimmed, but he wasn’t actively crying the way I was.

“I know,” he said, and that was enough. “I’ve always known.”

We sat in silence for a while, watching the sun begin its descent toward the horizon. The golden hour light made everything look softer, more forgiving than it actually was. 

“He’s going to keep letting you down,” Jeremiah said, once the sun was gone and the stars were starting to show.

Dismayed, I said, “You already said that.”

“It’s true. It’s who he is.” he said bitterly, and then, “Nothing’s ever good enough for you, is it? Nobody can ever match up to who Con is for you—because he’s frozen in your memory perfect.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to refute it—I couldn’t, because I knew that it was true. The only thing that I could say was, “Don’t hate Conrad.”

“Kinda hard not to.”

“Susannah wouldn’t have wanted this.”

He extended his legs. “Laurel was right. We’ll never know what my mom would’ve wanted.”

I gave up quickly. “Okay, fair. I still want you in my life, Jere,” I said, almost desperately. Even though it wasn’t fair, against it all.

Jeremiah gave me a look that seemed to be in between a scoff and a laugh. “I almost can’t believe you just told me that.”

“Almost?” I echoed.

“Yeah, almost,” he said, standing up. “But you’re Belly.”

So that was a no.

-

There was one summer when Susannah came home with a cardboard box full of watermelons—too many to count. She claimed there was an excellent deal at the farmer’s market and that she simply couldn’t resist, but my mom told me that it was because she knew it was my favorite fruit. I had watermelon every day for the next week, so much that I was too full by mealtimes to eat any actual food. Watermelon for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My dad liked to say that human bodies were seventy-five percent water, but mine was seventy-five percent watermelon juice.

On a day like any other, Steven squinted inside the fridge. Susannah always kept the fridge well-stocked, it was like looking into a cornucopia. “Where’s the watermelon?” he asked aloud.

“Belly finished it off last night,” My mom called over her shoulder from the kitchen counter. It was just me and her and Steven and Conrad. Conrad was sitting quietly, finishing off his summer reading list, I think. Jeremiah was somewhere off with his friends. 

He scowled at me. “What kind of girl finishes off an entire watermelon by herself?” He slammed the refrigerator door, which only earned him a perfunctory, ‘ Steven, don’t slam doors ,’ from my mom.

“Belly, you aren’t trying to go on a diet, are you?” Laurel asked me, concernedly, looking down at me through her glasses. My mom always thought that I was trying to go on a diet, not Steven or Jeremiah or Conrad. Apparently it had been big in her youth. 

“No!” I immediately insisted, just to backtrack. It would be nice to look a little thinner, but that was just a general thing, not because I was dieting. “Maybe.”

“She needs to,” Steven called over, his mouth already full with chips. “Just look at her.”

“Shut up, Steven!”

My mom ignored us, like she always did when we were being like this. “Sometimes it seems like you’re Beck’s daughter,” she commented instead. I’d expected a scolding, not this. “You’re just like her, when it comes to things like this.”

Conrad looked up from his book for the first time in our entire exchange. “You look fine,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to lose weight.” 

I blushed at that, even though the concept of blushing was foreign to me. I think after that Steven asked him something incredulous about hitting on his sister, in front of Laurel, no less. But I scrubbed that part from the record, it was ruining a perfectly good memory.

-

It was awkward because Jeremiah and I still had to walk back to the house side by side, silently. I hadn’t realized how far we had walked from the house. But with each step, I tried to imagine how people would react. Susannah would’ve hated to see it. My mom would definitely be partway relieved, partway worried. Taylor would support me, though I didn’t think she’d see this coming. Or that anybody could’ve. As for Steven, I always had a feeling that he never approved of me and Jeremiah anyway.

But I couldn’t imagine how Conrad would react. Every time I tried to picture his face, he kept moving further away from me, like he was shrouded in mist.

We found him in the kitchen, sitting at the counter with his head in his hands.

"So," he said carefully. "How did it go?"

Jeremiah answered first. “There’s not going to be a wedding.”

Conrad's eyes flicked between us, confusion evident on his face. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said. Belly and I aren't getting married. So congratulations, I guess. You win. Again."

"Jere—" Conrad started.

“Actually, I have a flight to book,” Jere nodded, his voice a half octave too high. “Gotta get on that. So.”

That meant he was leaving, back to Boston or wherever. I wanted to tell him not to go, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything. And then he was gone, his footsteps heavy on the stairs, leaving Conrad and me alone in the kitchen that had seen so many family dinners, so many late-night conversations, so many moments that had led us to this one.

I felt it for the first time again, that breathless feeling, when overwhelm hit you like a truck. 

“I also have to, um, call my mom,” I lied, already backing away. “Conrad, let’s-”

Let’s talk later , I almost said, when I really meant let’s talk never.

“Sit down,” he offered. His piercing eyes held me captive, and I blankly sat down across from him like I was possessed.

“I got your text,” I said. “Jere saw it, too.”

“You showed him?”

“He just saw, okay?”

I didn’t mean to snap, but even after I did, Conrad just nodded and absorbed it. “How did he react?”

“I don’t know. It’s kind of a blur.” I said. “Why did you do it?”

Even without specifying, he knew what I meant. Conrad always did. Lightly, he said, “I took a trip to the future, and I saw how much I’d regret my entire life if I never did.”

“Really?” I asked, then corrected myself. “Not about the future part—the other part.”

“Is it that hard to believe?”

“Well, yeah, it is.” 

He leaned forward. “I saw—imagine this: a version of me that never said anything. That let you go. That got on the plane, disappeared into med school, and never looked back. And in every version of that future, I regretted it. Not saying something—us not happening.”

My hair felt like it was standing on end. My chest hurt with the enormity of it. I just nodded, mostly because I didn’t trust myself to speak.

Softly, he asked me, “Where would you have been in that future, Belly?”

“I would be with Jeremiah,” I wasn’t sure if I was lying to the both of us. “We’d be happy.”

I was sure that I would have been happy marrying Jeremiah, but it was a different kind of happiness than I had been with Conrad. Because if I was being honest—really, truly honest—I hadn't been entirely happy. Not in the way I'd expected to be. There had always been this undercurrent of restlessness, this feeling that I was trying to convince myself of something that should have come naturally.

“I know. That’s when I knew I was being selfish—” I watched his teeth sink into his lower lip. “—because I really couldn’t shake the idea that you’d be happier with me.”

“How long have you thought about this?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I was convinced it was a proximity crush—because I’ve never been able to get away from you—but then I didn’t see you for four years, and it all came back when I saw you on Christmas.”

The words hung between us like smoke, visible and suffocating. I stared at Conrad across the kitchen counter, this boy who had just dismantled my entire life with a few sentences, and would probably continue to do so. I heard the front door open and close, and I knew that Jere left without saying goodbye. But as much as I hated how we left things, I couldn’t deny that the mood felt much lighter.

“You know I’ve always liked you,” I said, because it was true. “In one way or another.”

He cracked a smile. “No, really ?”

“Stop it, I’m being serious. I waited years for you to say something,” I swallowed my words. “But you never did.”

His hand on the white marble countertop twitched, almost inching towards mine. Like he was about to reach over, but lost his courage at the last second. I didn’t overthink it, and I just grabbed his hand. His hand was warm in mine. He gave me a tight-lipped smile.

He squeezed my hand tightly and released me, hands dropping into his lap. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For making you wait this long. I wonder if this is how Jere felt, watching me fuck up prom for you,” Conrad continued. “Because I just kept thinking that if I ever got lucky enough to propose to you, I’d do it right. I wouldn’t propose because I was shitty at conflict resolution, I’d ask for your parents’ blessing, and…” he stopped there, barely resisting a smile. “I’d get you a nicer ring.”

I almost smiled at that. “I liked that ring, but it’s not a competition.” But then I thought about what Jeremiah had said earlier, and my heart stilled. “Wait, do you think it’s a competition?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just…everything. Jere said…” I gestured vaguely. It was still hard to say his name. “Jeremiah said that he and you had been competing in everything your entire lives. With your mom, and your dad, and with…me. So I was just wondering if that was true for you, too.”

Conrad considered this for a second. And then two. He pursed his lips, the way he always did whenever he was deep in thought. “Well,” he began, “There’s not much of a competition if you’re always winning, is there?”

It was such a Conrad answer. I gave him a look. “I thought we were having a serious conversation.”

“We are. I’m being serious,” he said, but his voice was a little tighter. “You’re not a prize to be won, Belly. And…you’re definitely not some inanimate object that I stole from him to prove a point.”

I just nodded at that, unable to find a suitable response. Too much had happened today, and right now all I wanted to do was get out of Jeremiah’s clothes and into my own—and stop thinking for at least twelve hours.

“Thank you. I appreciate it. I don’t want to sound dismissive, but let’s talk later, okay?” I offered him a smile and surprised myself by actually meaning it. “I’ll see you later…Conrad.”

And then he smiled, the kind of smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look exactly like the boy I'd fallen for all those summers ago. “Okay…Belly.”

Chapter Text

It was like she did it to mess with me. Like she knew it would get in my head.

Every summer that she stayed with us, Belly always wore the same shapeless oversized Cousins Beach t-shirt like it was her uniform, and when she went in the pool or the beach, she always wore a one-piece swimsuit. But whenever she left her room now, she emerged in a tiny lace bra top and shorts, which clung to her figure and needless to say, didn’t leave much to the imagination. 

She looked like an angel in white. I wasn’t entirely convinced that she wasn’t a figment of my imagination when she walked in.

“What?” she asked me.

And then I realized I’d been staring. “Nothing,” I heard myself say, as she sat down across from me and took a peach out of the fruit bowl. Just because I couldn’t resist, I added, “You did wash that before, though, right?”

I reminded myself to look away when she started eating, but my eyes didn’t comply. 

“No,” her expression was almost playfully defiant, and she was dripping peach juice everywhere. I passed her a napkin. “But I know you did, so,”

Busted . “What would you do without me?”

Belly gave me a tight lipped smile. “I could probably eat foods beside grilled chicken breast and quinoa.”

“That’s a lot of criticism from somebody who I’ve never seen cook anything besides Shin Ramen .”

“Maybe I should,” she shrugged, lightly, “Give you a taste of actually seasoned food.”

I wanted to offer up a retort, but I didn’t want to break the spell. The mood between us was feather light, almost manufactured in light of yesterday’s events. Sitting here around my mother’s kitchen counter like we’d done a million times before, you’d never assume that Belly was somebody who just called over her four-year relationship. And nobody in my position and in their right mind would think of their future sister-in-law the way I thought about her, but I guess Belly made me crazy.

Shit, I wanted to kiss her—considering how she was currently eating a peach and I was moderately allergic to them, it would have been a bad idea—but just let that convey the extent of my determination.

“What?” Belly asked me.

“What?” I asked back, confused.

“You’re staring,” she dabbed at her lips self-consciously with a napkin. “Did I get peach juice everywhere?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s it.” I nodded, and tried to lighten up. “You’re like a little kid, you know that? I’ve never seen anybody eat so messily.”

She pointed at me with the peach core. “It’s called enjoying your food, okay? It’s evidence.”

Before I could respond, my phone lit with an incoming call from my dad. My first instinct was to hang up and turn off notifications, but my dad rarely called, and when Jere or I didn’t answer those few calls, hell was usually raised after. I’d quickly learned that just getting it over with was usually the lesser evil, and most times, he wasn’t even calling about me.

I debated whether or not to be in the same room as Belly, though, before deciding affirmatively.

“What’s happening with your brother?” he asked me as soon as I answered.

“Hi to you too, Dad,” I made a point of saying, making eye contact with Belly. She gestured towards the door, silently asking if she should leave the room, and I shook my head. “And how should I know? I’m not his keeper.”

“Not the time, Con,” he said, in his ‘not fucking around’ voice. He always used that voice when he wanted to intimidate us, but it lost its efficacy somewhere around middle school. “Jere kept needling me about taking Friday off, and I signed off on it because I assumed he needed the day for wedding planning. But he showed up way past start time today and has been acting all types of useless—he said you would know why. What do you know?”

If I recalled right, Jeremiah was interning at Breaker, our father’s venture capitalist firm. I didn’t realize that interns were so instrumental to the firm’s inner workings, or that their behavior was so carefully monitored, to be honest. I knew my dad well enough to know that he wasn’t calling to check in on Jere’s well being, it was more along the lines of what minimal involvement he would have to put in to avoid looking like a bad parent in front of his firm partners.

“I know who's getting Father of The Year.” I said instead. 

From across the table, Belly’s eyes widened, her glossy lips forming a little ‘o’. ‘Your dad?’, she mouthed, and I nodded.

“I’m surprised you don’t see the gravity of the situation,” he continued. “You know how competitive internships at Breaker get, and I put Jeremiah’s name at the top of the list. He was chosen out of thousands, if not tens of thousands of candidates. How does it reflect on me if he doesn’t perform up to par?”

Probably not worse than your affair with your secretary , I didn’t say. I was sure Adam did a great job at making himself look bad on his own, even without Jeremiah’s case.

“Didn’t you also nepotism Steven in, also?” I pointed out. “You mentioned before he was doing great. You win some, and you lose some. That’s sort of how life works, Dad.”

“I don’t appreciate your blase attitude about this,” he said like there was literally anything he could do about it. “Connie, what happened yesterday at the house?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” I said, for two reasons. One, I thought that the story would be better off coming from Jere directly. Secondarily, I didn’t feel like explaining anything to him—or speaking to him at all for that matter. “But what’s the worst that can happen if Jere doesn’t get his shit together at work?”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” my dad echoed. “What will happen to Jere is-”

“That he’ll be put on a performance improvement plan? Worst case, he’ll be let go? He’ll live.” I said. “We both know that he’s only working to be there for you, not because he cares particularly about finance.”

My dad was silent on the other end. More specifically, Jere was interning with the hope that Adam would get on board with his marriage to Belly. Which probably meant that he would be quitting shortly, not that I would be the one to break the news.

“All I’m saying is, if you want to know what happened to Jere, you should probably ask him yourself. Instead of letting him delegate it to me.” I reiterated. All I’m saying is that you never cared before, so why start now?  “It’s not my story to tell.”

“Your mother wouldn’t have you two boys not getting along like this,” my dad pressed, bringing up my mom’s name like he always did when I didn’t comply. It would have had more weight if he didn’t do it so often. “You’re the only brother he has, Con.”

Adam probably said more after that, but I was busy thinking about what Jere said yesterday, since it was still burned into my mind: ‘ You’re not my brother anymore, and I mean it. I don’t even know who you are. ’ There was the off-chance that he got caught up in the moment and didn’t mean it, but there was also the very real possibility that he did. 

And if he did, then I understood, because it was almost exactly what I wanted to say to him after I caught him with Belly, only a few months after we had broken up. Not that we were ever really, properly together, which was how I tried to justify it to myself and Jeremiah.

I wanted to be really, properly with her. Second chances weren’t something I’d really ever been extended before, and I didn’t want to give the universe any reason to believe I wouldn’t make the most of them.

“Conrad?” he asked sharply. “Are you listening?”

“I’m listening,” I said, coming back to Earth. “I don’t know what you want me to say. Maybe we’re all just…growing up.”

“Your brother in particular seems to have a lot of growing up to do,” he grumbled. “Fine. I’ll talk to him again.”

He hung up, basically saying without speaking: thanks for nothing.

“That was your dad?” Belly asked, after he was gone.

“Yeah,” I confirmed. “Apparently Jere’s been acting off at work, and my dad thought that I would…give him more reason to look down on him, I don’t know.”

“Oh,” she said, her expression falling. I already knew that she felt terrible about the Jere situation, based on common sense and expression alone. “I hope he’s not having too hard of a time.”

Doubtful. Personal life aside, he was the newest hire, a nepotism hire, no less, and his performance was lacking. I don’t think anybody was having a harder time at that office. But I didn’t want to pile on and tell Belly that.

“Are you going to call him?” I asked, trying to sound neutral.

“I don’t think he’d want to hear from me. Will you?”

“I think he’d want to hear from me even less, but…” I paused. “Are you trying to get me to do it because you don’t want to?”

Not that I had a problem with that—I’d just about do anything for her, and calling my own brother wasn’t a big ask in my book.

“Partly,” Belly admitted, quicker than I had expected. “You know better than I do how Jere gets when he’s upset—he gets…you know, touchy.”

Oh, I knew better than anyone. Jeremiah was usually all sunshine and rainbows, but on the few occasions where he got genuinely pissed off—like past the point of hiding it—he’d flip his shit at the tiniest inconvenience. 

For example, once when I was fifteen, and he was fourteen; I accidentally broke his PlayStation controller during a particularly intense FIFA match. It had been his Christmas gift, I think, and he took care of that thing like it was made of gold. Anyway, he didn't speak to me for three days, and when he finally did, it was to inform me that I owed him a new controller plus the cost of all the games he couldn't play during those three days. I supposed the controller was fair, but the latter? But that was just how Jere was when he was mad—everything became a federal offense.

“Or maybe we should just give him space?” she suggested a beat later.

“I’ll call,” I decided quickly. “Save you the awkward call.”

The relief that passed on her face showed me exactly how much she’d been dreading the call. “Thank you.”

And then my courage evaporated on the spot. “Later, though,” I said, trying to justify it to myself as much as to her. “After work, probably.”

“After work,” she repeated, with an expression that didn’t seem like she believed me. 

My phone pinged with an email, and without really thinking about it, I checked it. The subject line seemed to be regarding the lab position I had applied for after the absolute failure that was my last internship; Dear Conrad Fisher…we are pleased to offer you a position… I skipped down a few lines, my eyes landing on the start time.

July 21— that was only a week away.

Logistics wouldn’t be a headache: all of my things were still back in California, but what about Belly? I knew that things between her and Laurel were still rocky after all the wedding stuff with Jeremiah, and while I wasn’t concerned about Laurel locking her doors on her, I was absolutely worried that Belly wouldn’t want to go home after everything that had happened. I wouldn’t want her to stay at the beach house alone either, even for somebody who preferred their own company, the silence got old, fast. Selfishly, I didn’t want her to be alone on the off-chance that Jeremiah would come back, either. Because in that case, I’d really have ruined her life for nothing.

What would I do about her? I could bring her with me—but I couldn’t ask her to uproot her entire life, either. I could always turn the position down—but that seemed to be in bad taste, especially after Agnes had specifically reached out on my behalf. 

“Something wrong?” Belly asked me, drawing me out of my thoughts.

“Uh, no. Just sorting out unemployment benefits—” I lied. “—since I got fired.”

“You get unemployment?” her eyes widened. “I thought it was an internship.”

“No, it was a part time position,” I said, not even sure if that made sense. She had a way of making my brain not work, which was all the more reason why I couldn’t bring her to California. I’d be completely useless at work, and my resume couldn’t handle another one-day position. “Are you working anywhere for the summer? You’re majoring in sports psychology, right?”

“You remembered?”

“You know that I always remember.”

“Okay, then I kind of don’t want to tell you,” she admitted. “It’s not the most glamorous.”

“If it makes you feel better, I was basically an errand boy at my last job.”

“It’s the same for me—well, not really.” she said. “I waitressed at Behr’s for a while to save up for the wedding fund. I thought that I was being smart, that I could get enough tips to make over minimum wage—I just didn’t realize that the patrons there were less than generous.”

I considered this. While my dad had always been the type to stiff wait staff, my mom had always instructed Jere and I to tip generously. She’d once told us to clean the entire house—even though we had cleaning staff, which we pointed out abundantly—it’d taken four hours, and after it had all been done, she awarded us with $7.25, the federal minimum wage at the time. Needless to say, that was enough to convince us to tip well.

And even though I knew it wasn’t my place to say anything, it kind of irritated me that Belly likely spent five hours a day on her feet, serving rowdy patrons on hand and foot, while Jere spent his days sitting around in an air-conditioned financial firm in a likely unpaid position.

I don’t know why, but it did. It really did.

“You probably have a lot saved up by now,” I said, “What are you going to do with it?”

She tilted her head, her silky hair falling tantalizingly over her shoulder. “I thought you were taking me on vacation. With all of your flight credit.”

I did say that. At the time, I’d been going crazy at the prospect of seeing her again. Honestly, I probably stood on the doorstep for half an hour, knowing that I’d have to see her, talk to her, confront what I’d said to her. It sounded bad, but Jere’s reaction wasn’t what was even on my mind. 

I think I’d gotten so nervous I’d just said whatever was in the front of my mind—and I’d just come from the airport, so.

“And you said that you didn’t want to go to Cabo,” I remembered. “You also said it was a long story.”

Belly laughed. “God, do you remember everything?”

“Med student, I kind of have to.” I explained.

“It’s not really that important. It’s kind of boring, honestly.” But her expression darkened in a way that wasn’t unimportant. 

I knew Jere had made some kind of mistake along the way—Taylor had dropped some hints—and I wondered if this had anything to do with it.

“Belly,” I said as gently as I could. “Tell me.”

She hesitated.

“Please,” I added.

“Jere went with his fraternity and sister sorority to Cabo over spring break—apparently they found some crazy deal that was too good to pass up, or whatever.” she paused. “And…he made a mistake.”

My bad feeling intensified. “What kind?”

She was silent for a long moment. One minute turned to two, and I didn’t realize I had been sitting on the edge of my seat.

“The kind that you can’t come back from,” she said, and that was enough. “Well, technically, I guess he did.”

I translated that into: “You forgave him?”

“I felt like I had to.”

I wanted to pry, but on the flip side, I didn’t want her to feel like she had to tell me. I mean, I might’ve died from the suspense if she didn’t, but she didn’t have to do anything. I didn’t want to force anything.

But before I could resolve my internal tug-of-war, Belly spoke first. “You look like you’re dying to know.”

I was surprised, myself. “That obvious?”

“Mhm. You’re really transparent.” Belly gave me a little nod that sent my insides into disarray. “But I’ll tell you—if you tell me something about your life in California.”

My life in California was nothing entertaining—just a lot of doing the same ten things on repeat. If I went back, my short trip to Cousins would’ve been like a dream that I wasn’t entirely convinced happened, and otherwise a return to monotony. 

I leveled her with a stare that I hoped was discerning. “I didn’t realize our relationship was so transactional, Conklin.”

Her lips part and close, and her complexion turns unnaturally pale. “I-I-I didn’t mean-”

I could admit that it brought me some sense of internal satisfaction to know that I still could render her speechless. Contrary to what Jere and my mom and Laurel thought, I wasn’t completely oblivious to how Belly saw me in our formative years. It started with glances that lasted a beat too long, applying lip gloss and perfume whenever I entered the room…you know, juvenile stuff. My mom always had this pipe dream where Belly would marry either Jere or me, where my mom and Laurel would become a proper family, not just the chosen kind.

I think that was why I resisted thinking of Belly in that way for so many years, because we didn’t live in the stone ages, and people didn’t get married because their parents decreed it. But then once I saw her get her first boyfriend that last summer we all spent here, it opened a floodgate of feelings in me that I realized were distinctly inappropriate for an older brother/little sister dynamic.

Now that I think of it, that was the last summer that things felt right. Recent days felt more like we were all living in a dystopia, like we’d all been condemned to live inside the bad ending of a video game.

It was as if the script cut off yesterday and we all became sentient.

I held up my hands. “I’m kidding. Ask away.”

Belly narrowed her eyes. “You weren’t like this before. The city made you meaner.”

It wasn’t the city, but I couldn’t tell her that. “So? Any burning questions?”

“Did you get a girlfriend in California?”

Damn, she didn’t even do me the courtesy of hesitating.

“No,” I decided slowly, even though there wasn’t even anything to think about. “I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“You really know how to hit where it hurts,” I observed. “I guess being a med student doesn’t lend itself to having a great social life. Or any at all.”

That wasn’t entirely true. I was still in pre-med, for one thing. And the other people in my major—namely, Agnes—were always on my case, telling me to ‘get out more’ or ‘broaden my horizons’, when I was perfectly content with keeping a close circle. On the few occasions that they did manage to get me outside of my dorm, I saw her everywhere. Any brunette girl became Belly in an instant, which made me think about her and Jere enjoying life at Finch, and my night was ruined immediately.

Repeat that for three years. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Just…” she hesitated. “I thought you’d have girls lining up at your doorstep.”

The words left me before I could stop myself. “The prom king and hazing initiator? I’m not Jere.”

The words were bitter and hot, like I was trying to prove something even though I wasn’t. Even though I didn’t have a reason to be.

She blanched. “Conrad, I-”

“Only you.”

“Only me?”

I tried to lighten my tone, with limited success. “You’re the only girl lining up at my doorstep.”

Belly gave me a look that suggested she wasn’t totally convinced that I’d gone back to normal. “I’m not lining up on anybody’s doorstep, because…” she said. “I did that once already, and it didn’t really work out.”

I don’t even know why I said that. “So, going back…” I tried again, trying to start fresh. “What happened in Cabo?”

Belly was silent for a long moment, almost as if she were debating whether or not to tell me. While that would be in direct violation of our deal, I think I’d let her get off scot free even if she didn’t tell me. Also because I wasn’t convinced myself that I wouldn’t kill my own brother if his mistake was egregious enough.

“He hooked up with another girl.” She shut her eyes, and said the words very fast and very quietly, like in a burst. “While we were on a break.”

“I’m sorry?” I asked, sure that I had misheard.

She opened her eyes slowly. “He said it was the biggest mistake of his life,” she added. “He told me that he’d never loved anybody more than me.”

Okay, murder was still on the table.

I stared at her, disbelieving. “Belly, that’s not a mistake. That’s not even just a fuck up, that’s—” I stopped, because I was going to say ‘ justification for murder ’ but she struck me as the pacifist type. In a noticeably quieter voice, I concluded, “And you forgave him?”

“I felt like I had to.” she said again.

I opened my mouth and closed it again, rethinking it. As much as I wanted to, wishing Jeremiah an untimely death probably wouldn’t make anybody except me feel better. Even though it really would. 

“I hope you’re doing better now,” I said instead. “Because that’s fucked up.”

Belly smiled, and it was like the whole world lit up.

-

I called Jere around 6:30, past work hours, but not cutting it so closely that he’d be in transit. It made me wonder where he was staying in Boston, though I supposed the most logical conclusion was with Dad. I was sure that was just a match made in heaven, those two were about as compatible as magnet poles. Though I supposed in light of recent events, their shared irritation with me would probably be their point of connection. Go figure.

“ Go for Jeremiah,” his voicemail told me cheerily. I couldn’t even remember the last time he’d sounded that happy to hear my voice. “ Leave a message,”

I hung up and redialed. More than once—actually, I probably lost count at some point—but eventually, he answered.

Don’t fuck this up, I told myself.

“Conrad?” Jeremiah answered, with a voice of steeled patience.

“Jere,” I began slowly. “I know you probably don’t want to hear from me right now, but I have something to tell-“

“What, Conrad?” Jeremiah said, cutting me off. “Just say it. Literally , what?”

I decided against an equally irritated greeting in the interest of not having him hang up on me immediately. “Jere,” I began carefully again. “Dad’s been calling me. He knows that something’s up.”

“And I’m assuming you told him exactly what?” he assumed.

“No, actually, I told him to ask you directly. He didn’t like that, needless to say.”

There was a pause. Then, “Okay?” he asked. “Did you call me just to tell me that? Did you expect me to leap for joy? I thought something actually happened with…”

The last part came out as a mutter, the end of his sentence lost. 

“Just so you know,” I began, “I’m not going to do anything with Bel-“

“Is that it?” he cut me off. “I’m hanging up if it is.”

My temper spiked out of nowhere. “I heard something interesting happened with you in Cabo.”

I regretted it as soon as I said it, but it was too late to take it back.

Jeremiah’s tone tightened. “Belly told you?”

“No,” I lied immediately, not wanting to implicate her. I wanted to backtrack immediately, but something within me wouldn’t allow me to. “But that’s not the point. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You don’t get to judge my mistakes,” he snapped back. “What you did was way worse, admit it.”

“I didn’t do anything to you, Jere.” And I would definitely never do anything to hurt Belly, I didn’t add, because I didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.

“ Wow,” he laughed humorlessly. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“This was a mistake,” I backtrack immediately, already throwing in the towel. “Sorry I bothered you, I shouldn’t have-“

My weak attempt at peacekeeping only seemed to make him more irritated, which was exactly what I needed from a day like today. “And that’s your biggest problem.” he insisted. “Everything that doesn’t immediately go perfectly for you becomes a mistake to you. You did it then, and you’re still doing it now. God, it’s like you never-“

“Then?” I asked quietly.

Jere said it outright. “I know you think Belly was a mistake.”

“I never said that,” I immediately countered.

“No,” he said, his voice colder than a Boston winter. “But you’ve always thought it.”

That did it for me. “I never thought that. Not once. The only thing I’ve ever regretted was the way things ended between us, and that’s it.” Even though I knew I shouldn’t pile on, I still did. “Maybe you were just hoping I felt that way. Maybe you wished for it more than anything.”

Jere hung up a second later, and I fully expected him to do that. Nothing was going to plan. All of my intentions had flipped upside down and gone to shit. Technically speaking, I’d gotten what I’d wanted, but it really didn’t feel that way. 

I knew I still wanted Belly—more than anything—but I was starting to question whether that was enough anymore.

Because if simply wanting was enough, I wouldn’t be in this situation right now to begin with.