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You must have your faults but I do not see them
If it were with you, I should live forever.
Paul Durcan
It’s the great shame of her life that she ruined the Fisher boys. There is no getting over it, just lying awake at night, blinking at the dark ceiling, turning over times she’d see them sat side by side at the beach. How even then she’d open the window to yell hey what are you guys doing? A hundred years ago, she’d watched them for twenty minutes barbecuing sausages on the Fourth of July, talking quietly. Conrad flipping sausages with a watch tan, Jere holding a glass pyrex. She’d wondered what they were talking about. Even now, she wondered.
She pretended the reason she didn’t ask was because she was a grown up and she’d learnt all her lessons. One of them being: know when it’s not your business. But this was self-preservation. Really, it was nice to leave the memory alone because when she didn't know, it could be anything: school ties, track team gossip, what Susanna played in the car on the way to their swimming lessons. Before she’d ever been born they’d been brothers. She could never outlive that, but it turns out she could ruin it.
ONE: ALL MY LIFE, SINCE I WAS TEN
Taylor sent her a picture of the ring and just said ‘yup’, so that was the announcement. The ceremony was in an absolutely freezing church that nonetheless had a gorgeous aisle (Taylor) and great audiovisual setup (Steven). Lucinda completely disappeared during glam and Taylor just said cryptically she was ‘talking to the priest’ which turned out to be not code but literal, but because the priest was hot no one could be annoyed. There was no rehearsal dinner or fancy breakfast, just spending the morning sipping champagne in a bridesmaid dress Taylor finished altering while it was on her body, watching her talking through the pins in her mouth about how good the reception sliders were going to be.
Walking out of the bathroom to go line up and there was Jere, first time in three years, right there in the flesh. It felt like looking at a photograph. He spent Christmas with Adam and they spent it with Laurel, and then swapped for Thanksgiving. It was brutally awful but it was the way Jere wanted it, and it was his rules. She played fair about this considering she never played fair about anything else.
Seeing him in real life, living breathing and not a voice overheard talking to Steven on the phone, it felt like being hit. Like being smashed in the face with a bat of some sort.
“Hey Belly.”
“Hey. Hi.” Immediately, to fill the space: “I love your suit.” She really did. It was navy and made him look tan.
His eyebrows twitched. “Thanks. Taylor picked it.”
“Oh yeah.” She gestured at the dress. “Same.”
“It’s– you look great.“ he gestured with his fingers but his arms were still rooted to his sides. “You heard she vetoed the stripping priest?”
“Oh, yeah. I hope you hadn’t paid for anything.”
“Are you kidding? He was outside.”
“What?”
“Yeah, he was fully outside the door. When we saw Taylor’s face and Dad canceled it on the spot. I didn’t even need to ask.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, Dad, like, shoved cash down his shirt as a cancellation fee.”
“Shoved cash down his where?”
Jere grinned, she grinned, the same time. Clockwork.
“Are you doing a speech?”
“Of course. Are you?”
“Yeah. How funny is yours?”
“Not that funny.”
“Please,” he gave her a look, “it’ll be funny.” Even just hearing him say it, she felt like it could be true. Thinking of practising the night before, kneeling at the end of the hotel bed, Conrad turning down the TV to look at her. It would be enough if she could just make the Fisher boys laugh. Her whole life, that was all she ever wanted to do.
“Are you going to mention when he pissed on the Tower of Terror?”
Jere laughed. “Yes. Are you going to mention that time at TJ Max where-“
“No! Of course not. Cone of silence. She still doesn’t know I told you.” She said this before thinking about it. Finally, a beat of silence between them. They used to have no secrets, except the huge one that had rotted between them like a dead body.
“I won’t say anything.” He said, finally. Looking at her. She’d meet the girlfriend in the hall. Just as pretty as the photos, faint southern accent, fine-line tattoos up only her left arm. Talking to Conrad about the best way to get a needle stick.
“Thanks.’ He half-smiled, hands in his pockets. Once in a while she’ll turn in circles at grocery stores, parties, the street, convinced she’d just heard someone yell hey bells over a crowd. Waiting to get picked up and spun. It’s ridiculous. He’ll never touch her again, probably.
It only took ten months for it to fall apart. Which it did, spectacularly. Crying in a big city apartment they could not afford, Jere working a job he barely understood and liked even less. He always forgot to take his shoes off and didn’t like her cooking. He didn’t tell her when he bought big or small things so she would often be stood at the supermarket holding the overdrawn credit card, stuttering to the cashier. He forgot to pay bills and got shitty if she left dishes to soak and came home on Saturday mornings smelling like weed.
She was no better. Sullen and uncommunicative and angrier than she could ever say, watching YouTube videos of the Paris skyline at night with her AirPods in. She worked at a shoe store that smelt like feet all day with people who did not like her, and of course Jere had already made friends with their neighbour and the other neighbour and the bodega guy and his Pilates instructor. It was like being married to a diplomat. She felt like a killjoy and she was, crying in the shower, unable to call anyone because it would mean facing it. How badly she’d fucked it, how everyone was completely and unforgivably right.
People always asked later if it felt like a mistake on the day. No, of course it didn’t. Stood in the dress, it felt like trusting herself. Nervous and sweaty but sure of her intuition, of the four years of proof she had that they worked. She put the beach out of her mind completely. Jere looked at her the whole way down the aisle, barely blinking, like if he looked away she might disappear. This seemed romantic at the time.
She looked at Conrad only once, his jaw one tense line.
She found the two of them smoking by the bins during the reception. Typical.
“Mom is going to shoot you.”
Steven looked briefly afraid. “Don’t tell. It’s only on special occasions. A wedding cigarette.”
Jere made a face. “‘Wedding cigarette’- we were smoking last weekend–“
“That was my bachelor party! It was a bachelor party smoke!”
“Steven,” she came down the back stairs and stood between them, “You know now you’re married you can’t just call every time you go out and get drunk your ‘bachelor party.’”
Jere grinned. Steven looked appalled. “Hey, those were all planned events. I just have a lot of friends.”
“Yeah,” Conrad’s voice, him leaning in the doorway, hands shoved in the pockets of his dress pants. “I’m sure the pickleball people got really rowdy.”
“Nah none of those guys drink. They’re all on juice cleanses.”
“I can’t even tell if you’re kidding.”
“He’s not.” Conrad turned and there was Taylor, slider in one hand, bottle of champagne in the other. Her dress fell over her body like a waterfall. “They’re all really lame. He got back from that party at like eight.”
“Okay, it was nine.”
“It was eight. Love Island hadn’t even come out.” Conrad held the side of her dress off the concrete to clear the stairs. Taylor leaned beside Steven against the back wall, giving Belly the champagne. Con and Jere were an arms length apart. They could fit in the same picture.
“Okay,” Steven pointed out, passing Taylor the cigarette. “You like pickleball–“
“God, Taylor. Say it ain’t so.”
“Okay Con, you tell me you’ve never played pickleball in your sorry California life–“
“Not willingly.”
“Taylor wanted to invite the pickleballers to our wedding.”
“Just Ben! And only because I thought he’d get us a good blender-”
“What do you need a blender for?” Jere asked.
‘Well Jeremy, what if I want to get into juicing–“
‘Oh my God–“
“You hypocrite–“
“Typical–”
“Hey,” Belly took a swig of champagne and handed it to Steven, who passed it to Jere. “I think inviting a pickleballer to get a good blender is a good trade.”
“You wouldn’t say that if he said he could beat you.” Jere said. Conrad smiled at his shoes.
It was like playing volleyball again, trying to figure out where to spike the ball. “Okay, pickleball is stupid, so I wouldn’t care if he thought he could bet me.”
“Liar.” Jere grinned. It felt like winning.
“You would kick these guys asses, Belly, seriously. They’re not even good.”
“Thank you Taylor.”
“Hey, I’m pretty good.”
“You’re fine.” Taylor allowed. Steven still looked pleased. “And it doesn’t matter because we didn’t invite Ben and now we’re going to go on our honeymoon, blender-less.“
“Do they let you bring blenders on planes to Venice?” Conrad wondered aloud.
“Guess we’ll never know.” Jere said, automatically, handing him the champagne. A brief second before he knew to take it.
Steven coughed. “We can buy a blender at the airport.” He looked at Taylor and she held the cigarette out, watching him crouch to take a drag.
“I’m going to buy one of those fancy ones where the blades are legally classed as swords in some countries.”
Steven blew smoke and grinned. “Whatever you want.”
When had they last all been together like this, really? Probably back when they couldn’t legally drink. Not at her wedding - Conrad gone right after the ceremony, Taylor and Steven making out against the catering van, her and Jere sneaking off half-way through the reception to get drunk at the beach. Talking about how they made it, like a wedding was the end of something instead of the beginning.
“Room for one more?” Jere’s girlfriend, holding a wine glass nervously in the door.
“Absolutely.” Conrad gamefully stepped to one side, closer to Taylor’s cigarette smoke. He made a face at her and she made one back, and Belly’s heart grew three sizes just watching. Jere held his arm out and the girlfriend slotted underneath it, neat as puzzle pieces.
“Babe, shit, sorry, we were just–“
“Discussing blenders?”
“The lack of them, actually.” Taylor said, dragging on the cigarette and looking like the coolest bitch in town. “What did you guys get us?”
“Weed.” Jere said, and everyone laughed. Sarah half shoved him in the rib.
“It was a very nice salad plate on the register.”
“I’m told we got you a really nice salad plate.” Jere repeated.
“Infused with weed.” Conrad added. Jere looked at him, a split second, something that used to happen a million times a day. The last time they’d spoken was probably Thanksgiving, three years ago. They were still married. Conrad setting out plates, Jere talking about timing the potatoes. He’d spent all night cooking and teasing Taylor about how she was a vegetarian but still ate chicken and not looking at Belly because they’d fought in the car about how he’d bought tickets to Amsterdam for New Years without telling her. She dug her fingernails into her palms and kept counting to ten in the middle of bites so that she wouldn’t cry, unable to look across the table in case she caught Conrad’s eye and got set on fire. She’d filed by Christmas.
“Yeah,” Jere finally said. “It was very expensive.”
Steven laughed, too loudly, and put his arm around Taylor. “Oh, that’s definitely coming to Venice then.”
“Great,” Belly said, “you two will be arrested before you even get on the plane."
“Not even just for the weed.“ Conrad added.
“For the sword blender.” Taylor finished, shaking her head. Everyone laughed.
Jere was at work when she filed. After the lawyers office she cried so hysterically in the Uber on the way to the airport that the driver pulled over and made her do breathing exercises. She booked a flight to Paris and left that same night.
She was completely broke and working at a bar where she systematically slept with all her co-workers, so she quit and started working at a wine bar where she didn’t like any of the rosés just to stop herself from doing anything that stupid again. She kept sending Jeremiah money for her half of the rent in New York and he kept sending it back. What’s worse - she was counting on him to do it.
She spoke to her mother once a week, Taylor twice, and texted Steven at least once every four days. She was lonely but at least it was the right kind, for the right reasons. Her regulars poked fun at her accent and she was allergic to the hand soap at her cafe job but nothing in her cared. She started smoking and never cried in the shower anymore. That was the victory. She had a list of jobs that she made herself do everyday (wake up before nine, eat something that wasn’t greek yoghurt, no smoking in bed). She memorised the time in San Francisco and stared at live streams of the pacific skyline but never, ever answered his calls.
Her housemates were all unfriendly but Lucy from downstairs was really nice. She only found this out after she got trapped in the lobby trying to take out the trash, but still, worth it. One of the guys she ended up sort of sleeping with at her old bar also turned into a decent friend, and he invited her to parties where her only job was to not get too drunk and have sex with anyone she shouldn’t and/or cry. This was surprisingly accomplishable when she wasn’t drinking wine straight from the bottle. And just like that it had been nine months, and she had coffee plans on Saturday with Deena who was completely insane, and also Sienna who is always going through a breakup, and Jem who loved introducing her as his divorced friend. It’s very French - he said, even though he was English. It’s more French than your actual French Sienna always pointed out, making everyone laugh.
Almost a whole year gone. On Susannah’s birthday she broke all her rules and smoked an entire pack of cigarettes in bed. Watched When Harry Met Sally, eating cake and talking aloud to herself like anyone was listening. But then the next day woke up to Lucy banging on the door asking for her help to move her bookshelf, moved the shelf four times, stole two of her books, walked into work late begging Michael for forgiveness, helped the milk guy unload the van, listened to all her regulars whoop while she did this, flipped them off, consoled Deena in the bathroom about how she wasn’t fired for falling asleep in the bathroom at her desk job (she definitely was), sent Michael home early and closed up on her own.
On the way home she ate a pastry and sat by the river, sipping a coke. Blasphamous combination. The sun was huge on the water and it looked like a painting. She dialled the number by heart, before thinking about it.
“Belly?” His voice was rough, disbelieving.
“Oh god, you’re in San Francisco-”
“Are you alright?”
“Fuck, I’ll go. Sorry, go back to sleep.”
“Belly,” Conrad said urgently, “are you okay?”
“Yes.” She said, honestly. “Yes, yes. Sorry, I just forgot the time difference. I’ll-”
“I don’t care about that. Are you still in Paris?”
“Yeah.. I was just walking and looking at the sun, and-“ she almost said and thinking of you. Nine months clean living, eighteen months really - if you counted the marriage, and none of it mattered the second she heard his voice. She was right back in like she’d never been out. “I don’t know. Sorry, I know it’s the middle of the night.”
"It’s okay." He said, instantly. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home actually, from work.”
“Where do you work?”
“This tourist trap cafe. It’s full of Americans who can’t tell how bad my French is.”
“Your French can’t be that bad, it’s been ages.”
“It’s pretty bad.”
“Gimme something. Say bonjour.”
“Bonjour.”
“Perfect.” He said, immediately, and she laughed. “You know, I had a French patient the other day.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. I’m interning at this ER and she had a broken wrist. She said bonjour just like that.”
She grinned. “No she didn’t.”
“Alright, she didn’t. But if she had said it she would’ve sounded like you.”
“As long as she didn’t have to hear how you said it.”
“Hey now. What’s wrong with how I say it?”
“You sound like you’re saying- what’s that band? The Moms used to say was the best concert they’d ever been too-“
“Oh my god, “ he was laughing, no better sound, “Bon Jovi?”
“Yes. That’s what it sounds like you’re saying.”
“That is- wow. I was nice about your French.”
She laughed again. Her body felt like a lit firework. “Sorry.”
“You’re forgiven.”
“I’ll let you go back to bed.”
“I’ll never be able to sleep now.”
Her heart stopped moving in her chest. “Well, try.” Her voice was strangled, “It’s- If you call me in the morning I’ll pick up.”
“Promise?”
Warm all over. His voice right through her, like sun on the water.
“Promise.”
TWO: I’VE BEEN WAITING TO BE HERE IN THIS HELL WITH YOU
Denise is marrying some guy Steven hates. He’s Australian and doesn’t believe in automatic cars. Conrad also thinks this is a dickish thing to say but it doesn’t matter, the guy’s face when Denise was walking toward him was luminous, incomparable. He looked like all his luck had come at once.
He was also incredibly good looking. You could climb him like a tree, Taylor mused. Steven rolled his eyes and went to get them more champagne. Taylor was now deep in conversation about wallaby protection (she’d been googling in the car) with a besotted and bizarrely attractive groomsman who definitely didn’t know she was married. Conrad was in the shade consoling some girl whose boyfriend had been radicalised into becoming an anti-vaxxer through weird fitness videos. Everyone was being sociable and useful and Belly was sat with Sarah at an empty table, eating cake.
“I just never thought about living somewhere that big, you know? It just feels like too much room. I mean, three bathrooms for two people-“
“Yeah, I get it. Especially when Jere doesn’t-“ she shut her mouth abruptly, stupidly.
“Doesn’t what?”
“Nothing.” Her face was hot.
“Really, tell me.”
Most of the time it felt like another life. But then she would see or hear something, like standing on a shard of glass, and she would remember the world as it had been: fuming at the sight of toothpaste in the sink at the morning, furiously wiping condensation off the mirror.
“It’s just- I mean. Jere doesn’t clean bathrooms.”
“Oh, yeah.” Sarah waved a hand, unbothered. “That is so weird. What is his thing with the toilet?”
She started laughing. “Right? It is weird.”
“Even if I’m cleaning it he won’t be in the room!” Sarah grinned. “He won’t even clean the shower! He’s totally fine sticking his hands into some geese cooter for some recipe or taking the bins out or whatever, but god forbid he has to wipe, like, clean the shower drain. Like, he keeps saying he doesn’t know how–“
“He’s so full of shit,” She could not stop laughing, “I tried to show him!” On the floor in Cousins one college break, sponge in hand, portioning out bleach. Jere, switching between looking bored out the window and kissing her neck. It felt like someone else’s body. The thought of touching anyone but Conrad made her want to wash her hands.
“Does Conrad have the same thing?”
“What? Oh, not really.” He loved the smell of bleach. He once seriously asked if she’d ever thought of using it for perfume. She’d laughed so hard, rolling around in bed as he kept saying ‘what?’ over and over again, laughing with her.
“Is it weird?” Sarah had obviously been dying to ask. “I mean, does it feel weird, now?”
“Yeah, sort of. But, I mean- it was my life, you know? I know it sounds insane, I mean it was insane, obviously, but-“ she signed. She had been so stupid. Twenty-one and convinced that being married, making the choice that final, finished, would somehow end it. Like wanting it all to be over would make it so. She could see Conrad off to the side under the trees, looking very concerned at this girl who was now half-crying, hand on her shoulder with his eyebrows pulled together “It’s- yeah. I don’t know. I wish- I wish I had handled it differently.”
“I get it.” Sarah was nodding. Belly gave her a look. “I do! I mean, sort of. It’s still very Days of Our Lives, but, like, you guys were so young.” She shot her a worried look. “Jere really doesn’t talk that much about it. Seriously. But- I don’t know, when he did– it always sounded like you were trying really hard.”
That frantic feeling that had lived in her chest like a hummingbird, please don’t let me make it worse, please don’t let me- and then making it worse, obviously and immediately, for everyone. She had always been competitive. As Taylor said once, going for the joke, no one could ever say she didn’t try to have it all.
“Yeah. Yeah I was. Just, you know. Not hard enough.”
“Hey,” Sarah shrugged, southern twang coming through. “Everyone ended up where they were supposed to be.”
The girl had started full crying into Conrad’s shoulder. He locked eyes with her over the crowd, making a face, what the fuck is this? She smiled into her champagne glass. It was so stupid because it had always been simple. Like she could ever belong to anybody else.
“Do you know where Jere is actually?” Sarah was looking around, “I swear it’s been like twenty minutes since he went to the bathroom.”
Funnily enough, she did. Old habits die never. It took a minute to get across the park, holding each other’s arms so their heels wouldn’t sink into the grass.
Belly knocked sharply on the only locked public toilet.
“Who is it?” Steven was doing the voice that he thought made him sound older but really just made it sound like he had to cough.
“Belly.”
“Belly who?”
She rolled her eyes “How many Belly’s do you know?”
“One. And she’s very annoying.”
“Open the door Steven.”
“What’s the password?”
“Open the fucking door.“
“Incorrect.”
“I think this bathroom has smoke detectors.”
The door opened. Steven stood on the toilet, Jere on the floor holding the joint. They were both scanning the ceiling with huge eyes.
“Where are they?”
“Nowhere. I was lying.”
“Not cool, Belly.”
“Babe,” Jere said, sounding familiar but looking at Sarah. “If the smoke detector goes off you need to tell Denise that Steven needs this for medical purposes.”
“What?”
“You’re a nurse! She’ll believe you.”
Belly was rolling her eyes, “What medical purpose-“
“Repercussions from my car accident.”
“From four years ago?!-“
“No, no! From the whiplash I got letting Taylor drive us here on the freeway-“
“C’mon man.” Jere looked at him. “Why would you let Taylor drive on the freeway-“
“She treats the freeway like she’s auditioning for Fast and Furious.” Belly explained to Sarah, who nodded.
“Like she’s staring in Fast and Furious.” Jere corrected. The way he said it made her think of being in the backseat, squished against the window when Conrad had tried to tell them all he was pretty sure the first one was called The Fast and the Furious, like The Bold and the Beautiful. Jere looked at her. “Or, The Fast and the Furious, I mean.”
She could only grin.
“Oh my God, yeah.” Steven dropped his voice, “Uh, guys, I think you’re pronouncing that wrong-“
“Your Conrad impression sucks.” Belly laughed.
“No it doesn’t.”
“It does!”
“It does.” Jere confirmed. “It always has.”
“What?”
“You go too deep with the voice.” Belly started, “You sort of need–“ She was cut off by the bathroom sprinklers turning on, full force.
She took her time leaving Paris. Threw a huge leaving party where Deena blew Michael in her room while they were all outside the door yelling. Dunk for three days straight before flying home to crash with Taylor and Steven for a few days before getting to her moms. She was phone banking for cash again, telling the same stories to everyone she saw. Yeah some of the people were rude, but not all of them. The food was to die for. My apartment was expensive and I was living there illegally but it did have a great view.
They spoke on the phone every night which was a lot easier now that they were in the same timezone. Every minute she wasn’t on a plane, she wanted someone to congratulate her on the impossible. Look how good you’re doing, she wanted someone to say, you have so much self-control. Everyone is very impressed and you deserve a medal or money for how much self-restraint you have. You are completely different than when you left.
This lasted nine days. When he opened his apartment door he just stood there, blinking, like he was looking at floodlights.
“Hello.” The hand holding her bag was so sweaty it took quite a lot of effort not to drop it as soon as he opened the door. His face, his stupid face. She’d been scanning every room, she realised. Everywhere I go, she thought, I’m looking for you.
“Hi. Hi! I didn’t- I thought you were getting in this evening.“
“I know. I lied.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I knew you would try pick me up and your apartment is, like, two hours from the airport, and you had work.“
“I would’ve come and gotten you.” He was shaking his head. “I- Belly, I’ll always come get you.“
Her heart seized in her chest, like he’d reached out and grabbed it with his fist. He made to take her bag.
“Don’t move.” she said quietly. He froze. “Don’t move. Just- stay where you are.”
He was very still, looking at her. Dramatic, but this way she could stare all she wanted. Cheekbones, column of his neck, wrists, cupid's bow. His hair was longer in the front, falling in front of his eyes. Funny how she spent all her time trying to be different and desperately, deliriously hoping he’d stay right where she left him.
He was still staring at her. “Find what you're looking for?”
“How’s Grey Sloan?” Taylor asked, eating a piece of pizza.
Conrad gave her a look. “You know, every time you do this joke it has diminishing returns."
“Not diminishing for me.”
Conrad smiled and rolled his eyes, white shirt rolled to his forearms. He’d given Belly his jacket the second he’d seen her sopping dress. “It’s fine. Izzy sends her regards.”
Taylor gasped. “Oh my god, she was my favourite.”
“I know. You tell me every time you ask me about work.”
“You know, you kind of look like her,” Jere’s pants were still dripping onto the grass, “that chick that plays her, I mean.”
Taylor beamed. “You know Jeremy, you’re my favourite Fisher. Always have been. Sorry Conrad.”
“Completely fair.” Conrad turned to Jere. “You’ve seen Grey's Anatomy?” He stared back. “Yeah. I have.”
“Okay, good news.” Steven thankfully appeared, dress shirt still completely soaked through. “I got the police to leave.”
“You mean you paid the fine.” Belly corrected him.
“Well, yes.”
“The police just carry portable card machines now?”
Conrad grinned. “Sounds like you just got robbed by rent-a-cops, Steven.”
“I did not.”
“It really does sound like it, babe,” Taylor was talking with her mouth full, “I don’t even think they were cops. They didn’t even have jackets on. And weed is legal in California, so-“
“Conklin, Fisher! The fuck?” Denise was lightly sunburnt across her cheekbones. Curls pulled on top of her head, a few brushing the ornate neckline of her dress. She looked like a painted portrait.
Steven put his hands up. “It’s fine, I’ve handled it.”
“What did you handle? Why are you soaking wet?”
She was still trying to think of a lie just as Conrad said “Rogue sprinkler.” while Steven said “Rainstorm.” And Taylor said “Lake.”
Denise rounded on Jere. “What did you guys do?”
“How do you know I’m involved?” Jere asked defensively, pants still dripping.
“Because you’re tweedledumb” she jabbed Steven, “and tweedle dumbest.” She poked Jere. “You two are so fucking lucky,” she jabbed Jere again, who flinched away, “that I am having the greatest day of my life and cannot be bothered to be mad at you right now.”
“We’ve already been punished.” Jere was rubbing his chest, “Steven just got robbed by some randoms-“
“What?”
“No I wasn’t-”
“I wasn’t trying to imply you shouldn’t have watched Greys Anatomy, or anything-“ Conrad explained for no reason whatsoever. Jere didn’t look over.
“Hey,” Taylor jumped in, quickly, “Is it just me or are there a lot of, like, really randomly hot guys here?”
“Yeah,” Sarah agreed quickly. “I’ve noticed that too.” Jere whipped his head around.
“Yeah,” Denise waved a hand, “it’s all the Bachelor people.”
“What?”
“Logan was on The Bachelor Australia.”
Steven stared at her. “What?“
“Oh my god, what season?”
“No idea. He didn’t get that far but he made friends with a lot of the guys. He said it was like being a frat.”
“I can’t believe you haven’t mentioned this before. I see you everyday-“
“Well why would this come up at work?“
“Are any of them single?”
“Taylor, you’re married-“
“To me.”
“I meant for friend set-up purposes, idiots. Like, oh my God, I have this friend Olivia-“
She stayed. Worked at a shitty hipster bar until she got a terribly paying physical therapist role at a local high school where all she treated were football injuries. She really meant to get her own place, just crash while she went apartment hunting. Not rush into anything or presume.
But then, God, she forgot. Honestly and truly. Too busy eating what he was cooking right out of the pan with her fingers, him chasing her away with the wooden spoon. Reading in bed listening to him watch YouTube videos about different stitches techniques. Wiping tables at the bar, phone jammed between her shoulder and her ear as he read out the birthday card from her mother. Talking in the mirror through mouthfuls of toothpaste. Stood laughing in the hallway, locked out because his keys were in his other scrubs, calling it and going to get Thai food.
Some things were just the same. He had the same backpack she’d bought him in college and kept all his books in alphabetical order. Other things were not: he laughed easier and didn’t read medical journals before bed anymore and ranted insanely about the types of washing powder that clogged up the machine. He loved running in the morning and watching The Wire and making fun of her for trying to bring pop-tarts to group dinners. He was different, she was different, but not in any way that mattered. How could it? She loved him in every direction. No matter where you looked, she loved him there too.
Denise did not let anyone leave to get a change of clothes all night. Belly got ridiculously drunk, dancing in her damp dress, fairy lights in the trees looking like stars. The moon was a huge smudge in the sky. Steven spun her until she fell and then pulled her up by her wrists, calling her a baby. Taylor and Sarah were comparing eyeliners with the bridesmaids, Jere and some tanned guys were talking about frat brotherhood, and Conrad tapping on Steven’s shoulder, asking to cut in. All under the same moon. Better yet, within arms reach.
She was by the sink, washing a plate, and could not believe her caller ID. She picked up with wet hands.
“Hi?”
“Hi. Sorry to just call-“
“Don’t apologise. I’m just- I’m not doing anything.”
“Where are you?”
“Oh, nowhere. I mean- I don’t know why I said that. I’m at home, in my apartment"
“Is it nice?”
"Sorry?"
“Your guys apartment.” Jere asked, “Is it nice?”
“It’s- yeah it is. It’s furnished. I mean, by the landlord, but-“
“You don’t own anything in there?”
“Uh- I think the couch. There’s some art, just stuff like that.”
“He’s got, like, an anatomical heart up in a frame, doesn’t he?”
She looked at it, hanging in the living room. “Yup.”
“Admit it,” he joked, “You’re shocked that I know the word anatomical.”
Her throat felt closed up. “No I’m not.”
He was so quiet she couldn’t even hear him breathing. Water dripped down her forearm into the sink.
“I forgot that you hate it when I joke about being dumb.”
“Because you’re not dumb.’ She said, instantly. One of their worst fights, right at the end, she’d said through the bathroom door that he was the stupidest person she’d ever met. She wondered if he was reliving that now too, hearing her voice. Even when she’d said it, yelling, furious, she’d known it was a lie. He could put anyone at ease, build a five foot tall sandcastle, knew what kind of berries you could eat on a hike and the depth of the ocean where great white sharks lived. Only an idiot would think he was dumb.
“Sorry for just calling.” His voice was so low she barely heard it. “I just wanted-” he didn’t finish. She shut her eyes and dropped her head against the cabinet.
“I know. It’s- today is awful.”
“Yeah. And I don’t- Con didn’t pick up, so-“
“He’s working.” She said, quickly, “He’s in the ER. He always works today.”
“Of course,’ he laughed darkly, “I called in sick and have been in bed eating garbage all day.”
There was no counter to this. “Did you get her a cake yet?”
Jere half-laughed, tears in it. “No, not yet.”
“Go now. The store will still be open.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll feel- it won’t be as bad when you have the cake. I mean, 55.” She shut her eyes from the pain of saying it. Susanna in front of her, laughing at something behind her, caught forever in the Cousin’s sliding door. “She deserves a cake for that one.”
“Did you guys do one?”
“Of course.”
Technically it wasn’t a cake, it was a pile of yogurt with frozen berries that she’d stuck a candle in before he’d left for sixteen hours. No matter the occasion she could never get him to eat sweets before noon. Hence: stood at six am in the hallway, trying to light the drooping candle with a lighter Taylor had left, Conrad holding the bowl with two hands. His lips against her ear. I love you, you know. Goosebumps under her pyjamas.
“Okay, I’m going to get one. I’m going to get a box mix.”
“I won’t rat you out to your restaurant.”
She felt him smile through the phone. “Thanks. Tell Con- He doesn’t need to call me back. I’ll see him at, you know.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re coming too right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay. Good.”
THREE: ALL I’VE EVER WANTED
Adam, convinced he was about to be indicted for insider trading, proposed. Not to Kayleigh - who had gotten bored with waiting and was now dating a tax lawyer and very pregnant – but to his girlfriend of ten months who also happened to be his new secretary. It was like a sick bit.
“He does know he can date people he didn’t work with.” Her mom was practically spitting. Conrad looked delighted. “Like, it’s not a requirement. There isn’t a law somewhere that says he must screw employees only.”
“Who was the last person who worked for him that he didn’t date?” Her Dad mused.
“Me probably.” Mom said, and her Dad choked into his wine glass. Conrad tipped his head back and laughed.
Some woman who knew Carrie then cut in and confessed she was a huge fan, had all the books, you’re like, my love guru. That one about your dead friend was so sad, truly. Like, I hope this doesn’t come off as weird, but I sort of read it and thought you guys might be lesbians. Have you ever thought about that interpretation?
Belly led Conrad into the church, parking them half behind the huge cardboard couples photo before the woman could look at his face directly.
“What–“
“Just ignore it.”
“Who just asks someone- is Laurel okay?”
Behind him she could see her mom dismantling the woman like a cheap folding table. “She’s fine. Save your energy for the reception.” She ignored the smile from the guy who had tried to corner her in the parking lot to talk about bitcoin and pretended to brush dust off the side of the church. “This really is, like, a convention of the dumbest people in the world.”
“Hey,” he shrugged, locking eyes with her. That familiar zing - fork in a lightning socket. “Remember we were both invited.” They both cracked up.
Voice behind them: “Hi.”
Belly almost jumped out of her skin. Jere - stood in a back suit, hands hanging oddly at his sides. She was suddenly aware how close she was to Conrad and felt the stupid urge to step back, 21 all over again.
“Well,” Jere half-laughed. “This sucks.”
She laughed and Conrad smiled. “Completely.” He agreed.
“One of her friends mistook me for the groom outside.”
Belly’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”
“I wish”
“That happened to me too.” Conrad said, “Parking lot. Brown hair, blue dress?”
“That’s her.”
“She must be doing rounds.” Conrad said ruefully.
“Where’s Sarah?”
“Her sister’s thirtieth. She tried to come but I told her it wasn’t a big deal.”
“She can hit the next one.” Conrad said. Jere looked at the door of the church like he hadn’t heard.
Belly coughed. “Do you know her well? Carrie, I mean?”
“No, not really. She seems, uh…“
“Eager?” Belly supplied.
Jere smiled. “Yeah. She said she wanted to do a family Easter.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, she says she’s really big on setting up an egg hunt.”
Beside her she could feel Conrad tensing with the effort of not making fun. She wanted to grab his wrist or half step on his foot. Better yet - lock eyes and make a joke. “Oh. That’s very- that’s really sweet of her.”
“Sweet is a good word.” Jere sounded so diplomatic, it was like he’d become a politician in the night. “She honestly does seem really nice.” Belly smiled to herself. He still gave anyone a genuine shot, always second and third chances. She would know, she burned through them all. “But-“ he looked at her, she looked back. Knew his mind like she always had, like the parallel lines they’d been raised as. He was good to everyone, but he was also a filthy, notorious gossip. All those nights in bed in college, him poking her in her side to get her to say more. “But, you know. She’s a bit-“
“Young.” Conrad finished, locking eyes with him. Conrad Fisher, fellow filthy gossip. Susannah would be so proud of this, among every other thing.
“I mean, she’s older than us.”
“Well that’s something to be grateful for.”
“Do you have to be such a dick at the wedding?“
Conrad went a little red. “I’m not even saying that to be a dick-“
“Oh really?”
“I’m serious, Jere, I am grateful she’s not younger than us.”
Jere sipped his beer and looked away. Some things were always true: Adam got endless rope from Jere, none from Conrad. Both were wrong about him in different ways and it always sucked. This was what happened when the one person who made it all work, died.
She couldn’t help herself. “I mean, one of her friends did just ask my mom if our moms were lesbians-“
“What?” Jere looked floored. “Who?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“That is so rude. You can’t just ask people if they’re a lesbian.” It took everything in her not to laugh aloud, and he noticed. “Belly, oh my god, don’t make that face. You were the one that told me that-”
“Only because you just asked Skye out of nowhere at Christmas!”
“I did not just ask-”
“You did!”
“We were drinking! It came up organically!”
“I was there, it did not.”
“Hold on,” Conrad was looking between them like it was tennis, laughing, “When was this?”
“Christmas, a few years ago.” The Christmas they’d been engaged. Fun and fizzy and everything possible. Conrad said he’d had the flu. Her, Jere, Skye and Steven, drinking wine coolers all night, throwing bottle caps in Adam’s fancy blender while Julia and Laurel argued about the Supreme Court.
Jere was looking at her, half-smiling. “I still live by that rule, you know. I never just ask someone if they’re a lesbian.”
She laughed. “Look at you go. You should go tell that girl that asked my Mom. Oh, God,” the crypto guy was walking past and trying to catch her eye again, “Don’t look at that guy over there.”
Immediately they both looked around. She grabbed both of their arms. “Stop it, Oh my God. The one with the long tie. He’ll come over and try and talk about crypto. He was trying to talk to me in the parking lot.”
“What?” Conrad furrowed his brow. “Where was I?”
“Locking the car and getting asked if you were the groom.”
“Crypto?” Jere wrinkled his nose, “Lets set Steven on him.”
“He’s on a work trip.”
Conrad shrugged. “Let’s call and put him on speakerphone.”
She smiled. Jere made to pull out his phone, and Conrad laughed. Flash of a look on Jere’s face, like he was pleased. It was strange how in spite of everything she felt sort of at home, stood talking shit in the corner of a nice party with the Fisher boys, listening to them pick at each other about their Dad. People kept filing past them, two girls wearing bridesmaid dresses on the arm of an accountant from Adam’s firm who she remembered offering her a line at her own wedding. “God. This is like the weirdest crowd ever.”
“Careful,” Jere half-smiled. “we’re here too.”
Carrie was 25 minutes late. An older guy leaned forward from the pew behind them. “So, how do you guys know Adam?”
“Oh, we’re- we’re his sons.” The words were clunky in Conrad’s mouth. Jere, looking forward, sort-of nodded.
Once they’d gotten too drunk at an expensive restaurant and argued about who had it worse.
“You don’t get it.”
“I don’t get it?” Conrad leaned over the table, incredulous.
“Alright, I know you were Mr Emo, with your fringe, or whatever–“
“Fringe?”
“You don’t–“
“I did not have a fringe.”
“You did,” She laughed, wine slopping over onto her wrist. “You did. It fell in front of your eyes. I remember it.“
“Are you seriously saying–“
“I was completely unusable-“
“Belly.” He looked at her, simply, stupidly. Her stomach flipped. “I felt- All through college. College. Do you know how bad something has to be to uninterested in getting laid-“
“Uninterested?–“
“–through college-“
“Oh please, you didn’t get laid all of college?”
He looked away swiftly. She could only grin. “Exactly, don’t pretend.”
“Belly.” He looked at her, no more kidding. That night on the beach, ocean spray on her clothes, wind as cold as her voice. She felt it run through her like a knife.
“I’m not saying- I’m not saying you didn’t give more up.”
His jaw locked. “That isn’t what I meant.“
“I know, I’m just trying to-“ How to explain? She could barely understand it herself. It was her whole life, straight on and forever. No way out. “It was- at night, I used to count the places where you touched me.” Awful to hear it. Something she’d never said aloud, not even to Taylor. He stared. “I used to lie in bed and count the places. I felt them like- like bruises or something. Hours later. It was- It was so bad. If you walked in a room, even if I had my back to you I knew you were there. I knew– I knew it like I knew how to count, and I had to concentrate on what I was saying, every time, just so I wouldn’t turn around.” How could anyone stand it? There was something awful coming soon, there just had to be. Nobody got what they wanted in life, except her. Looking right at her, shadows making shapes on his face.
“You can’t–“ his voice was gravel. “You can’t just say stuff like that to me.”
She shrugged. “It’s true.”
He reached out carefully, wiping up the single train of wine running down her forearm with his index finger. It was like he was drawing her a new vein. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, raising her arm, and for a second, instant, pressing his lips to the pulse in her wrist. Her heart hammed through her. Body one long pulse: good for one thing and one thing only.
The only word to describe the reception was expensive. There had to be at least one waiter for every three people. It was like having an empty glass was illegal. Conrad had gone to steal a bottle of wine and instead had traitorously stopped to talk to her mother, the both of them giggling. She was trying to get out of her conversation with one of Carrie’s cousins, who had dramatically lost interest in talking to her once Conrad and Jere had left anyway. The cousin was in a dress very close to white, and was getting looks by someone she presumed was Carrie’s mother.
“Belly!” Adam threw his arms out, “Guys, you’ve got to meet Belly-” He smelt like whiskey. He was with two men who she recognised from the newspaper for also not being indicted, and one of them had his arm around someone who was clearly wearing a bridesmaids dress she’d gotten from another wedding. There were purple ruffles involved.
“Hi.” She fought the urge to wave.
“This is my former daughter in law! Future daughter in law?” Adam quirked an eyebrow at her, like this was an inside joke they had, “Who knows!”
“What?” The taller of the men asked. Her face was hot.
“It’s complicated.” Adam waved a hand, “Where are the boys, anyway? Where’s Conrad-“
“Wait, so you’re a daughter in law?” the taller man attempted to clarify.
“No. I’m Jeremiah’s ex-wife.” She said, the words insane to her own ears, “I’m Jere’s ex-wife and I’m his brother’s girlfriend.”
Everybody stared. Oddly, hearing it aloud sort of drained it of its dramatic power. It sounded like the setup to a dumb motivational speech: What if you picked the wrong brother the first time round? Well, you try again! There was nothing to do but sip her champagne.
“Wait,” the cousin had snapped back in, “What?”
“It’s all ancient history.” Adam jumped in, despite being the one to bring it up in the first place. “It’s all- where’s Jere? I need a photo with the boys.” He had a sort of longing look on his face. One thing her mom always pointed out, when she was coming down from ranting about him: he always knew the boys were the best part of him, always looking around the room for one or the other. She knew the feeling.
“So, is Belly, like, a common Asian name?” One of the guys asked.
“Darren. Jesus, what the fuck-“
She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go dance.” The cousin was still staring, and it was funny, feeling herself atrophy into a party story in real time. Oh well. She downed the rest of her glass, turned toward her mother’s laugh.
“It’s me!”
“I know!”
“Only because I said so!”
“Actually it’s because I can hear your key ring from through the door–“
“Hey, I need all of these.”
“Okay, you have the key to mom and Laurel’s first apartment on there–“
“I need that. What if we’re ever in Washington and want to stop by?”
“You think we’ll be in Washington and want to start breaking and entering?”
“It won’t be breaking and entering because we’ll have the key. What’s that?”
“Pad Thai. Don’t eat it– you’re going to burn your fingerprints off, Belly, honestly. Have these.”
“My prince. You saved me cashews.”
“Yes, I value your hands.”
“How did telling Joyce go?”
“Oh. She took it really well, actually. I mean, she was expecting it. The daughter was a wreck but– yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“It was– she’s still got time. Mila was on reception”
“Oh good.”
“Yeah, I introduced them so they’ll have a familiar face.”
“Thank God it wasn’t Nicole.”
“I thought that too. Hey, what happened with the high ankle sprain?”
“Oh my God, nightmare. The kid is in complete denial that he won’t finish the season. I rang his mom–“
“Belly! Oh my God, eat the cashews!”
“It’s not my fault that this is delicious!”
“God, here, use this–“
“Where are the chop sticks?”
“Dishwasher.”
“Jesus, no one tell my mother we’re using forks”
“Scouts honour.”
“You weren’t a Boy Scout.”
“I could’ve been a Boy Scout.”
“But then when would you have found time to stage book-accurate Lord of the Rings battles alone in your room?”
“You’re awful, Isabel. Awful and correct.”
She was just looking for a waiter, honest. It was like they’d all gone on break at the same time and she needed a wine more than she could say, but then she heard them. It took less than a second to recognise their voices. She tried to remember her lessons, the ones about stuff being none of her business. Only, who was she ever kidding? The Fisher boys were her business. She’d either been hearing, thinking, or dreaming of them her whole life.
“You didn’t want to be best man?”
“I told him it would bring the average age of the wedding party down by too much.”
You didn’t either?”
“He asked you first.”
“He didn’t actually. He told me he asked you.”
“Only because he knew you’d say no.”
“You know that it’s got nothing to do with me right? How he treats me. He bases that entirely on a football season when I was, like, twelve.”
“He liked you better even before then.”
“Who cares? I like you better than I like him.”
The trees moved in the wind, leaves shuffling. The noise of reception music floating slowly over. “Even-“
“Yes. Even now. Are you kidding? Always.”
There was a long pause. She was chewing the inside of her lip so much she could taste blood. Leave, she thought, rooted to the floor.
“You know, I’m– I don’t even know. Everything happened, and I was so fucking pissed, at her and then at you and- whatever.”
“I know.”
“And things were fucked with Belly and I by the end. Like, I knew that- I knew it was done. I just didn’t think you guys—”
“I know.”
“I just- I thought you and I were competing, but, it’s like you were playing chess and I was playing, like, fucking uno, or something. I mean, we were fucking married-“ his voice was hopeless, “and I just felt so stupid that I didn’t know I lost before we even got together, because I didn’t know the rules.”
“What rules?’
“That she was in love with you.” He said it so simply. “That it had nothing to do with me.”
She wanted to object. She’d loved Jere more than she could say, been in love with him, meant the whole thing - all five years of it. His voice on the phone calling her in-between classes, the sight of him on the sidelines during games, the look on his face when she walked down the aisle. But that was mostly beside the point, and she knew it. The point was she had spent a lot of time trying to make a choice where none existed. She tried to outrun gravity, and dragged him with her.
“I didn’t- I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I didn’t think of it like that.” Conrad took a shuddery breath, “I wish- I wish we’d spoken, I should’ve tried to call more- kept calling, I mean- but I didn’t want to apologise for something I was currently doing, when I knew I couldn’t regret it. It just, it felt cheap. But I wish I didn’t hurt you. I tried really hard not to.“
“I know.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Now, I mean, I was so fucking pissed for ages, but I know you weren’t doing it to me, or anything. It’s kind of like the stuff with Dad, you know? You’re not trying to be the one everybody picks. You just- you are.” Conrad started to speak, but he kept going, “I’m not even mad anymore. It’s just- we weren’t talking for so long and I didn’t- I didn’t know how to start again.”
“Do you want to?”
“What?”
“Start again?”
Jere scoffed. Dread went through her like a dropped knife.
“Start again? You’re my brother. You’re the beginning.” The silence was so loud, it was like another person speaking. She shut her eyes to blink back tears. “But I’d like- I’d like for us to be talking again, though.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, if you want?”
“If I want-“ Conrad’s half relieved laugh, “Jere, I do want.”
“Okay, caveman.”
Conrad snorted. She blinked rapidly, along with the beats of her heart to make it slow down. The relief through her body could power a car. Did you hear that, Susannah? She felt like a little kid, pointing and yelling on the beach, trying to show her something,You were right, it would be okay, sorry I never believed you. I’ll be so careful from now on, I promise. Thanks for giving them to me.
“- think it is? Belly, is that you?”
The sound of her name in his voice put her back in her body. She wiped her face and stepped out from the door. The boys stood on the balcony, turned toward her.
“I swear I was looking for a drink.”
“Typical.” Jere shook his head.
“I was!” Her voice was too high pitched even to her own ears. Conrad handed her his beer, and she took it, hand shaking slightly. She was in love with you. The neck of the bottle was warm from where his hand had been.
“How did you know I was there?”
The boys gave her identical looks. It felt like a winning lottery ticket.
“Your thoughts are very loud.” Jere said.
Conrad rolled his eyes, looked at her, one hand in his pocket. “I noticed your shadow, dummy.”
“I just- I wasn’t listening the whole time.”
“Liar.” he said, pleasantly.
“It’s chill.” Jere was looking at her, “We were talking about you anyway.”
“Yeah.” she agreed, lump in her throat. “I’m-” What could she say she hadn’t said before? “Sorry.”
“For what?” Jere was half-smiling, “Cleaning my clock, being in love with my brother, or eavesdropping?”
“All three.” Looking at him: familiar tilt of his nose, same eyes,, hair spinning everywhere. He looked older than she’d ever seen him. Still, shut her eyes and there he was at nineteen and twelve and nine, yelling, saying her name. She couldn’t help herself. “‘I cleaned your clock?”
Jere rolled his eyes. “Sarah says it all the time. It was, like, her Grandma’s thing.”
“I like it.” Conrad nodded. “It’s very…”
“Descriptive.” Belly finished.
“I was going to say old-timey.”
“You would know.” She turned to him and handed his beer back. His collar was slightly ruffled from where she’d been holding it earlier while they danced, whispering conspiratorially about where the person with the crab cakes was. “Being an old-timer.”
He put his hand over his heart with splayed fingers. “Ouch. What the hell, Isabel.”
“You are in your late 20s, Con.”
“Et tu, Brute?”
“What?”
“C’mon Jere, they didn’t say that in the frat?
“Belly, why would they be speaking French in the frat?”
FOUR: AND STILL DO.
Lucinda, not to be outdone, was marrying the sexy priest who officiated Taylor and Steven’s wedding. Taylor was in disbelief on the phone. “She keeps saying the they have a fucking connection? I don’t know. It’s not like she has any money so if he has an angle I’m not seeing it. I mean, does this mean he won’t have a job now? What the hell. The dress code is black tie by the way. It’s also tomorrow.”
“We’re going to be late.”
“We’re not.”
“Oh, we are. we are, and we’re going,” He shoved the keys in the car and turned, “to miss the plane.”
“We won’t. We will not miss the plane. I’ll call.”
“You’ll call the plane?”
“I will.” She reached over to the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone, still putting chapstick on with her other hand, “I’ll call and explain.”
“Explain what?” He was grinning, shifting the car out of park and looking over at her.
“Explain, I don’t know, whatever. Are you driving?”
“I’m driving.” Turned in the front seat to reverse, hand on the back of her seat, “Jesus, give me my phone back.”
“No, I’m calling.” The password was her birthday, it was always her birthday. She lived and died as the luckiest woman in the world. “I’m calling, and I’m saying–“
“What are you saying–“
“I’m saying, I’m saying it was a unique circumstance–“
“Who has a dream they packed a suitcase–“
“Many people! I’m sure the flight attendant will explain,” She was googling ‘United customer service number’ just to keep hearing his voice with laughter all through it, “that this is very common–“
“Oh, a flight attendants going to answer huh?”
“Yes, sure.” The streets were completely dead, four am traffic. She could feel sleep over her like dirt. Hard to believe she had just been in bed, the alarm blaring, Conrad groaning into her neck. “The flight attendant–“
“There’s only one?”
“There’s only one that matters. She will answer and say ‘you have not missed this plane’”
“You are nuts.” He said, laughing. Straightening the wheel and making to grab his phone. Her wrist hummed from earlier, when he’d caught her from slipping in the hall, running with socks on.
They miss the plane. There is another one in two hours, so it’s fine. Lucinda and the Priest make out extravagantly at the altar and everybody cheers. Sarah caught the bouquet and tried to give it to Taylor, embarrassed, and Jere just walked over and kissed her in front of God and everybody. They all cheered again. Up to that point, it was the best part of her day. Just watching them: Sarah giggling and bright red, Jere whispering in her ear. It is second only to waiting at the airport with Conrad for two hours, sat over awful and expensive coffee, poking fun at him for spending too much money on a newspaper. Him looking at her over the table, half-smiling.
She followed Taylor into the bathroom, watching her gag over the toilet. Taylor, who hadn’t drank the whole wedding, who'd tipped her mother-daughter shot into a potted plant. Everything slotted into place like hearing a gun go off: sudden, obvious.
“You’re kidding.” Belly felt crazed, stood holding both of Taylor’s wrists, fingers interlocked like bracelets.
“Nope.”
She hugged her so tightly she could feel the wedding ring digging into her back.
‘Oh my God-“
“I know.”
“I’m- oh my God-“
“Yeah.”
She could still recite Taylor’s home phone by heart. The old message too, the same for years. Hi you’ve got Taylor and Lucinda- mom say your name - oh hi it’s Lucinda! Alright leave a message after the beep unless you’re a loser. Belly in the background: Hey can I have one of these doug-oh my god, sorry! She could almost hear it ringing out, like the DJ was playing through the speakers.
“Taylor.” She could barely speak.
“I know.” Taylor’s unblinking watery eyes, “I know. Me too.”
‘This is– where’s my brother?“
“Outside?”
“Oh my God, why? Why isn’t he in here?”
“We’re in the women’s bathroom.“
“He should be here.”
“Well, not really–“
Belly led her by the wrist out into the chapel. If she found Conrad, she would find Steven, and she could always find Conrad. Sure enough, right corner, the four of them all stood in their best clothes by the neon twenty-four hours sign. Steven looked different somehow, older. Like his clothes finally fit.
“What?” He looked bemused.
Belly didn’t trust herself to open her mouth. She still had Taylor’s wrist in her hand. Steven, someone’s Dad. For the first time in a long time he wasn’t just hey Taylor’s in the shower call back in ten, or yeah I just spoke to mom and I’m seriously concerned that she’s spending real money on candy crush, or oh my god you will not believe what this funding guy just said in this stupid fucking meeting- call me when you have a second you’re gunna die; he wasn’t any of those people. He was her older brother again.
Conrad looked at her and at her hand clutching Taylor’s wrist. His eyes widened. Right through her, like always. “Oh my god,” he turned to Steven, “You’re kidding.”
Steven looked back at him. “Dude, what?”
She locked eyes with Jere, and that was all it took. He turned and gapped at Steven. “No way.”
“What?” Sarah asked.
Steven looked at Taylor, lost, and then saw her face. “Oh my God. We’re supposed to wait–“
“I didn’t tell her!” Belly could hear the tears in her voice without looking over. “I didn’t even say! She just knew.”
“Dude.” Conrad pushed him, and then pushed him again, “Dude–“
“Oh my God–“ Jere pulled on his shoulder, jumping up and down, and then they were both tugging at him, chorus of swearing and punching. They were so handsy, the three of them, always. Their mothers used to make so many jokes. The frantic pushy energy, it reminded her of when they would belly-flop her in the pool or dance in the kitchen. Limbs everywhere, giddy and stupid just to be that close, constant. Conrad broke first, coming out to pick Taylor up by the waist, whispering in her ear.
“Okay, but no one can say anything,” Steven could not wipe the grin off his face. “We still have a month before we’re supposed to be telling people.”
“Oh, what would you know?” Belly’s voice sounded so watery.
“I’ve been reading the books–“
“Oh you haven’t been reading the books!” She sounded insane. Steven looked at her
“Yes I have!”
“No you haven’t–“ He was going to be so good at it. I mean, there would be parts he would be bad at, but Taylor would be good at those. It would even out.
“Jesus,” He pulled her into him before she could think of anything else stupid to say. “You’re nuts, Belly. Seriously.” No teeth in it, never was. “You can’t cry all over this shirt, it’s Armani.”
“You are such a dick.” She said into his chest.
Conrad laughed. “Shut up Steven.”
“Yeah, shut up Steven” Taylor said into Jere’s shoulder.
“Yeah, shut up Steven.” Jere agreed.
“C’mon man.”
“Hold on, Sarah hasn’t said it yet.” Conrad said gallantly. Belly smiled into Steven’s shirt.
Jere’s voice: “Yeah, go on babe. Say it.”
“I feel bad.”
“Don’t. It’s calming.”
“It is no-“
“Shut up Steven.” Sarah interrupted.
Belly laughed with everyone else, wiping her face. She wished this stupid memory was caught somewhere, that she could cup it like tar in her hands.
“Oh my God.” Steven was looking down at his shirt, disgusted, “this mascara better not stain.”
They ended up sat in the parking lot of an In-N-Out, all the girls wearing the boys jackets, Steven pouring vodka into lemonades and handing them around in exchange for fries. Taylor had completely taken Jere’s shake and was sucking it dry as he looked on indignantly, while she talked about how Conrad needed to cut his hair.
“Conrad never takes my advice.” Taylor said, looking vaguely forlorn, “he wouldn’t even go as Conraddison Rae for Halloween.”
Lemonade came out of Jere’s nose and Steven clapped him on the back. Conrad looked at her, just as appalled as the first time she’d said it at Thanksgiving.
“I mean, do you hear yourself?”
“I would seriously consider naming our baby after you if you did this for me.”
Conrad laughed. “Still no.”
“We’re not naming our kid Conrad-“
“You wouldn’t ever even need to get us a baby-shower gift.” Taylor continued like Steven hadn’t spoken. “This would be the gift. I could get you the wig and everything.”
“I could see you in a wig.” Jere said. Conrad looked at him, unblinkingly, for a moment. Then -
“Oh yeah?”
“Hundred percent. You know, that one direction wig is still probably boxed up in the-“
“Oh my God, I wore it once-“
“It was that whole fall.”
It was not-“
“I walked in on you in the movie room with it on-“
Taylor mouthed ‘movie room’ at Steven and Sarah and did a jerking off motion. They both snorted.
“Wig?” Belly looked at Steven, who shrugged. She couldn’t help herself. “What’s this wig thing?”
“Conrad used to wear this One Direction wig-“
“It was Brady-“
“I saw the box!”
“I wore it to look like Brady-“
“Conrad,” Jere said loudly, talking over him, “Used to wear this One Direction wig when we watched football games because-“
“That was how he wore his hair in 2010-“
“One Direction?” Sarah was gleeful, “Who was it? Louis? Liam?”
Conrad said ‘I don’t know” at the same time as Jere said “Liam.”
“What?” Belly was laughing in disbelief. She had never heard this before.
“I was twelve”, Conrad looked pained, “I really- Brady wore his hair like that, and it wasn’t a One Direction wig it was a-“
Jere shook his head. “I saw the box-‘
“That was his haircut! Mom just bought that one because it was-“
“Anti-itchy scalp, I know, I know-“ Jere laughed, “but still-“
Conrad opened his mouth wordlessly, smiling, unable to defend himself. Belly felt like she was in a dream. Jere and Conrad, laughing over a story she’d never heard before.
Jere turned to her. “He made me promise not to tell you. Gave me money, actually.”
“Which I’ll need back now.” He said, rubbing his lower lip. She felt twelve again, how she used to spend entire school days looking out the window. Imagining Conrad and what he was doing, what he was thinking, whether he was thinking of her.
“How much?” Her voice sounded high.
Conrad shrugged, “Thirty bucks.” He looked at her. “It was an investment.”
Back then the idea of everything she didn’t know about him used to make her itchy. Now it just felt like treasure hunting, the long and lucky rest of her life, collecting the pieces of him other people gave her. Jere right now, giving her gold for free.
“Dude, you wore wigs to watch football?” Steven shook his head.
“Wig - singular. And it was once or twice-“
“It was at least three games.”
“Alright,” Conrad reached out, lightly jabbed Jere on the arm. He took it gracefully, swaying slightly like there was a breeze. Sarah rocked under his arm, grinning ear to ear.
“C’mon,” Taylor jumped in. “There’s demand for Conraddission.” She turned to her, “Belly, tell him to do it.”
“Why do I have to get involved?”
“Because if you tell him he’ll do it.”
She used to be fourteen, lying in bed, making the same wish over and over. She turned to him, watching it come true again.
“What if it was for an hour-“
“Belly, oh my God-“
“Fifteen minutes!” She tugged on his sleeve. Jere was laughing, “C’mon. One picture.”
Later, half-asleep in the motel, she can hear Snow Patrol coming through the thin wall over. It was like Steven was already practising getting into Dad music. There were half-outlines of neon signs on the walls lit through the threadbare curtains.
Conrad talked into the back of her neck. “Whenever you want to get married let me know.”
Everything inside her went still. “What?”
“When you want to get married,” he sounded half awake, “Just say when.”
She turned around so quickly she knocked their heads together.
“Jesus–“
“Sorry- What?”
“Are you okay?” His hand on her forehead pushing her hair back, the other on her ribcage ribcage holding her still, “That was–“
“I’m whatever. Are you–“ she couldn’t think, “What are you talking about?”
“I think I have a concussion.”
“You do not, you huge baby-“
“I might!”
“When you say ‘say when’ you mean- what do you mean?”
“I mean that when you want to get married, you should tell me.”
“And you’ll what?”
“Buy a ring, or whatever.”
“Or whatever?”
“Or a necklace.’
“A necklace?”
“Whatever you want.” He bent forward and put his head into her neck. She couldn’t tell if he always knew where to find her pulse because he was a doctor or because her heart went crazy every time he touched her. “I’ll get whatever you want.” His voice was muffled.
She threaded her hands in his hair. “I want a ring.”
“Okay.” His arms went around her middle, lifting her off the mattress slightly.
“Diamond.”
“Easy.” He was kissing her collarbone.
“Some small diamonds round the band. And then a big one in the middle.”
“Done.”
She shivered, pulled his hair slightly so his head tilted upwards. Eyes clear in the dark, a face she could recognise cross-eyed, blind, dead. She felt it in her like blood.
“You wanna marry me?” Her voice was barely there. His hands tightened on her ribs.
“Yeah. All the time.”
“You didn't- you've never said.”
“Are you joking? It's a given. And I thought- you know. Not without Jere. And now it won't be.” The idea of being married to Conrad Fisher, living in every dream she’d ever had. He pulled his head up to look at her. “What do you mean ‘you want to marry me?’. I’ll marry you tomorrow, if you want.”
She couldn’t speak, so she ran a hand through his hair again. It really was getting so long. “If I want?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you want?”
The way he was looking at her, it didn’t have a name. It was just the answer, ringing out and around.