Chapter Text
“It is late now, I am a bit tired; the sky is irritated by stars. And I love you, I love you, I love you – and perhaps this is how the whole enormous world, shining all over, can be created – out of five vowels and three consonants.”
Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera
“So, Conrad, what made you want to come and talk today?”
The directness of the question caused him to shift in his seat, his dull nails scratching the pads of his elbow. There was a slight chill in the room. He quickly made the mental note that next time—there had to be a next time, he had to come back—he would bring his jacket. Anne, his therapist, watched as his eyes contemplated around the room. He found himself suddenly interested in everything but the seemingly kind and patient woman that sat across from him.
It had only been five minutes, and Conrad already hated being here. Hated how the sole attention on him caused goosebumps to form on his skin.
He looked over to the window on the right, noted how the sun peaked through and casted a golden shadow on the wooden bookcase resting against the wall. The trees were starting to change, becoming oranges and browns and deep reds, and soon the air would become crisp and cool.
Then maybe he wouldn’t forget his fucking jacket.
When he shifted his eyes back to Anne, to his misfortune, she still sat there. Smiling, softly. Conrad didn’t know why it bothered him, the way she seemed content enough to watch him wallow in silence, but it did. The anxiety in his chest began to swell, which only frustrated him more, because it took him a whole month to book this appointment, and now he couldn’t even bring himself to speak.
“I’m sorry,” Conrad sighed.
Anne shrugged, sitting back in her seat with such an ease, such relaxation, as if they were old friends and she was used to his behaviour. “It’s no worry, take your time.”
Conrad swallowed back another apology. He sat up straighter in attempt to steady himself, though his middle finger still dug in his thumb. He tried maintaining eye contact as he said, “I don’t really know where to begin.”
“I’ll ask an easier question,” she eased. “Was there something that prompted you to go therapy?”
Conrad hesitated. “Someone very important to me suggested that I go,” he finally answered. Anne gave him subtle nod that encouraged him to keep talking. He bit the inside of his cheek, bracing himself for what he was about to say.
A cough escaped his lips, but he figured that was better than a sob.
“My mom passed away earlier this year,” his voice rasped.
Her face softened, “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
Revealing that was the hard part. He had to continue.
“And I’ve been… Well, I started having these really bad panic attacks last year after I found out she was sick. My anxiety was just… really bad at the time. And then she… After she died in April, I think it stuck with me. The anxiety. I had a panic attack at her funeral, and I tried to keep it under control but I just couldn’t.”
Conrad scratched the corner of his head and took a deep breath. He drew his eyes to the plant behind Anne. Focused on the green leaves and the fiery red petals. Focus . He continued, “I had a really bad one in July. Worse than all the other ones. Laurel found me and told me I should get some help.”
“Who’s Laurel to you?”
“She’s my mom’s best friend. I’ve known her my whole life.”
“It sounds like you’ve had a hard year,” Anne said. “But you’re here, Conrad. Asking for help is a big step and it’s not easy.”
He shrugged, but her words did make him feel a little better. “I guess so.”
“Would you like to talk about what happened in July?”
He hesitantly nodded. He supposed that was why he was here to begin with. Conrad peaked over at the window again, at the new beginning fall promised as the remnants of summer faded away. He became overwhelmed suddenly with the reminder of how much his chest had been aching the past few days. The last two months, really.
He’d been starting to hate summer.
Which was a shame, because it was always the season he looked forward to the most.
“I guess technically it started in June,” he finally said.
##
Conrad never considered himself a dramatic person, but whenever he thought of that past summer, he truly believed he could hear the sound of his heart being ripped apart. Its bloody, quenching, corpse pathetically being thrown to the ground.
The Fourth of July pinpointed the midpoint of summer; when the summer flame was at its brightest. The year prior was the first time he spent the day nostalgic for something. Completely unrelated, it was also the first time he spent the day drunk.
In truth, Conrad yearned for the years prior when the holiday felt special; when the sun was hotter and the pool was cooler and the fireworks were grander and a little brighter when he’d see them reflected in Belly’s eyes from where she stood, which was often next to him.
Last July, his mind was a whirlpool.
Conrad did not know how to handle the burden of knowing his mother was likely experiencing for the last time her favourite holiday. The night before in bed he grappled with how he could find ease in her excitement and anxiety from simply looking at her. Conrad didn’t know how to handle his father showing up out of the blue. How Jeremiah seemed increasingly more annoyed with his existence. The tension building in his family alone was enough to make him drink the day away.
And then there was the other thing.
The only thing that made sense to him that summer.
You don’t know the effect you have on people.
Flash forward to two months ago, he had never felt more resigned to the holiday. Somewhere between muttering promises of meeting up again on the Fourth, his knees failing him against the dirty, yellow walls of a random motel, and taking a depressing bus ride back to Cousins, Conrad had decided that under no circumstances would he be in Cousins Beach come July.
He didn’t want to be there. And the more he thought of it, he did believe he had every right not to be there. Each day leading up to it, he believed his decision was firm and final; vehemently against the prospect of seeing her.
Belly. With his brother, of all people.
Truthfully, he was tired. And sad. And he’d rather miss his mother’s favourite holiday than ruin it entirely because his heart was dried up and rotten.
This feeling—this ache in his chest that seemed to split open deeper and wider whenever he had a moment of silence—was worse than last summer.
Even if last summer he tried making himself as small as possible, even if in his best intentions, it all backfired anyway, how he felt entering this July was worse. Grief made him despondent and angry. It amplified his past anxieties of being too much, of doing too little, and made him second guess everything and hate himself on the really bad days.
Yet somehow, this felt so much worse than that. Bigger than that.
Conrad’s efforts not to think about Belly failed as quick as they started.
Belly, who was done with him. Who looked at him like she couldn’t see his heart breaking right in front of her.
If I had known, I would’ve fought for you. I would’ve fought for us.
Conrad thought it over and over, the moments where he could’ve said something, said more, made it clear that she was it for him—he had said that though, hadn’t he? He replayed each of their moments over the six months they were together and even the moments before that.
It made him nauseous, pointing out all the things he got wrong.
He knew if he went back to the house the memories would haunt him. He was still getting over the last time he was there.
He wanted to put together Belly’s room himself. He knew it was important to her, that everything was exactly how it was when she left it. And so there he stood, in the room of the only girl he’s ever loved, whose heart he broke, who broke his heart right back. At least there was Junior Mint and the glass unicorn, all small pieces of adoration he’s always had nestled in his heart, even if not fully realized at the time. He cleaned and organized, hands gripping his chest when his heart pounded too loud, and tried not to be as pathetic as he already was by crying some more.
The first night of July, he told Steven he wasn’t going to make it back to Cousins.
The first thing Steven asked was, “You’re not coming because of them?”
“I don’t think I can do it,” Conrad said. “I don’t want to fuck up everyone’s day because I can’t get my shit together.”
“Conrad….”
“But we can hang out,” Conrad quickly bargained. “Before you head up to Princeton. Let’s do that.”
The conversation drifted away from the Fourth after that, but he did receive a few texts from Steven a couple hours later.
Steven: i think you should just say fuck it and come
Steven: your basically the reason we have a home to come back to anyway
Conrad: *You’re
Steven: 🖕
It wasn’t until two nights later when speaking to Laurel he could feel the cracks in his armour start to form.
“You don’t have to come. I want you to really hear me when I say you do not have to come.” She spoke clear and straightforward as she often did. The phone muffled a bit as Laurel moved around. “But Connie,” she continued, her voice suddenly heavy with emotion, “it’s your house too.”
Maybe because it was late and that was when he felt the most vulnerable, but he felt like a little kid all of a sudden. Conrad had always found great comfort in Laurel. She understood him better than most people in his life. His mom would often remark how they were torn from the same cloth. Maybe that was why, in that moment, he found himself overcome with emotion.
He had spent a lot of time crying lately.
It was like the motel opened up a gateway of tears and he was having trouble keeping them contained. It had been a long time since he allowed himself to cry in front of someone, let alone over the phone.
This is why I can’t go, he thought to himself. He was a mess. He couldn’t control himself. Conrad thought he would be able to bounce back quickly but he wasn’t, not even close.
He lifted himself up anyway, suddenly feeling very exhausted.
“Do you want me to come?” he frowned, and he thanked God no one could see the way he folded his body into itself as he clutched his phone.
Rationally, he knew his bad habits of isolating and pushing people away got him here. But after all that had happened, Conrad could only see the upsides in keeping his distance. Belly seemed perfectly fine without him. His brother would make her happy, he was sure.
Conrad didn’t trust himself yet to be around them and not ruin it.
“Of course I do,” Laurel replied instantly. “It’s the first Fourth without your mom. It won’t be easy but it’d be nice to have someone else there to keep the kids in check.”
He knew that was meant to comfort him. And maybe it would have, weeks ago. But now it was just an annoyance, another weight on his shoulder, another reminder that he was the eldest and should be better than this.
His eyelids felt heavy, his head beginning to pound against his skull. He should be better than this. He’d practically asked for this, did he not? And he knew the day wouldn’t be any easier for Laurel, any easier for any of them, regardless of his stupid feelings.
Conrad looked up at his ceiling. When he was younger, he had glow in the dark moon and stars stickers up there. He would count them off one by one until he drifted to sleep. They were long gone now, but he’d been missing them lately, missing how he was able to fall into a dreamless sleep from looking at them.
He breathed deeply, then softly into the phone said, “I guess I’ll come then.”
##
Conrad was the last one to show up to the house.
Though him and Jeremiah shared the same home, his brother had left the previous day, and Conrad didn’t bother to ask where he was going.
He first considered showing up super early before everyone arrived, but decided against it. As he walked up the pathway to the house and through the front door, he couldn’t help but wonder if they had just expected him not to show up in the first place.
Steven was the first to see him and nodded as though to signal he made the right choice. They hugged quickly and Conrad let him shake his shoulder. Taylor stood next to him and gave him a side hug, which confused him for a second, since he was positive she didn’t like him.
Conrad tried putting his best smile on for Laurel before holding onto her a few seconds longer than usual.
Through all the pleasantries, he couldn’t help but notice how Jeremiah and Belly were notably missing.
“Don’t worry, you didn’t miss the pomegranate margaritas,” Steven chuckled as they settled into the kitchen.
Conrad released a small laugh, leaning over the counter. “I’m not drinking today, but I’m looking forward to watching you all embarrass yourselves.”
He figured drinking would either lead to him being mean (which no one would want to deal with) or spilling his guts (which he didn’t want to deal with) so he was riding the day out sober.
It was all fine and good until Belly and Jeremiah emerged from the front door. They walked into the kitchen holding cake boxes. He could feel everyone look at him to gauge his reaction. Conrad tried his best to keep his face neutral, not interested in having anyone catch him falter.
His eyes fell on Belly like a magnet, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw her eyes already locked on him.
Conrad’s eyes darted quickly to his brother, who was looking down at Belly curiously, though Conrad was not sure she noticed.
“Conrad,” Belly breathed, like the wind was knocked out of her. “You made it.”
Conrad nodded, bowing his head down awkwardly. Jeremiah recovered quickly from what ever thought he was having.
“Hey bro,” he said casually, moving forward with a fist bump. Conrad reciprocated.
It wasn’t that him and his brother always had much to say to each other, but they definitely didn’t have much to say to each other lately. Conrad was stuck on how to fix that. Come September, they would only be a fifteen minute drive away.
“Deserts are here!” Belly exclaimed for the rest of the room, a genuine smile on her face as she rested the boxes down. Laurel offered to set the treats outside by the pool.
“We need to make the pomegranate margaritas first,” Belly pointed out.
Laurel surveyed the room of young people and rolled her eyes. “One each.”
“You’re getting soft, Laur,” Conrad teased beside her. He laughed over her snickering as she headed to the patio door, a little surprised at how light he felt on his feet. Maybe today would be fine.
But then he saw Belly’s chestnut hair from the corner of his eye, hanging wildly over her shoulders. She had quietly made her way behind the kitchen island beside him, causing his heart to drop.
“I might need your help like last time,” Belly said. Conrad turned his face to her. She stole a glance of him before focusing her eyes straight ahead.
Conrad could not believe this was his life.
But he guessed that meant she didn’t completely hate him, at least not in the way he spent the last two weeks thinking she did.
“You don’t need me,” he replied, albeit coldly. Belly frowned a little at his response which made him wonder if he said the wrong thing.
At the same time, they both looked up to the direction of Laurel outside, who in the midst of removing a cake from a box, caught them watching and pointed up her finger to signal the number one.
Conrad looked back at Belly, wanting to try again. He folded his arms, nudging shoulder her very softly with his arm.
“I don’t want to drink today so you can have mine,” he offered, trying to sound friendlier.
She was much more receptive to his light teasing, a small smile forming on her lips. “I don’t need more than one.”
Conrad playfully rolled his eyes, “They’re colourful and sugary, you’ll need at least ten.”
Belly’s smile widened, and Conrad found himself struggling to remember why he’d been so worried to see her again in the first place.
Jeremiah stepped in out of nowhere, wrapped his arm around Belly’s waist and pushed her closer towards him. “Ready to make some kickass margaritas?”
Oh right. That was why.
Steven called him from outside, coming to his rescue and he quickly excused himself. Conrad made it his mission to avoid them for the rest of the day. Addressing them in group settings but never one-on-one. Tearing his eyes away whenever they inched their bodies too close for comfort. After spending a day outside in the heat, the sun was beginning to set, and he found himself standing alone inside in the hallway, drinking a ginger ale and wondering why he came in the first place. For Steven? Laurel? His mother?
He was completely lost in thought when Belly appeared in front of him, her cheeks flushed and lips stained purple.
Of course you came to this fucking shit-show, he scolded himself, as if you could willingly stay away from her.
“Hi,” Belly came to him, softly. Shy.
“Hey.”
So this was it. This was friendship.
“We haven’t really spoken,” she said unsurely, rubbing the side of her arm. “How are you?”
“I’m okay,” Conrad said, and he tried to smile a little to comfort the both of them. Internally, though, this small talk was making him want to walk directly into traffic. “I heard you’re playing volleyball again.”
She lit up at that. He smiled genuinely that time, seeing her a bit more at ease.
It brought him a twisted sense of comfort, that even though everything felt like it sucked, at least she was happy and her eyes still sparkled and she was so beautiful it didn’t matter to him how hard it was to breathe in front of her.
“Yeah,” Belly smiled. “I got my spot back. It’s been a lot of fun.”
“I’m glad,” he said. Conrad took a sip of his drink.
Belly opened her mouth to speak but then paused. He raised his eyebrow, silently encouraging her to continue. “I think I want to seriously play in college. I wasn’t sure before, but it’s the one thing that feels… I think it just makes sense.”
Conrad lifted his cup. “You’ll be amazing.”
She leaned in and knocked their cups together, “Thank you.”
Neither of them knew what to say after that. They looked at each other and Conrad hoped his eyes weren’t giving him away.
It was a very tricky thing, standing in front of Belly with the shared knowledge that he wanted her and she didn’t want him back.
Despite the wound still being fresh, still hurting at the lightest touch, he didn’t want her burdened by his hurt.
Belly’s face morphed into something serious. She bit her lip and looked down to her shoes. Conrad could tell she was nervous. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded blindly. She wouldn’t look at him. “My mom told me you helped put the house back together.”
This surprised him. “Oh… I mean, yeah,” he blinked a few times. “I was here so… I just wanted to help.”
“It’s almost like those few days didn’t happen. It all looks the same.” The bitter part of him wanted to say well, it’s not all the same, you can’t even look at me. But before he could say anything, she continued, a sly smile forming, “Well, not all the same.”
He smirked at the glint in her eyes, “What’s wrong with my decorating skills?”
“That vase,” Belly nudged her shoulder towards the side table by the door. “That wasn’t there before.”
He looked down at her, half surprised, half amused. “I thought it looked nice.”
“It was on the window sill before. It covered up the small crack in the wall from when you guys decided to play football inside.” She smiled, “I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”
“I guess if anyone knows this house better than I do, it would be you.”
Belly stepped closer, looking up at him hesitantly. “Thank you for my room.”
He was shocked to hear her mention it. He hadn’t even told Laurel he’d specifically done that. It made him feel very small and shy. However, Belly’s face only softened as her eyes drank him in.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” she whispered softly.
He stilled, desperately searching her face for… something. He didn’t know what. “Is it alright?”
She began tapping on her plastic cup, avoiding his gaze. “It’s perfect.”
“Good,” his response airy and unsteady.
Belly smiled softly and took a sip of her drink. “We were actually talking about spending a few extra days here,” she said. “Me and Taylor have a few days off from practice… and Jere and Steven said they’d be down.”
Conrad could feel it again. The ache.
His whole life, Conrad’s summers had been this house and this town. He wouldn’t have had it any other way. That was why he dropped everything to save it. That was why in the midst of protecting this house, he had lost sight of everything else.
Perhaps it was selfish to have assumed Belly would have waited. Even if it was misguided, or childish, he had believed in it— infinity; the invisible thread that tied them together; the fact that he would always choose her, prefer her, love her, more than anyone else. He had believed in her, in them, that they felt the same things in the same, intense way.
But he was wrong.
Belly was able to move on, and seemed happier in doing so.
That was fine.
But the thought of staying there, being around her, having to watch her with him, was not something he was ready for.
“I promised my dad I would help him start organizing things at the house. Packing up and stuff. He wants to be out by September so…” he trailed off. It was not a lie. Conrad spoke to Adam about all those things. He just hadn't felt the urgency to get them done until now.
“Oh,” the air escaped her lips. And then there was silence; this awful, dreadful silence, as if there was something else that needed to be said. “You don’t think you’ll make it back then? Like, later this summer?”
It was a cruel question. Conrad had to keep reminding himself he put this distance between them so she could be happy, free from the burden of loving him. He hurt her. But Belly hurt him too.
She looked at him with uncertainty in her eyes. It frustrated him an uncomfortable amount. He couldn’t be angry at Belly for doing what she wanted, but he also couldn’t stand still and pretend like everything could go back to normal so quickly. He wasn’t strong enough yet.
“It’s probably not happening,” he said cooly.
“Conrad—”
“Where’s Jere?” he asked, ending the conversation.
Belly paused, straightened her face. “Setting up fireworks.”
Conrad thought of last summer.
He would wake up almost everyday thinking it would be the day everything came crashing down. He remembered the anticipation of seeing Belly again. He’d felt it every year, as if summer didn’t truly start until the Conklins drove into the driveway. The feeling was more nagging last summer though, gnawing at his chest in ways it hadn’t before. Conrad knew it had something to do with the necklace he had stashed in his top drawer.
Belly had spent that summer looking at him in a kaleidoscope of ways. It all felt the same but also very new. She was always beautiful, but he suddenly found himself wanting to pour his heart out just from one glance. The way she looked at him had always felt warm, delicate in a way, but last summer it felt like a challenge—and he soaked it up. She had so easily put him at ease while also making him incredibly nervous. He was desperate for her to keep looking at him like that.
Conrad thought of their almost kiss under the cabana. He wondered if anything would be different if he had just leaned in then, fireworks be damned.
But Belly was happy. She must be.
That was why he did what he did.
Maybe they could have kissed last year, at that time, and it all would’ve been fucked anyway. They would’ve ended up here. As friends.
“We should go outside then.” He looked down at his empty cup and swallowed deeply. “I’m going to refill my drink, do you want anything?”
Belly shook her head wordlessly.
“I’ll meet you outside,” he mumbled under his breath and walked away from her.
Conrad hardly remembered walking to the kitchen. All he could register was the air evaporating from his lungs and the throb in his head. It dawned on him how alone he felt; how badly he did want to go outside and be with everyone and watch the fireworks. He wanted to honour his mother today. But his head hurt so badly and his legs felt so weary. He wandered upstairs and into the master bedroom, where his mother used to sleep. It didn’t smell like her anymore. It didn’t feel like hers anymore either; no clutter or clothes or jewelry or anything that was proof she had ever been there.
Conrad didn’t remember much after that. Just that he was laying on the bed, his arms and legs spread out. He could hear the fireworks start, lighting up the otherwise dark room. Blue. Red. Purple. The sound of explosions followed by laughter and cheering, then the pounding of his heart, the ache spreading throughout his entire body. He couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t sure how long he was in there, wrapped up in himself, until Laurel found him. She held onto him, but he was so tightly wounded he couldn’t feel her warmth until much later.
Conrad slept the rest of the night. He woke up at six in the morning in a haze and an itch to drive far away. He stumbled out of bed and went downstairs. He tidied up the kitchen, moved the vase that was on the table back by the window—whatever, it looked better—and he got in his car and left, texting Laurel that was leaving, telling her thank you and I will think about therapy.
##
His first session, all things considered, was fine.
Conrad still didn’t love the sharing part, but he didn’t hate it either. He was going to meet Anne again next week to, in her words, “really get things started.”
As if the whole hour hadn’t sufficiently drained him.
He told her he really wanted to figure out to deal with his feelings in healthier way. Even if it was only two months ago, Conrad knew the intense emotions he felt in July were amplified by how quickly things around him had been changing. It scared him to think that all those feelings still resided inside him, just never appearing all at once, but in small waves that barely touched the shore.
He really wanted to control it.
And so, Conrad Fisher was getting his shit together.
Starting his sophomore year at Brown University was the challenge he needed to wake up him up from his summer slump. The months of June and July blurred together into one heart wrenching nightmare. He lost countless hours of sleep at night, slept through the mornings and barely stayed afloat in the afternoons. Conrad distracted himself silly with packing up his childhood home, trying not to think about how odd this summer was in comparison to the previous ones. He was getting used to not seeing his mom gush over the new flowers in the garden and the glint of gold in her eyes whenever she smiled. Gone were the early mornings on the beach and the tranquility of the beach house.
And then there was the most poignant problem, the issue that still destabilized him completely, which was he really fucking missed Belly.
By the time August rolled around, Conrad knew he needed to stop feeling sorry for himself. He wasn’t naive enough to believe he was truly over it, but he needed to learn to at least live with it. It was in that state of awareness he booked his first therapy appointment. Afterwards, he shifted into preparing for his classes; curating his schedule and getting a head start on his reading, which brought him some ease.
As he unpacked in his dorm, he kept thinking how different things would’ve been if he had sent in that Stanford application all those months ago. It seemed like a pipe dream now.
Conrad told himself it was good that he stayed. It was closer to home. It was closer to Jeremiah, who just started his first semester at Finch College.
If you had asked Conrad months ago if it was a good idea he stayed close to his brother, he would’ve said yes without any hesitation.
Given recent events, he wasn’t sure.
The promises you made on your mother’s deathbed were absolute. Conrad had no intention of ever breaking them. He promised he would look after his brother. So he pretended not to be bothered by how angry Jeremiah had been towards him about a whole bunch of things. He even pretended there wasn’t a part of him absolutely livid Jeremiah decided to get in a serious relationship with Belly of all people.
Jeremiah was never interested in talking about Belly in the three months they’ve been together, never brought up their relationship to Conrad or the fact that he knew Conrad was still very much in love with her. He guessed his brother felt satisfied enough with what little Conrad expressed that night at the motel because he hasn’t seen that troubled look on Jeremiah’s face since.
Conrad could only assume Jeremiah wasn’t feeling like the second choice anymore after driving Belly home that day in Conrad’s car.
So they hung out every other week or so to grab food or see a game. Conrad even visited his frat house, which he tried not to be too judgement about. ("You seriously want to join a frat?” “Don’t be a fucking ass, Conrad.”). They were both trying to be active participants in each other’s lives. It wasn’t the most natural thing, but at least they tried.
Which was why Conrad couldn’t help but think sometimes it would be better if they did talk about it. Without hearing or seeing Belly and Jeremiah together, Conrad could convince himself it was all a really bad dream.
Maybe they were trying to spare his feelings.
Conrad wasn’t one for social media. It was overstimulating and mostly nonsense, but he started using his Instagram months ago to be the first to like Belly’s photos when she posted and now it was like a bad habit.
Needless to say, they never posted each other. No signs of visits either. And when he spoke to Jeremiah, it sounded like he truly spent all his time at his frat house and frat-adjacent places with his frat friends, and not doing the five hour drive to her house. He also considered Belly may just be visiting him at Finch, but it still made no sense. Laurel never let her visit Brown, and Jeremiah would still have to pick her up since she didn’t have a car. Conrad couldn’t fathom the bus being an option either.
By the end of September, with three therapy sessions up his sleeve, Conrad decided that thinking of the logistics of a relationship that wasn’t his was neither healthy nor normal and let it go.
##
The first time Conrad and Belly agreed to be friends, he didn’t think that was real. He had practically melted into her shoulder and never wanted to let go. All he’d been thinking at the time was, if I tell her I love her right now, will she take it back?
It had nothing to do with him not wanting to be Belly’s friend of course. It had nothing to do with him not wanting her in his life. Especially since he had never been more sure of how much he needed her. Being friends was an olive branch. It was a nice, uncomplicated way of saying I care about you, I can’t be with you, but I love you and I want the best for you even if I have to watch from the sidelines. At the time, he hadn’t thought of the future, of the real possibility of friendship and what that looked like.
They had spent most of their lives as friends of course, but it was undeniably different now.
Could he look at Belly and not give himself away immediately? He tried that before. He tried all last summer. Conrad was really bad at it too, because she saw right through him. She could feel it, see it in his eyes and how they followed her; how his voice grew softer, his actions more uncertain.
Belly knew what Conrad looked like when he was in love with her.
But would she even know anymore if she saw him?
She had probably written him and all his feelings off months ago.
Either way, he was screwed.
He was seeing her tonight.
He was fucking screwed.
Conrad was sure she saw the mess of emotions scribbled all over him when they spoke in July. He had months to at least try and pretend to get over it, to no avail.
It was Halloween. A holiday which never meant much to him, which turned into everything a year ago. When he impulsively drove all the way to Belly’s house, lollipops in hand because halfway there he realized if he was going to do something crazy like show up on her doorstep he should at least show up with candy.
He’d spent all day already reminiscing the shock and awe in Belly’s face. The adoration. The way she leapt into his arms to kiss him. How it disarmed him so completely, he almost dropped the candy.
That was only a year ago.
Now he was invited to go to a Halloween party with her, Jeremiah, Steven, Taylor, and whoever the hell else, and he didn’t even want to go.
Conrad was catching up with Steven last week when he brought it up.
“Oh! Are you going to the Halloween thing or not?”
Conrad frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Jere didn’t tell you?”
“Obviously not.”
Steven rolled his eyes, “I’ll just add you to the group chat.”
“There’s a group chat?” Conrad looked at the calendar on the wall of his room. “I don’t think I have time for that anyway. How do you even have time for that, you’re driving all the way here for halloween ?”
“All of us are going, bro,” Steven said, like it was obvious.
“All? I don’t think—”
“You’re going.”
He huffed. Why couldn’t he be heartbroken and isolated in peace?
But, it would be nice to see…
“I’ll think about it.”
##
It didn’t help that Belly kept looking at him. He knew this because he kept looking at her, and often caught her staring first. If he had more alcohol in his system, he would ask her, I know I’m in love with you, but what’s your excuse?
The reality was much more bleak, as they’d only exchanged two words to each other tonight. Jeremiah was glued to her side, holding her hand or kissing her face whenever he walked away to talk to his friends.
At the very least, Conrad trusted himself to drink and not have a mental breakdown.
Belly and Taylor drove up together with Steven to Finch, where Conrad met them, before they all crammed in Jeremiah’s car to go to some party in an old warehouse thirty minutes away. All Conrad got was a soft hello out of Belly before she ran calling shotgun, continuing some clearly old conversation with Jeremiah over how she wanted to drive and he wouldn’t let her.
“You guys should see her behind the wheel, she’s literally insane,” Jeremiah laughed. Belly pouted in response but didn’t say anything.
There had been a crowd of people trying to get into the party. There was a brief moment in the line when Belly turned back, looked him up and down, and said, “I like your costume.”
He was dressed like that boyfriend killer from Scream. All he had on was a white t-shirt, jeans and a touch of fake blood.
“Thank you for noticing, I worked really hard on it,” he said sarcastically.
She chuckled in response, but before she could say anything the line moved up and Jeremiah grabbed her hand as they moved forward. His eyes focused on her walking away.
It really didn’t help that Belly looked really good in her little red riding hood costume.
He accepted the only way he was getting through tonight was if he was drunk.
So drunk that he doesn’t think about last year. So drunk he doesn’t notice Belly and Jeremiah dancing. So drunk he doesn’t even recall snapping a blurry picture and posting it to his Instagram story.
He stood by Steven and Taylor most of the night, both who seemed to take pity on him and let him follow them everywhere even when they probably wanted to be alone.
The next morning, Conrad woke up to a few notifications, but the most surprising one is from Belly herself. She liked his story and underneath wrote: 10/10 photography
Conrad hated last night.
It wasn’t even the fact that Belly was happy with someone else.
What really bugged him was they hadn’t really talked at all. At least in July there was something, even if it was painful and awkward. So her small message made his chest bloom.
He felt so desperate for her friendship. He knew Belly would probably always be in his life in some capacity, but Conrad desperately needed her to be apart of it. Pretending like she wasn’t still within reach unless she was right in front of him wasn’t working for him anymore. He needed more.
Connecting through Instagram was hardly the meaningful thing he longed for, but it was something. A beginning. Perhaps that was what they needed.
So he started liking all her stories. He took time out of his day to scroll through videos and sent her ones that reminded him of her or ones he thought would make her laugh. Sometimes she would heart them, or it would prompt a story out of her and she’d tell him every detail. On the best days, she would send some videos of her own.
It was hardly anything. Conrad never even blinked when he received messages like these from anyone else. But they were from her, and he was taking what he could get.
The next time Conrad saw Belly, it was unexpected. This time it was on his birthday weekend with Laurel, who drove up for a book conference that was conveniently at the same time he was celebrating his nineteenth.
Laurel mentioned a few weeks ago that Belly was highly considering going to Finch, which she wasn’t happy about at all. He could hear her skirt around the problem of Belly following her boyfriend to the same school, and Conrad nodded along without saying anything. Belly was stubborn and the only person who could get her to change her mind was herself, he was sure of that.
He tried to ignore how adorable she looked in her puffer jacket and jeans, her hands balled in a fist in her front pockets. Her sheepish smile made his whole body light up inside.
“We wanted to see you before we head back down,” Laurel smiled, eyeing the two of them like she knew something they didn’t. Conrad looked down at Belly. Had she really wanted to see him?
Conrad forced himself to move his eyes away and looked at Laurel. “How was the conference?”
“It was practically an intervention for middle aged writers to trauma dump,” she said.
“Ignore her,” Belly interrupted. “She did great. She’s just mad her new lady friend didn’t show up.”
Conrad gaped, “Laurel, you never mentioned anything about a lady friend.”
Him and Belly share a look that broke him out in a smile.
An hour later they were at the restaurant. Conrad couldn’t believe how right it all felt. They’ve never really spent time together, the three of them outside of summer. Conrad couldn’t remember the last time he spent his birthday with Laurel being there to celebrate.
“Ooh, they have calamari,” Belly said eagerly, looking down at the menu. She sat right in front of him, with Laurel to her right.
“You’re not gonna eat all that,” Laurel replied.
“We can share,” Conrad offered.
Belly looked up at him and smiled. “Sure.”
Their waiter was a young woman who couldn’t be any older than he was, with blonde hair and grey eyes. She took a particular interest to him, eyeing him up and down. She smiled widely. “We celebrating anything today?”
“It’s his birthday,” Laurel said, and Conrad weakly raised his hand.
“I’ll see if we can do anything special for you,” she winked.
His cheeks flushed, feeling a little awkward from the attention. He replied a soft thank you before taking a sip of his water. His eyes witnessed the way Belly watched the waitress walk away, her jaw slightly tightened. He placed his glass down, and like she fell out of a trance, her shoulders relaxed again upon meeting his eyes.
Conrad raised his eyebrow, his silent way of asking if everything was alright.
She surprised him then, in the most subtle way. Had he not been making direct eye contact with her as she did it, had he not been so inexplicably aware of her at all times, he may have missed it. She knocked her foot against his, keeping her leg very close to his thereafter.
He leaned into it.
It wasn’t long until the food came. Conrad had a few pieces of calamari, but let Belly have the majority. When the waitress tried taking away him and Belly’s shared plate, there were still a few pieces left.
Belly was about to nod it off before Conrad stopped her and said, “You can box it up. For later.”
Laurel removed the folded napkin from her lap. “You haven’t heard from your brother, have you?”
Conrad shook his head. Other than the happy birthday bro text he received early this morning, he hadn’t heard from Jeremiah at all. He didn’t even respond about lunch with Belly and Laurel. “He must be busy,” he mused, though come to think of it, Conrad couldn’t think of with what.
Suddenly, the warmth by his legs was gone.
“I’ll be right back,” Belly said as she quickly stood up and headed towards the bathroom.
Once Belly was out of earshot, Laurel leaned in and whispered, “They’re in the middle of a fight.”
Oh.
She sat back and gave him a pointed look. “Since when do you like calamari?”
Conrad bit the inside of his cheek.
“Just be careful, kid.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Conrad said before grabbing his water.
“You’re so full of shit.”
Now that made him laugh.
##
They had drove in separate cars, so Conrad was surprised that after bidding Laurel goodbye, Belly followed him to his Range Rover. She had her hands behind her back. He’d been wanting to ask ever since she came back to the table if she was doing okay, but stopped himself. Whatever was going on between her and his brother really wasn’t any of his business.
Conrad stopped once he reached his car door and looked at her expectantly.
“I have a gift for you,” Belly told him. She looked nervous yet eager at the same time, pulling a bag out from behind her.
Conrad, however, was entirely surprised. “Why?” he asked. Then added, “I mean, I didn’t get you anything for your birthday.”
“I mean… I didn’t expect you to.” Belly hesitated. “I wanted to get you something. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Looking back on it, Conrad would describe this as the moment when things began to shift on its axis. Friends.
He smiled fondly, taking the small gift bag out of her hands. “Should I open it right now in front of you?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“But we’re friends, shouldn’t you want to see my reaction?”
He smirked at her which caused Belly to hide her face in her hands. He chuckled lightly before he reached into the bag and pulled out his gift.
It was a book.
Conrad looked at her in wonder.
“I went to this used bookstore and I saw it, and thought you might like it. It’s really astronomic and poetic which I know you like, and I think it gets a little theoretical which is your thing—” stunned at the gift, Conrad barely registered anything she was saying. He was still stuck on her getting him anything at all. The book was the size of his palm; the pages brown, aged and crisped. The title read Unearthly Marks with a renaissance style drawing of two young lovers in a tight embrace.
It looked like a book that had been very well loved.
He could not believe she saw this and thought of him. Conrad wondered how she convinced herself he was even worth it.
He turned to the first page. A dedication that read: You are the stellar structure of my universe. Thank you and I love you.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he whispered. His eyes wandered away from the book and found her brown eyes, wide and filled with a softness he hadn’t seen in a long time.
“You told me stories about the stars before,” she said. “I thought maybe you would like learning some new ones.”
Overwhelmed with her sincerity, Conrad took hold of Belly’s hand and squeezed it. Moments from the past flashed in his head; all the times their hands interlocked, the times he ran his fingers across her skin.
Valentine’s Day, laying next to each other, telling stories, the stars as their witness.
He remembered it all.
The way Belly was looking at him, as if scared to let any air out of her parted lips, he wondered if she was remembering too.
He smiled, widely, lovingly. How could he not when she looked at him like that?
“Thank you, Belly.”
On the drive back to campus, Conrad thought to himself, at least she remembered. At least that was real.
His hand still reflexed at the memory of touching her.
If he held on a moment too long, she did not seem to mind.