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They’re out on the beach, and he’s sitting upright on the couch. They’re out there like a secret. Like he can’t smell the coffee in the air, or count the bodies in the living room and realize two are missing. He was sure everyone had fallen asleep like him: safely, sweetly encased in this moment where they were all as a collective united through hope for his mom. Then, he wakes up and realizes they're not there. Only one place they could be.
His shirt is unbuttoned down to the third, his heart exposed well and good.
He knows if he sprints out towards the beach, he’ll probably see them there. Connie and Belly. It’s enough to make his stomach churn.
But then again, this isn’t a first for Jeremiah.
No, Jeremiah’s had his fair share of moments like this.
When you love someone as long as he’s loved one Isabel Conklin, you get used to living in her periphery. It’s like giving someone a telescope and asking them to tell you what the color of the floor beneath them. That’s what Belly’s always been like for as long as he can remember. So standing next to her is nil, he’s realizing, he has to be standing right in front of her.
His mom - his perfect, gorgeous, wonderful mom - is laying with her head in his lap, and he wants to wake her up. Just ask her to comfort him.
Now listen, of all the Conklin-Fisher kids, no one would ever credit Jeremiah with planning anything in advance. In fact, he’s always shirked that responsibility off to pretty much any and every one else. Steven wants to build a tire swing, Jeremiah spends the rest of the summer with a sprained wrist. Conrad found out that the Cousins neighbors were swingers who left their windows open, Jeremiah’s dad is the one who lifts him by the back of the shirt and scolds them the whole ride back.
He’s more or less the fall guy. A scapegoat. He’s the parents baby boy. No one stays mad at him too long. His mom spent that summer with his busted wrist giving him all the treats he wanted - brownies, cookies, ice cream sundae parties. His dad forgave him, begrudgingly telling him the spot in the bushes was pretty smart, but that they needed to be careful with stuff like that.
One way or the other, Jere knows how to find his way into people’s good graces.
So he’ll have to plot. He’ll have to scheme, and he’ll have to plan, and in due time, Conrad will totally forgive him (he won’t have another choice, really).
*
First the hard part, have the conversation where Belly inevitably tells him that she’s back to Conrad. This will be the worst part because this is when he’ll be his most underhand. After everyone rouses in the morning and when Conrad and Belly return with a big box of fresh good muffins, Jeremiah’s already made a new pot of coffee while everyone’s getting showered. He showered quick and easy, dressed in his comfiest clothes because he’s no doubt about to get his heart wrecked. He catches them in the doorway as he’s finishing making his cup.
Conrad is holding her hand, and they’re not saying anything.
He has to turn his back.
If he gives away the plot now, he’ll never recover. This doesn’t just churn his stomach, it stings his eyes, makes his jaw clench, so he has to suck in a deep breath and gather himself.
He can hear whispers. He imagines it’s something along the lines of, “You wanna tell him?” Conrad. “No, but I should be the one to.” Belly. He sips from his coffee and grits his teeth. “Okay.” Conrad again.
He spins around as he hears the stairs creak.
Just as he thought, in that pretty patchwork sweater, there one, beautiful, perfect Belly Conklin is standing.
“Hey,” she says shoving her hands into her front pockets, shifting her weight back on her heels.
“Hey,” he has to bite back on his usual sass, give her a more serious stare.
“So,” she lets out a harsh exhale, “um.”
He sips at his coffee, keeping her gaze over the rim of his mug. He wants to break down and lash out, make her say everything she isn’t. He keeps his gaze level.
“You and Connie went on a little muffin run?”
“Well about that…”
“Come on, Bells.” He puts the mug down on the counter. “That’s all you have to say? Even a blind person could see you’re not telling me something.”
“Jere. I just… I can’t imagine you not - us not - but,” she closes her eyes, balling her fists up, “I’m just so confused right now.”
“Bells, be honest with me here.” He steps towards her. “Don’t lie to me, okay? More than anything, you said it right - I’m your best friend.”
“Yeah, that’s what makes this so… So not okay.”
“Well, honestly, yeah this is pretty uncool of you. I mean, brothers, Belly? Kinda ambitious of you.”
“Jere,” she lifts her face to his, and he cracks. He lets out a hard exhale and reaches out for her, palms up. When she slides her hands, he grips her hands tight.
“Be honest, Belly. Did I really ever stand a chance?”
She doesn’t hesitate and his stomach tightens. “Yes, of course. I didn’t lie to you about that - I, I would never lie about how I feel about you.”
“Then, okay.” He brings their hands up to his mouth, drops a kiss to that space between her second knuckles. “Just know, I don’t know how to give up on something I really want. When he lets you down, because that’s just how it goes with him and with you - especially when it comes to you - when you stop looking for him in every room, I’ll be there.
"I don’t know how to not be at your side.”
“Jere.”
Now she’s crying and that wasn’t the desire effect. He pulls her into his arms, kisses the top of her head. His chest is so tight, and he’s choking for a moment before he grasps a real deep inhale. If he cries now, he'll start thinking about this deeper. About what it means to lose the best girl to the best guy, and know it wasn't you.
“I’m still just Jeremiah.” He says finally, he inhales, tucking her under his chin. “I’m still your best friend, okay?”
Then she pulls away, leaves her hands on his chest for a moment, and he still grabs onto her hands. Just for a second. He grabs them tight, squeezes them. It's everything that even through all of this, she's still so honest and so real in everything that she is: this is Belly, messy, pretty, sweet Belly.
And he lets go. He drops his hands.
“Pot’s not gonna stay hot forever,” he says. He jerks a thumb back to the coffee. His throat is still full of that bile, vile constraint. “I’m gonna enjoy the sunrise a lil more, alright?”
“Alright,” she whispers. She wipes at her face. Jeremiah only has the strength to make his way out to the pool. He drops his feet in, still holding the coffee mug, and then, he lets himself cry.
He tells himself the hardest part is over. If he ever stood a chance, then he still does, and he probably always will.
He meant what he said when he said he'd be by her side no matter what, so he’ll stand by it.
They have their weekend away trip to go fishing which, he should totally rip his brother a new ass for hurting him, but he won’t because he’s going to be moving into step two. He has to prep himself for this part. Make himself scarce, because if he ever sees Conrad kissing Belly, watches Belly wrap her arms around him, he’ll lose it. Just imagining it drives him fucking crazy, seeing it would make him see red.
So.
They only have three weeks left in the summertime.
James. Lily. Dalton. A couple more names. It’s only been a week since he had that conversation with Belly. This weekend, Steven, Conrad, and he will go fishing together. It certainly wouldn’t be as satisfying if he saves Conrad's ass from having to tell Steven, so when that weekend rolls around, he’s sated enough, calm enough to keep himself from snapping at his brother, he decides to tell Conrad. Because they haven't talked about it yet.
It’s the morning that they’re packing to get ready to go fishing, and he pulls Conrad aside when Steven steps out to take a call.
“Yo,” he says.
“Hey,” Conrad murmurs, “all good?”
“Yeah, I just gotta know something.”
“Shoot.”
This whole week Conrad’s been in peak form. Back to smiling wildly, they’ve only talked about how OK they are now that mom’s secret is out, and how they have to be there for each other. In a lot of brotherly ways, Jeremiah can be there for Conrad, but not in every way. They dance around the Belly thing.
Jeremiah clicks his tongue. “Steven doesn’t know does he?”
The little smile drops from Conrad’s face. He does that thing where he clenches his jaw, letting a little breath out.
“N-no.” He clears his throat.
“Well, just be careful about that. You know. Steven wasn’t cool when he saw Belly and I kissing one time. I don’t even want to think about how he’d feel if he saw it was you too.”
“Right.”
“I can, uh, I can keep this a secret. For now, but hermano a hermano?” Jere claps a hand on Conrad’s shoulder. “I’d keep it cool.”
“Yeah. Totally.” Conrad gives him a little smile. "Thanks."
The sight of it makes Jeremiah pause for a second. He has this plan y'know, but there's another part of him that knows he may not have it in him to execute it. Deep down, below everything else, the foundation of it is that Conrad is his brother.
Their fishing trip is fun. He even loses sight of the goal for a second because he’s reminded that ultimately, he does love his brother. His brother is still the stick-in-the-mud, do-gooder that knows how to let lose sparingly but with a real intensity. They eat fried fish with rice and kimchi they packed, they smoke a jay, talk about their best-worst hook-ups, the ones that mattered, the ones that didn’t.
They talk about their mom, about Steven’s mom and Conrad’s mentor-slash-friend guy, Cleveland, and also how wild it is that Steven’s dad is single again. They laugh, they sleep under the stars.
When they get back in the morning, the second part begins.
Jeremiah notices it around dinner time, the way that the storm cloud is back over Conrad’s head. When their mom asks about it, he flinches to hear Belly stab into the asparagus on her plate.
“S’fine,” he mumbles, “I just… I don’t want this summer to be over, y’know? Being far from everyone just seems like it’ll be a waste.”
Jere catches it. The look their mom gives Laurel.
“About that…” Their mom begins to say.
Of course, Jeremiah thinks that night, as he dives into the pool. Of course, his parents are also getting a divorce. It makes more sense than it doesn’t, and it hurts all the same. His plans are making a mess of themselves.
Belly’s not the only one who goes for the occasional night swim. Unlike her doing laps, he likes to dive down to the bottom, in quiet, crushing strokes and drag his fingers along the bottom of the pool, pretending he’s a diver, who’s found something interesting.
On his return to the surface, he catches it.
“-I feel like if we’re going to say anything, now’s the time.”
“No, Belly, it-,” his splash as he resurfaces jars them both. They’re standing at the edge of the patio, and he raises a brow.
The three them stall in an awkward silence for a second before Jeremiah rolls his eyes.
“I think there’s a front porch, if you want to keep talking,” he murmurs, “I’m pretty sure Steven going for a drive meant he was going to see Shayla soo…”
“No,” Belly glances at Conrad. “I’d say our conversation here’s over, right?”
Jeremiah’s eyes dart down to Conrad’s hands at his side, his fists clenching. His brother just shakes his head and storms back inside the house, being sure to slam the door behind him. For a second, it’s just him and Belly again.
“Well um, you're taking this well.” Belly says. He’s never seen her so shy to approach the pool, so he wades back to not crowd the ledge.
“Not really, but I don’t want to make it your problem. Or,” he sighs, running a hand through his fringe to push it back, “or anyone’s really.”
“You, uh, you could.” She says. Shyly, she sits herself on the edge of the pool, cross-legged, giving him an impish smile. His heart soars. That crooked, soft smile of hers, that one that he’s always liked was just a little off perfect. “I can listen. Shoot, I mean, as a child of divorce, I’d probs understand better than anyone.”
He closes his eyes.
What he predicted would be part two was pretty simple. Conrad’s sense of justice to “do the right thing” would mean not sneaking around with Belly, and Belly, not wanting to give up Conrad, would definitely not be okay with that. He doesn't know how to put that into action more than just trusting his intution about them is right.
“Maybe,” he sighs. “It sucks. You know… Conrad’s had this big ‘fuck-you’ face to our dad this past year about football, but that’s still our dad. And, y'know, Bells. Sometimes, I don’t think he gets just how lucky he is.”
“Oh?”
Jeremiah shifts in the water, pushing forward against it so he can balance his forearms on the lip of the pool. He doesn’t look at her, just at the patio doors, closed tightly.
“Because Conrad’s always met dad’s expectations, I feel like they’ve always had this kinda… Kind of disconnect. Like. Dad totally sees Conrad as himself. Good family, straight, football protege. Go to an Ivy, meet a good girl from a good family, get married. Have kids.” He glances over his shoulder at her, a little crook of his lips.
“Vacation in Cape Cod.”
She pushes at his shoulder, rolling her eyes. He sees the little burrow of her brows, though, and counts it as a win.
“Me on the other hand… It’s,” he tucks his chin into the space between his forearms, “it’s like I’ve always had to fight for my dad’s approval. When I came out, he wasn’t disapproving, but he made this face like. Like he was thinking to himself, ‘how am I supposed to explain this to the guys I golf with?’ And-and when Conrad quit… You should’ve seen his relief when he found out I was second string. Like there was still hope for me.”
“Wow.”
“A lot, I know.”
“No, I,” she licks her lips, drops her hand to his shoulder, “I’m really glad you’re saying all this. I-I guess we’ve been so caught up in my stupid drama, we didn’t get the chance to talk about your dad.”
“Yeah, well.” He pushes back from the ledge, her hand falling off his shoulder easy, and then he tilts his head back to look at her, and smiling softly. “I was glad to listen then. It’s easy, right? To not think about these kinds of things.”
“How’s it feel now, though?” She asks, gripping the ledge of the pool before her.
“Not great. I think… I think more than Conrad, I can still admit, I love my dad. He’s a piece of shit, yeah, and fuck, I know there’s something my mom’s not telling us about this, but I think maybe, maybe I’m all my dad’s got right now.”
“Jere…”
“No, that’s- maybe that’s dramatic, but you know better than anyone that no one deserves to just feel left out.”
“Right.”
“Man,” he laughs a little, “my mom really filled her plate, huh? Chemo and a divorce?” He scoffs, shaking his head.
“Your mom definitely doesn’t do anything by halves.”
They stay like that for a moment, suspended in this moment where he’s bared his heart to her, the things that he hasn’t even been able to say aloud.
If… If he hadn’t kissed her, if this had been any other summer, Jeremiah would’ve told her to just go back inside. Kiss and make-up with Conrad the way they always do. They’ve always had petty, tiny fights, and yet, they always find a way to smooth things over. It usually takes a little prodding.
But Jeremiah knows.
He knows that Belly trusts him, that she kissed him first, that he’s still got a chance.
“Hey,” he pulls himself out of the pool. “Can we go get ice cream?”
“Only if I can drive.”
He makes a face, and she rolls her eyes, but he still sighs. “Keys are on the counter inside.”
He half-expects her to run into Conrad in there. Ditch him completely. When she emerges with a shirt for him in one hand, and the keys in the other, he grins.
They share their ice creams.
Strawberry for her, chocolate for him. For a second, he forgets that maybe one of the wildest summers of his life is about to be followed by the craziest fall. All he can think about is one, beautiful, awesome Belly Conklin making him laugh with this story about the time she got pants’d in front of the rest of the varsity girl’s volleyball team.
*
Step three is well, a waiting game. The straw can only hit the camel’s back so many times, and if he’s being totally honest, he thought it would take longer. Of course, when they get home, Conrad’s still up, but now emerged from his room and on the couch. Shrugging, Jeremiah just heads up to shower. They’re no doubt kissing and making up on the couch to his dismay. He slams his fist against the shower wall twice, shaking the chlorine from his hair, and just willing himself to be patient.
Some things aren’t fair, and other things take time.
And if he's being honest, he's beginning to realize why he's never been big on planning. Plans take determination, they require dedication to the cause. The cause in this case is more selfish than he thinks he has in him. He isn't sure if he can just be that guy to actively push apart his favorite person and his big brother.
Summer ends with a whimper rather than a bang.
The Conklin’s visit every other weekend. Sometimes it’s just Laurel and Belly since Steven’s pushing out application after application for college, and other times, it’s all of them, including John. Those are interesting. Especially because Cleveland starts visiting.
It’s interesting, Jeremiah thinks to himself. To be an interloper, an audience to this strange love-triangle while being in one himself. When they’re back in Boston, he’s a good boy. He drops his usual roster of people he hooks up with, picks up a book every now and then because it is his junior year, and focuses on practicing plays. There are some weekends where he isn’t there at all; he’s in New York City practicing with his dad at his new apartment.
Conrad never goes with him when he visits.
It’s October when it happens.
Conrad’s early decision. An exception to the typical wait time. Privelege is everything and even if it makes him cringe, he's relieved to know he won't be sitting anxiously like everyone else. It's wrong, yeah, but it's also his reality. That much he can't lie about.
Conrad's early decision turns into a catastrophe.
He didn’t know that Conrad was applying to Oxford for biochemistry. When they all find out, just as mom’s chemo is starting to look really promising, it’s a shitstorm. They're at home when the big packet arrives. All of them anxiously standing around the marble and limestone tiled countertop as Conrad lifts the letter, and then reads it aloud. Fingers shaking.
Then they're all cheering for a second, and it feels like all this lovestory shit is nothing to him because wow, leave it to Conrad to make in into an Ivy.
“This is great!” Laurel exclaims, hands over her lips. She’s positively beaming and Steven’s clapping a hand on Conrad’s back.
“Where’s the good champagne, man? If there was ever a time to bust that baby out, it’s now.”
Jeremiah’s clapping, a big smile on his face, but his heart is racing. When his eyes meet Belly's face, he just knows.
“Oxford? Like in London?” Belly says.
The smile on Conrad’s face drops.
“Belly…” He starts.
“Why didn’t you… No this is, yeah, okay, this is great. Cool.” She grins. It isn’t a real one. There’s something about the furrow of her brows that makes it more of a sneer. “This is just so good for you, Conrad.”
“Belly, can I just-,” Steven cuts her off, scowling at her.
“What’s got your shit all twisted? Knock it off, didi. This is fucking great.”
“Oh and it super is! Great for Conrad! Awesome, cool.” She throws her arms up. With all eyes on her, Laurel’s brows pinched together, Steven’s face aghast with her melodrama, and Conrad’s absolutely devastated, she makes a face, one that tells everything, and then runs off. They hear her footsteps and assume she’s running up to Susannah’s room.
“Jere…?” Laurel asks. Steven drops the arm from Conrad’s shoulders.
“Lemme just,” Conrad slips past them. He’s too fast when Steven’s hand darts out to try and catch his wrist, juking past him easily and heading for the stairs.
“What the fuck is going on?” Steven asks finally. The remaining three stand in the kitchen, suspicion crawling over Steven's face. “Look, my sister’s a total drama queen but for something like this? Even this is a bit much for her.”
“Do you know something, Jere?” Laurel asks.
He just looks at them both and sighs. “Ask him when he gets back, but uh, Steven, let’s get that champagne right?”
“No." He stomps his foot. Typical Steven. "Tell us now.”
“It’s not my story to tell.” He insists. “Besides, this is a celebration right? We can also grab that good Spanish red you like, Laurel.”
Nothing gets by Laurel. She looks at him, and her mouth presses into a fine line. She turns around, reaches up into the cabinet behind her. She pulls out a glass for red wine, then three for champagne. Steven just rolls his eyes and gestures aggressively towards the basement where the cellar is for Jere to lead the way.
The silence pushes Jeremiah to think. To really think if this is what he wanted. The tension that flew between them curdled his stomach. Seeing the devastation on Belly's face, the joy, then disappointment on Conrad's threw him for a loop. What's a plan if he's the only one whose happy? Victory shouldn't taste like this.
“You’re really not going to tell me?” Steven says once they’re out of earshot. “What the fuck, man? I thought you were dating Belly.”
“So did I for a second there, but man,” Jere grabs the Armand de Brignac Ace from the shelf, then the Marques de Grinon for Laurel, “you better ask Connie.”
“I want answers, dude. That’s… Jokes aside, Belly’s the only sister I’ve got.”
He slams the door to red wine cellar fridge shut.
“And Conrad’s my only brother.” He says. They look at each other for a moment before Steven huffs. Steven's never been good at being left out, but they've pulled the ultimate cards against each other. He feels it in his stomach. Confusing feelings meld inside of him. Conrad is his brother; he's in love with Belly. So is he.
He grabs the red. He heads for the stairs. For a second, Jeremiah just hangs his head. It doesn’t feel good for things to happen this way. No, he isn’t vindictive. He doesn’t want Connie or Belly to suffer. Everyone knows feelings just happen. There isn’t a good timeline for that.
And yet, he also isn’t above wanting his own feelings to be seen or to be heard.
So he climbs up the stairs. Dutifully, he pours the bottle of red for Laurel. Watches as she grabs a second glass for Steven, giving him a look that says, this time and don’t push it. He chugs it, uncouth, and Jeremiah just settles into one of the chairs at the island. They sit in a terse silence. Steven's muttering to himself, shaking his head. Laurel, cool and collected, is staring at Jeremiah, a scrutinizing look in her eyes.
Only Belly comes back down the stairs.
Her eyes are red.
He makes to leave the room as soon as she emerges, placing a hand on her shoulder, and when she gives it a hard squeeze, shaking her head, he nods.
He makes his way to Conrad’s room, a storm in his chest.
“Yo.” He says as he opens the door.
Conrad’s sitting on the windowsill, head hanging.
“Yo.” He says again as he closes the door, this time more insistently. “You wanna go down there and explain yourself to them?”
He lifts his head, and Jeremiah’s heart constricts. “You know… You know why I quit football. I thought, I thought Belly would understand, too.”
Right. Football and med school are kind of contradictory with the head injuries and all that. For the first time, since the end of the summer, Jeremiah's muddled feelings iron themselves out. Conrad has different priorities, and it jars him. Still, that doesn't really explain why Conrad would just neglect to tell Belly that. Then again, Jeremiah's never been the first to understand his brother's actions.
“Well,” all of Jeremiah’s vitriol leaves as fast as it came, “I never thought I would see the day where I would be the most mature one in the room.”
“Fuck off.” But Conrad gives a tiny smile.
“You know you should’ve said something sooner, right? Should’ve told her you were applying.”
“I thought I did.”
“Clearly, Connie, you didn’t.”
They both look at the door and Conrad winces.
“Steven’s gonna beat the shit outta me right? That’s definitely what’s gonna happen if I go down there.”
“Probably but you knew that was gonna happen. You had to have.”
“Did he…?” Conrad makes a face. “When he caught you and Belly kissing, did he hit you?”
“No," he can't help it, not as much vitrol in hist one just something belaying his real feelings, "but I’m not a liar like you.”
“Jere.”
“Listen,” Jeremiah shakes his head, “I don’t know where you get off acting like you’re like some big self-sacrificing hero that has to bear all this shit and just keep pushing forward, but you’re totally not. You’re just a guy, Conrad. So just like every guy who keeps important shit to himself - shit that has to do with other people's lives - you’re just a liar.”
Conrad stands. “Fuck you. I keep secrets and I keep shit to myself because you’re such a baby.”
Now Jeremiah scoffs. “I’m a baby? The girl of my dreams is no doubt downstairs defending your lame ass because you couldn’t just outright do the right thing for once.”
He stands, shaking his head. He's spiraling. Everything he's felt, all of these confusing feelings come to the surface: wanting to take someone who isn't his, losing himself in this desire to be something he isn't (planning? Really? He can barely think of what tomorow will bring). These feelings are egged on by a real, true sensation of anger. Of frustration. Of neglect, too.
“Fuck you, Conrad. Fuck you for lying to me this summer, to all of us. No one asked you to do that. You did it because you were so damn scared that if you said anything, we’d have to deal with it, and we could’ve. We should’ve dealt with it together, but you made the choice to be this main character asshole. You had a pisspoor attitude, you played with Belly’s feelings then, and you’re still playing with them now, because you’re here, arguing with me, when you should be down there.”
He isn’t surprised when his brother shoves him back into the doorframe even as he flinches.
He is surprised when his brother grips the collar of his shirt, sneering at him, hot breath brushing against his face.
“How dare you.”
“No!” Jeremiah pushes back as hard as he can, disarming him. “Why are you still here? Cause you’re scared! You’re just scared, Connie. Just as scared as all of us, and you just don’t want to trust us. What’d we do to deserve that, huh?”
“Fine. You want me to do the right thing? Fine.” Conrad moves past him, flinging the door open as Jeremiah stands there, alone in the room. He stands there for a second, deflating.
That wasn’t part of the plan. But then again, it’s better this way. If he didn’t say it now, he definitely never would’ve. Maybe his brother needed to hear it. Maybe it’s okay if things don’t go the way he wants them to because, for the first time since he realized he wants Belly all to himself, he’s realizing that he also couldn’t stand it if it was going to be underhandedly lying to his brother.
Because he isn’t him.
So he goes where he always does when Conrad overshadows him, when Belly overlooks him.
His mom is awake, blearily blinking away sleep as she’s sipping at some water from a glass. In the dim light from her nightstand, even with a fabric wrapped around her head, dressed in sweaters too big, she looks heavenly. Always pretty.
“Hey you,” she murmurs.
“Mom?” He croaks.
“My Jere bear,” she croons, “tell me. How do I get that storm cloud away from your head, huh baby?”
“Mom.” He collapses into the chair next to her. He buries his face into the bedspread, feels her hand ruffle through his hair as all of the tension flies from his chest. All of his tears come then. Almost losing his mom again. His brother lying. His first love breaking his heart. Him being this person he wasn't, scheming when it isn't in his nature.
He hears the front door slam. A car starting in the drive. Then more footsteps. Some up the stairs.
“Hey.” It’s Steven.
“C’mere.” His mom beckons. He doesn’t need to see her to know she’s still smiling softly. The bed shifts on the other side.
Quiet for a moment. Just the crickets outside.
“Did you know about Oxford?”
“No,” she says. “I knew he was thinking of abroad, I didn’t know he was applying abroad.”
Steven scoffs. “Typical Connie right? Keeping the big stuff to himself.”
“Mhmm.”
“Did you know he was dating my sister? If-if you can even call it that. He,” Steven is fuming, this much Jeremiah can tell, “he thought there’d be a better time to tell us all. And then, get this, he didn’t tell her that he was applying to schools in England. England of all places.”
“Well, Connie’s always done his own thing. Belly will get over it.”
“I don’t know, Becks.” Steven sighs. “She’s in the guest room, crying her eyes out, and Conrad’s driving around with my mom, who’s no doubt chewing his ear out.”
“She really loves doing that to the Fisher boys, huh? Seems like Jere’s the only one to escape her lectures at this point.”
“Yeah, well, Jere,” he feels a hand on his shoulder, “fuck man, I’m sorry about Belly. You deserve better than this.”
He has nothing to say. So when his mom speaks, it’s everything to him.
“I don’t think he wants better, Stevie,” she says quietly, “I think it’s always been Belly for Jere.”
There’s nothing Steven can say to that. He just clutches at Jeremiah’s shoulder tight for a moment, then releases. They say quiet goodnights then, and Jere doesn’t move, just listlessly lying his head on his mother’s bedspread.
“You’re right,” he finally says.
“I know, I don’t think I’ve always known about how you felt when it comes to her, but this time… This time I think I know I’m right, aren’t I?”
“You’re my mom,” he insists, looking up at her, a teeny smile on his face, “of course you always know best when it comes to me.”
When she runs a hand down his cheek, the tears come back. Belly Conklin’s his first real love, and he’s maybe just lost her forever tonight. And none of that matters because come this time next year, his big brother - the golden child, the perfect one - will be thousands of miles away. His whole world is upending himself and he's just left to hold onto the pieces.
“Baby,” she says, wiping tears away with her thumb, eyes drooping closed, “believe me when I say, there’s no such thing as the right one, wrong time. When the time’s right, the right one’s always going to be there.”
And Jeremiah has nothing in him left to do anything other than believe her.
*
The thing about when plans go to shit, the universe takes the reins. And it takes the reins in a way he doesn't understand.
Belly doesn’t come every weekend for a while. He finds out from Laurel it’s partially Conrad, partially that her team’s going to regionals, then to state. Come October, it’s looking like they might even make it to nationals. Whatever that means. He can see Conrad, sunken eyes, eating all of this up, but it hardly matters because Belly’s texting him through all of this.
First it was just pictures of her passing her driver’s test. Then pictures of her team’s shenanigans in the hotel. Then pictures from Taylor of her, ugly-sleeping on buses.
This your girl, Jeremy? Taylor DM’d him once. He saves the photo all the same even if he just sends a gif of the most dramatic eye-roll ever to Taylor. He texts Belly with a passion: the same flirting, Jeremiah up to his old self. They FaceTime late into the night, and they even talk about what happened. About how she should've known he would try and do the right thing so badly, he'd forget about doing right by her. He consoles her, tells her she'll never not be important to Conrad, it just might not be in the same way he is to her.
Steven gives the cold shoulder to Conrad for all of two weeks before they pop a beer and start playing Mario Kart and everything’s just OK again between them. Especially because Steven’s gotten really into telling Conrad about how all these guys have been snooping around, asking if Belly’s seeing anyone (Jere knows she isn’t - she’s mistakenly believing they’re all super into Taylor). It’s not nice, but there’s a part of Jere that relishes in Conrad’s stormy attitude whenever Steven says shit like that.
Cause he knows Conrad isn’t texting Belly.
But he is.
The fourth step - the one the universe gives him is so simple, he could've never seen it coming.
Belly coming back to Boston, but this time, it isn't for Susannah and it isn't for Conrad.
When Belly comes back to Boston a week after Halloween, a good month after everything unfolded, it’s rocks at his window. He counts his lucky stars that he’s home. He was planning on visiting his dad in NYC that weekend, but forgot to book a ticket. The universe in play again.
He doesn’t hear the rocks at the window, but when he gets a FaceTime from her, he drops his calc homework to pick-up.
He recognizes the backyard instantly.
“Come outside!” She announces as quickly as he picks up.
He hangs up and rushes out. In the living room, Laurel and Cleveland are workshopping ideas with each other in the living room downstairs, and when they try to ask him where he’s going, he just rushes by them.
Breathless, he stands before her on the back porch. The automatic lights have turned on. Her mom and Cleveland are no doubt peering through the curtains behind him, but he’s grinning so wide, his whole face hurts.
She’s wearing this jumpsuit underneath a white coat, hair in a braid trailing over one shoulder, with a chef’s hat on her head. She’s looking at him with wide eyes, a tiny smile on her face. In her hands, a sign with little cartoon rat sitting on its hind paws.
Sadie Hawkins? You + me = Recipe for success.
“What’s better than going to Sadie Hawkins with the star-player of her school’s team?” She asks with this grin. God this grin. This look, it's going to haunt him in the best way.
“Oh and where’s she at?” He teases. Still, when she rolls her eyes, he steps forward. He tears the sign from her hands and drops it to the ground. He loops his arms around her waist, lifting her up and spinning her around. He winces when he hears a flash noise. Through the bushes, he sees that tiny gremlin of a girl Taylor, and two others, grinning and clapping.
“Jere!” She shouts as he spins her again.
“Taking that as a yes, Jeremy?” Taylor squeals more than shouts. “I was always rooting for you, you know!”
“I mean, you came out all this way, right?” He sets her down on her feet.
The way she’s looking up at him is something from his wildest dreams. Eyes so full of hope, even her cheekbones scream that she trusts him. He wants to kiss every single bit of emotion on her perfect face away, hold her tight until she can’t breath.
“Sooo,” she drawls out.
“It’s a fuck yes.” He says. More cheers erupt from around them. If he glances over his shoulder, he’ll see Laurel, absolutely aghast. He reaches for her hands. “If it’s not as friends.”
“I mean,” she licks her lips, “we are still best friends right?”
“Hey,” they both ignore Taylor’s little noise of protest.
“But it won’t be just as best friends.”
Now he’s smiling. Sure, her mom’s watching, and he’s a little scared that if he looks up, he’ll see Conrad’s watching, too. But, he doesn’t care. He drops his face down to hers, catching her lips for a moment.
It’s his moment and it’s his chance.
And he’s not his brother - he’ll be damned if he lets it slip by.
Because the girl of his dreams is standing in front of him and she's looking at him.