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katthekittycatkiller · 2 years ago

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you and me,

—a the summer i turned pretty fic starring my first and favourite book boyfriend, jeremiah fisher ♡

「part thirty-four, reader insert」

Tradition in our family dictates the arrival of my older sister, Esmé, and her family of four, every mid-July in Cousins. It’s a tradition of seven years; a tradition which will disappear after this summer. When I wake up to the sound of my mother’s cheerful voice speaking to Esmé on the phone, I sit in bed and wonder if my sister knows. If it even matters to her.

For Esmé, Cousins is a two-week vacation spot her husband, Dylan, despises. He’s vocal about it, too. From the moment he steps out of his car wearing sunglasses and a finely pressed dress shirt, everyone is aware that this is the last place on Earth he wants to be. Esmé tries to console him the whole time they’re here. She takes over the kitchen to prepare his favourite meals and tries to send him off with our dad on trips so they can bond. Neither works. Possibly because our dad hates Dylan for getting Esmé pregnant at eighteen or maybe because Dylan is the most stuck-up man on Earth.

Esmé and her kids, on the other hand, enjoy Cousins the same way a person would enjoy Bora Bora or the Bahamas. It’s there and it’s pleasant and they get a crap-ton of photographs out of it. Most of which my mother posts on Facebook for friends and extended family to shower compliments on. Esme puts up with it even though she doesn’t want her kids’ faces on the internet. It’s hard to say ‘no’ to our mother. Both of us have grown up being pretty bad at it.

“YN, they’re almost here! Are you up?!”

The shrill pitch of my mother’s voice breeds a desire in me to shovel back under the duvet and not come out for a long time. I even do it, for about ten seconds before the impending doom known only as my mother’s feet splintering the wooden floors builds in my ears. I throw off the covers and stand to my feet, slipping into my cotton slippers the moment she opens the door.

Her mouth opens as it lands on my disheveled state, but I open my own to defend myself before she can accuse me of being late for my sister’s arrival. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes. I promise.”

With that, I grab my towel off the back of my chair and rush into the adjoining bathroom. I don’t even grab my phone for music, which is a first. always listen to music when I shower. I need to experience an underwater solo concert to sincerely feel clean. It’s a habit I’ve had since I was a kid and sang along to Hannah Montana like I could take her place on the show.

True to my word, I’m showered in less than ten minutes and into a comfortable dress with puffy sleeves. I grab my ballet flats from under my bed then run downstairs to meet my mother in the kitchen loading the dishwasher with all the plates and pots she used to cook a military size breakfast.

She takes one look at me and frowns. “Your hair is still wet.”

“I… I know,” I mumble, reaching up for my strands. “It’ll air dry.”

“What did I say about appearances, YN?”

I inhale sharply. “That they’re important.”

“Exactly.”

“It’s just Esmé, though–”

“We will take pictures as a family. What do you think your aunts and uncles will say about your messy appearance then? I know I’ve taught you better.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from talking back, but I can't help but argue, “Then crop me out of them.” My mouth feels dry. I want water. Or some alcoholic concoction.

My mother glares at me. Her fingers splay across the marble countertop. I notice her nails are painted pink. “Put the attitude to rest for today, YN. I won’t have you spoiling your sister’s arrival.”

I look at her with disbelief. “Why is everything always about her? Why does she always come first?” I throw the accusations out like daggers, hoping one of them will stick. As is customary, neither do. When my mother walks around the countertop to head for the living room, seemingly disinterested, I shout, “Why do you do this to me?!”

That stops her short. By the edge of the beige carpet, she turns and lifts a brow in my direction. “I beg your pardon?”

“One day, you’re baking a cake just for me and the next, you’re treating me like I’m not even your daughter!”

Her eyes narrow. “Lower your tone.”

“No! I don’t want to!” I rush up to her. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t feel in control of my emotions. My mother immediately squares her shoulders. The reality of what is happening appears to settle in. I feel manic, like I’m not a person. “Tell me why you treat me like shit all the time! Tell me why I’m not as important as Esmé!”

“YN, lower your tone–”

“Screw that! I want–”

The weight of the strike hits me square on the cheek. It’s thunderous, almost, the way it ripples through me from top to bottom. It spreads across my skin and dampens my eyes. Although, when the tears descend, I hardly notice.

My mother shakes her head. Her eyes are red. “Clean yourself up. Now,” she commands.

The departure of her bare feet stays with me long after she’s long. I crouch to the floor, then fall against the closest wall. Heat burns in my cheek, though I don’t hold it. I don’t see the point. This isn’t the first time I’ve been hit. Not even the first time this year.

I stare at my toes. Plain, unpolished toes with shiver due to the cold exterior of the ground. They act in stark contrast to the rest of me trembling in flames.

For a minute, I allow myself the kindness of crying. I cry and sob into my arms until there’s next to nothing left. I’m not the type of person to cry for long periods so by the time I’m done, it’s as if no time has passed by at all. Habit chases me through the house as I head for the powder room and clean myself up. I dump trepid water on my face then use tissues to mop up the mess. When I’m done, I pull out a thin tube of tinted lip gloss from my dress pocket and paste it on.

My mother is loitering by the front door when I arrive next to her. I pinch my thigh the second after she glances at me in a once-over. I know she’s not sorry. I know she won’t apologize. I know this is who we are and have been for years and years, but it still hurts the same. I hurt the same now as I did at age ten. It makes me ponder if this is how my mother and I will always be.

“Esméwill need to bring in some bags,” my mother explains calmly. “Help her out.”

I push down the lump in my throat and ask, “What about Dylan?”

“What about him?”

“Why doesn’t he do it?”

My mother shakes her head, as if disappointed. “Dylan’s not coming.”

I’m shocked. I know he hates these mini holidays, but he never misses them. He didn’t even miss it that summer he had a nasty flu. He ended up spreading it to the rest of us in a scheme which I’m convinced was revenge. “Why not?”

“Because he’s leaving your sister.”

The news comes so abruptly that I nearly lose my footing. “What–what do you mean? He’s leaving her? What the hell?”

“Lower your voice,” she hisses, and it’s the venom in her words which sets me straight. “We’ll discuss it later.”

“But–”

“Be quiet, YN. And stand tall. They’re here.”

And she’s right. When my mother opens the door, the scratch of car tires over gravel is an indication that my sister’s Toyota is pulling into the driveway. We walk out onto the wrap-around porch. My mother’s smile is as big as the moon. Her whole world seems to light up. In an instant, she goes from an angry parental figure to a doting, excited one.

Esmé honks loudly. I hold back on rolling my eyes. I don’t know why she thinks we don’t see her. Her car is right in front of us. It’s not like we’re blind.

“Mom! YN! We’re here!”

Our mother walks down to greet Esmé with a giant hug. Esmé is nearly six feet tall. Taller than everyone else in the family. Even our father. No one knows why but at family gatherings, our mother explains it as a result of her force-feeding Esmé warm milk every night when she was a kid. She had to stop when the school nurse told us Esmé was lactose intolerant and that’s why she had explosive diarrhea every time she consumed dairy products. In a weird, almost cynical way, I felt petty towards my sister enough to enjoy the fact that I could eat as much ice cream as I wanted and never get sick.

Esmé hugs our mother by the driver’s door while I go to the backseat. My niece and nephew grin at me with popsicle stained mouths and bright, brown eyes. I smile back at them and open the door, scooping my niece out first.

“Hey, there, plum,” I coo, kissing her sticky cheek. For a seven year old, she’s light as a feather and fits perfectly in my arms. I bring her close in a warm embrace. “What are you eating?”

“Mommy got us popsicles,” she explains, and I notice her small lisp is still present. “Want some?”

I laugh and shake my head as she presents the popsicle to me. The liquid melts on her t-shirt. I think about cleaning her up when we get inside, though I need to get her brother out first. I set her on the ground and poke my head back inside the car. “Hey, Ko-Ko,” I sing, tickling the four year old. “Happy to see Auntie YN?”

Kohen babbles incoherently, which is more than enough for me to kiss his cheek, too, and unstrap him from his seat. With both the kids out, I set their hands in mine and raise one arm, the one atthed to Anya, my niece, at their mother and mine.

“I’ll help the kids wash up,” I tell them.

Esme leans on her door and smiles, looking grateful. “Thanks, YN. You’re an angel.”

I laugh, so it doesn’t come out sounding very happy to my ears. I might not have the best relationship with my sister but her kids are the most precious humans in the world to me. Me and Esmé could stop talking someday but I’d never stop trying to be a part of my niece and nephew’s lives.

When we’re inside, the tension in my shoulders drifts away and I relax. I stop the kids in the foyer and drop down to my knees to help them out of their shoes. In the span of a few seconds, they both manage to drip popsicle juice on my hair.

“Hey, plum,” I voice out to Anya, gently coaxing the popsicle out of her wet hands. “Let’s go wash our hands, okay?”

Anya pouts. “But I don’t wanna.”

“I know it sucks,” I explain, softly grabbing Kohen’s popsicle, too. I dump them in a nearby trash bin. “But we have dirty germs on our hands so we have to clean them. Okay? It’ll be fun. Come on.”

In the bathroom, I set the kids on opposite sides of the sink. Anya ends up being a good sport about it. She cleans her hands well, and even helps her brother. It’s a trait which can be attributed to my sister’s good parenting, which she picked up from our mother. At least, in the hygiene department.

Back in the hallway, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text from Jeremiah.

Jeremy: ozzy’s @ 8??

YN: can’t. esme’s here

Jeremy: wow is it mid-july already???

YN: apparently

Jeremy: what should i wear?

YN: no, you can’t come over. mom will kill me.

Jeremy: wendy loves me!! what are you talking about???????

YN: idk who lied to you but she doesn’t

Jeremy: :(

YN: i mean it. don’t come.

Jeremy: okay, black button down it is :)

I have half a mind to call him and chew him out for ignoring my plea, but I don’t. Because Anya is racing for the backyard door with her brother not too far behind. I look down at my hand, wondering how kids manage to run away so quickly.

“We have a trampoline in our house,” Anya tells me excitedly, jumping with excitement. Her little feet hardly produce any sound. “A big trampoline.”

I sit down, cross-legged, and bring Kohen into my lap. I play with his shiny hair and ask his sister, “How big?”

Anya opens her arms as wide as she can. “This big!”

“Wow! That’s really big! Is it fun?”

“Yeah! I love it!”

I pull Kohen up just so I can kiss his cheek. He’s the only four year old I know who doesn’t get upset when you kiss him, so I take advantage of the fact and peck his pudgy cheeks whenever I’m able to. It’s like an addiction. Plus, he has that kid smell. I think Esmé douses him in baby lotion. “Does Ko-Ko like it?”

Anya shakes her head. “Mommy says he’s too small for it.”

“I’m not,” Kohen says. He tilts his head up to show me his honesty. “I’m big.”

I tickle his tummy and give him a kiss on the top of his head. “Yes, you are. You’re a big boy now, aren’t you, Ko-Ko?”

I'm about to drag Anya down onto my lap as well when a familiar body jumps in front of the glass door. It takes Anya by so much surprise that she falls backwards, landing on her bottom. Her eyes well up with tears, which makes the boy on the other side of the door frown.

“Oh, shit,” he curses, and then immediately slaps a hand over his mouth. “Oh, crap! Sorry! Sorry! Shit!”

I bang on the door. “Just stop talking and come help!”

Thankfully, he listens and pushes the door open. I move back with Kohen then aim my head towards Anya, who hasn’t started crying yet but I fear is about to. He falls down on the ground with us and scoops Anya up. He sets her down on his lap and makes faces at her. The first face does nothing but the second pulls an adorable, wind-chime like laugh out of her.

“There we go,” he sighs, hugging her to his chest in relief. He smirks at me. “Kids love me.”

I roll my eyes. “Well if they do, it’s definitely not because you’re handsome.” I tickle Anya’s side, and she giggles. “He’s an ogre, isn’t he, plum?”

“Shrek!”

He looks at her in horror while I burst out laughing. Kohen laughs with me, and starts clapping, “Shrek! Shrek!”

“I hate you,” the other boy says. “Like, for real.”

“Love you, too, Fisher.” I reach out and ruffle his hair. That brings out a smile. I look at him and let my eyes roam selfishly over his figure. During the summers, he exclusively wears shorts and t-shirts, just like me. It’s often too hot to wear anything else. But right now, sitting across from me, he’s dashing in a black button down which conceals his thick biceps. He’s tucked it into a pair of light grey slacks, which I’ve only seen him wear at formal gatherings. I didn’t know he had a pair at the summer house. “What’s with the get-up?”

His brows meet in the middle. “What do you mean? Don’t you like it?”

“You look…” I swallow, feeling parched. “Fine.”

“Only fine?”

“What’s wrong with fine?”

“It’s not hot.”

“I would never say you’re hot. Are you crazy?”

He clicks his tongue and remarks, “Worst best friend in the world.”

“Guilty.”

“You’re pretty, though.”

His comment catches me off guard. I fumble with the words in my mouth. “W-What?”

Jeremiah ignores me and focuses on Anya. He kisses her cheek. “Isn’t your Auntie YN pretty?”

Anya nods, and it makes me blush. “Stop it.”

“The kid said it. Not me.”

“No, you definitely said it. Shut up.” On my lap, Kohen repeats the sentiment. Jeremiah feigns a dramatic gasp while I make a scared face at my nephew. “No, Ko-Ko, we don’t say that!”

“Shut up,” he giggles, which makes Jeremiah hoot with laughter. “Shut up, Auntie! Shut up!”

I groan, shaking my head at Jeremiah. “I’m going to kill you.”

Jeremiah jumps up with Anya in his arms. He makes a turn towards the living room. “You’ll have to catch us first!” He whizzes away with Anya who laughs so much that it permeates the air. It’s the most laughter this house has experienced all week.

I set Kohen on my back and secure his arms around my neck. I glance up at the child. “Ready, Ko-Ko?” He pulls my hair in response and then he’s laughing too as we race after the others.

Jeremiah runs and runs through the living room and up and down the stairs. By the time we get to the dining room, all of us are out of breath and my mother and Esmé are walking in. My mother notices Jeremiah first, and I notice how it spoils a bit of her mood.

“Jeremiah,” she says, her voice pinched. I hold my nephew closer as if he’s my shield. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Sorry for showing up unannounced,” he says, swinging Anya right to left in front of his legs. “I saw Esmé’s car pull up in the driveway and had to drop by.”

Esmé smiles. “Anya talked about you a lot on the drive over, Jere. She was excited to see you.”

Jeremiah spins Anya around in a circle. “Is that right, plum?” Anya giggles, nodding happily. I can’t help but smile at them, too. Jeremiah nods his approval. “That’s to be expected. I’m her favourite uncle after all.”

My sister laughs, and I notice a sparkle in her eye. She glances at me quickly. “Did you two finally manage to get together after all this time?”

Jeremiah tries to smile but it’s sad. It’s strange to me how forlorn he looks. “Not yet.”

This time, I cover Kohen’s ears and whisper at him, “Seriously, shut up.”

My mother seems not to find the interaction funny, which causes her to say, “I thought I saw you with Gigi Carlson, Jeremiah?”

Jeremiah stands right up with his back straight. He looks like a soldier reporting for duty. “Oh, n-no. Me and Gigi… no. She’s just… around sometimes.”

“Well,” my mother responds, “YN isn’t the type of girl to just be around. I hope you know this.”

“I know,” Jeremiah says, and he glances at me as he does so. Our eyes meet, and I blink apologies at him. I can’t save myself from my mother but I thought I’d be better at saving him. He’s right–I’m the worst person in the world. “YN’s my best friend.”

“Hm,” my mother ends with, looking Jeremiah up and down one last time. Eventually, her focus lands on her grandkids. “Anya, Kohen, come give Nana a hug.”

The children run into her outstretched arms. I take the moment to grab Jeremiah by the arm and pull him away. I push him into my father’s empty office and shut the door behind us.

A full-body sigh whips through me as I lean against the door. Jeremiah stays close, his body heat wafting off him in the enclosed space. It should feel suffocating to have him so close, in a room without light, but it doesn’t. Because I smell him, his skin, his cologne, and his scent. I want desperately to reach out to him and dip my fingers into everything he is, but I’m so apologetic that I simply stand still.

He smiles at me crookedly. I know he knows what I’m thinking. I know he doesn’t blame me for it. But I do. I blame myself plenty. I’ve had so many chances to make things better, to not make him feel terrible in front of my family, but I don’t. How do I even begin to?

“I’m sorry–”

“What for?” He leans closer to tuck my hair behind my ear. “I’m not mad.”

“Why not? She was awful to you.” He shrugs, and brings his hand away. I catch it in the air between us. My eyes are desperate. I feel the emotion flowing off me in tidal waves. “That’s why I told you not to come.”

Jeremiah chuckles, and that sound, that gorgeous sound, it plucks the strings of my heart in a delicate song. “Your mom’s not gonna keep me away from you, Daisy.”

“She’s never going to stop,” I murmur, experiencing the pain of the notion boil deep in my gut. “She’s always going to be like that to you. I can’t stop her–”

“And you don’t have to,” he interjects. “I’m not gonna go away just because of your mom. It’s not that easy to get rid of me.”

I can’t help the way my hand travels up for his cheek, to cup it and hold him in my palm. The gesture feels far too intimate for friends. Even for friends like us. “Why are you so good to me?”

He pulls my hand down and keeps it in his own. Then he leans in, pushing me tighter up against the door. His sea blue eyes gallop into mine. His mouth parts, and I crave him so violently that my limbs shake with the need. I wonder if he feels it with his knee between my legs. “Why do you think?”

I lick my lips, and his eyes follow the motion. My heart staggers, and burns, and cries out. I think about the definition of yearning that we learned about in English class this past winter and how I’m shivering with it now. If he kisses me, right here, right now, I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him everything. About the crush I’ve had for years and the way I can’t un-love him even though I’ve tried.

“I don’t–”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, and his words hit my moistened lips like small kisses. They cling to me. He looks down and helps my knuckles form a fist so he can bump it. “Best friends for life, right?”

Right.

He clutches my hand in his and brings us both out the door again. The air outside helps me gather myself in the wake of the moment we shared. I have to practice my breathing to stabilize myself. Jeremiah tells me he’ll go and try to win back my mother’s affections in the kitchen, and leaves me in the hallway to do so. I think about stopping him but I know it’s no use. He’s got his heart set on it.

I go upstairs in search of Esmé. I find her in her bedroom unloading the kids’ stuff. The room has a king sized bed, but I know Anya will sleep with our mother. She always does. It’s their tradition since forever.

“Hey,” I greet from the doorway. I shift my weight from foot-to-foot. “How was the drive?”

Esmé shrugs and shuts her empty suitcase. “Same as usual. The road to Cousins is boring as ever.”

“That’s because all the fun shops are in town.”

“If you say so.” Esmé sits down on the bed with a huff. “I’m totally exhausted.”

I take a single step inside, still keeping my distance. “It was a long drive.”

“Yeah, and without Dylan this time it was…” My sister stops mid-sentence to reevalute herself. “Did Mom tell you…?”

“Yeah.” I don’t tell her it was just as she had arrived because it’s unimportant. The timing of the reveal isn’t going to change the fact that both my parents and my sister are getting divorced. Maybe the statistics about divorces in the twentieth century Mrs. Reem taught us about have some truth to them. “Did he cheat?”

Esmé scoffs. “He wishes. Actually,” she throws her braid over her shoulder. “I was the one who cheated.”

The candour with which she talks throws me for a loop. I’ve always known my sister to be honest and truthful, but never quite like this. At a mere twenty-five, she sounds like a disgruntled woman poisoned by the trials and tribulations of life. In a lot of ways, I guess that’s true for her.

“With… who?”

“A guy from work. It’s not important.” Esme stands back up and grabs an extra large bag of Snickers. “Here. A gift of your favourite.”

Skittles are my favourite.

I take the bag from her and attempt to smile. “Thanks.” I scratch the spot behind my ear. “Do you want help with anything?”

Esmé shakes her head. “No. I think I’ll shower first. Mom said Dad’s gonna load up the grill for dinner.” A hollow laugh escapes her. “I can’t believe they’re still keeping up apperances. Why hasn’t she left him yet?”

Her words pierce my heart and drop down in pieces at the base of my stomach. For the last month and a half, I have been grueling over our parents’ split, wondering what went wrong and why they’re leaving each other after twenty-six years together; and yet, here’s my big sister, the one who’s supposed to be more mature and stable, joking about it? As if our parents are reality show contestants and not our family?

“What’s wrong with you?”

Both of Esmé’s brows fly straight up. “What?”

“You heard me,” I growl, squashing the stupid bag of Snickers in my hands. “Mom and Dad are getting divorced and you think it’s okay to laugh about it? Are you high?”

Esmé practically snarls. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what? Like your sister? Or did you forget you had one while you went and blew up our family?”

Esmé steps forward and raises her hand. Unlike with my mother, I have more control this time. “Don’t you dare touch me,” I spit.

Her face crawls with embarrassment. The fact that she thought she could hit me is laughable, but I don’t laugh. I don’t do anything. I just stare at her. At the girl who used to practice French braids on my hair, who used to help me with my math homework, and who used to protect me from our mother. Our mother the perfectionist. Our mother who has two imperfect daughters.

“Get the fuck out of my room,” she grumbles, pointing a finger at the door.

Just to be petty, I throw back, “This isn’t your room. Neither is this house. You stopped being a part of this family and everything we have when you let some rando knock you up in a club bathroom.”

The scorching flames of my sister’s emotions flare around us. I stand shaking in my slippers, trying to appear unafraid. When she realizes I won’t back down, not this time, Esmé stalks past me and into the bathroom. Unlike her sixteen year old self, she doesn’t smack the door closed.

Once again, I fall to the ground. I sit back against the dresser with my head between my legs and the bag of Snickers next to me. And I let myself cry.

. . .

At dinner, Jeremiah picks up on my sour mood right away.

He and Dad grilled some steaks, which we’re having with potato salad, cheesy corn, and a gravy dish our mother learned how to make off Youtube. It’s not bad, but I don’t have an appetite. It’s less so than my mother watching what I eat and more the fact that Esmé shoots daggers my way any chance she gets. In her stupid way, she even makes sure Anya doesn’t sit next to me like she usually does. The fact that she’s taking her kids away from me makes me want to throw up on her. I hate her so much.

“You should eat something,” Jeremiah whispers, tickling my side in an attempt to cheer me up. “Or you won’t have any energy.”

“I don’t need it,” I murmur. “I’m going to bed after this.”

He frowns. “What about movie night?”

“We can do it some other night.”

“But–”

“Just…” I clench a fist around my fork. “Not today. Okay?”

He leans back against the fabric chair. An idea seems to come to him. Under the table, he reaches for my hand. When he’s got it in his, he drops it palm up on his thigh. I look at him, silently asking what he’s doing, but he ignores me and tells me to look away. When I do, he swirls a finger in odd shapes around and around on my palm. “Tell me what you think I’m drawing,” he says quietly.

I bite my lip. He draws it a second time. “A bunny.”

He grins. “Point one.” Then again, he draws. “What about now?”

“A house.” I smile back at him. It’s weak, but it’s there. “These are too easy.”

“Okay, Einstein,” he chuckles, and its airy quality makes my heart lurch. “What about this?”

It’s the easiest one, and I really can’t help my grin this time. “A daisy.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just slips his palm over mine and threads our fingers together. His are soft and nimble and warm. The pain in my body starts to dissipate. Especially when he lowers his head to tell me, “They don’t know you like I do.”

“Who?” I whisper back even though I know.

“Everyone here.”

He holds my hand for the rest of dinner. I think Esme suspects what we’re doing because she glares at us any chance she gets. Even our mother, who usually spends dinner time telling us about the latest book she’s reading, pauses twice to ask my sister what’s wrong. Esmé’s smart enough to say, “Nothing.”

At the end of the night, Jeremiah respectfully said goodbye to my family at the front door. My mother appeared less bothered by his presence this time around, and my father clapped him on the back twice. Esmé hugged him and told him to come back and play with the kids anytime since they loved him. He said he would.

Ten minutes after, once I’d loaded the dishwasher, I went upstairs to find Jeremiah lying on my bed with his head hanging off the end. I laugh as I go to him, sliding in next to his tall frame. He shows me a Tiktok video a friend from school tagged him in. It makes us both laugh so hard that I have to slap a hand over his mouth. But then he bites my palm and I end up swatting him for it.

We stay up until half-past ten watching a horror movie. He picks it. He knows I hate them. He knows he hates them, and still, that’s what we end up watching together. We spend a majority of the movie covering our eyes with the duvet. Well, I do. Jeremiah, though, he tries to fake bravery. He even throws an arm out behind me and yawns when a jump scare nearly sends me back to God. But I notice the strain in his jaw, and the way he keeps swallowing. I notice his quickened breaths, too, and every time he blinks too fast. Halfway through, I tell him it’s too scary for me and he better shut it off. So he does, and we watch Youtube instead.

I’m giggling into his arm at the prank the Youtuber just pulled off when a knock sounds at my door. Jeremiah glances at me. I shake my head.

“It could be important,” he whispers.

“Then they’d text me.”

From the door, Esmé’s voice filters through. “Hey, uh… I put the kids to bed. I thought we could… I don’t know. The Kardashians are on.” For a second, I consider it. Esmé used to insist we watch every new episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians together just to stay on top of the drama. “For the irony,” she’d say. I think secretly, she enjoyed it.

I bring Jeremiah with me under the covers. Esmé knocks another two times, both fainter than the first. When she realizes I’m not coming, her feet shuffle away from the door. I let out a breath after she leaves. Jeremiah swipes under my nose.

“It’s not good to be mad at your family,” he says.

“That’s a load of bull coming from you.”

He rolls his eyes. “Me and Conrad are different. We’re not like you and Esmé.”

“How so?”

“Just… he’s more closed off than she is. At least she wants to talk. He acts like I don’t exist.”

“That’s not true. He thinks about you all the time.”

“Because he has to. Mom makes him. He wouldn’t if Mom didn’t say he had to.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. I don’t know what to say that’ll make him believe me. That’ll help him understand just how much his brother cares for him. “I don’t think it’s like that.”

“It is like that,” he nods. He places both arms under his head and looks up at the ceiling. “And it’s okay. After he leaves for college, we’ll see each other less. Probably only during the summers when Mom forces us together.”

His talk of future summers and his mother makes my heart swell ten sizes. An emotion born of regret and anguish bubbles out of me until I can’t help but sob. Jeremiah turns to ask me what’s wrong but I just bury my face in his chest. For the rest of the night, he holds me and selfishly, I tell myself it’s okay.

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katthekittycatkiller · 2 years ago

Text

you and me,

—a the summer i turned pretty fic starring my first and favourite book boyfriend, jeremiah fisher ♡

「part thirty-two, reader insert」

Conrad won’t stop staring at me.

His gaze, dark and hefty, brandishes holes in the back of my head despite the headrest barrier. Jeremiah is in the driver’s seat drumming his fingers along the steering wheel with no care in the world. I’m in the passenger seat with my toes curled in tension. Conrad is in the back. He’s quiet but I hear every word.

Are you still keeping the secret?

Please don’t tell him.

YN, you promised not to tell him.

Just do this for me. For our Mom. Jere can’t know.

“Hey, so,” I begin to speak into the silence, straightening my shoulders to give myself a modicum of courage. I grab ahold of Conrad’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Is he paying you? The author guy?”

“Yeah,” he replies. He doesn’t say anything more. No add-ons. No stories. No jokes. Simple and to the point. That’s Conrad Fisher.

“Minimum wage or…?”

From his seat, Jeremiah snorts. He glances at me with merriment. He hates mornings just as much as I do but you wouldn’t know it if you saw him now. He looks like he had the best sleep of his life last night. “He’s probably making more than us. Isn’t the guy loaded, Con?”

Conrad shrugs. He moves his eyes to the window. We’re surrounded by trees. “I guess. I don’t know. We just tie knots and stuff.”

“Is he chill? Our boss is always up our ass,” Jeremiah chimes. He glances at me for approval. I nod, agreeing. “She’s nice, though. Most of the time.”

Conrad nods along with the motions of the car. He’s not present in the conversation. Not entirely. When we were younger, Conrad was known for being the best listener. There were times I enjoyed talking to him about school or friends or general kid stuff more than Jeremiah. Jeremiah got bored easily, but Conrad could keep interest in the same thing for a long time. It was how he tore through novels as a preteen and used words the rest of us still cannot comprehend.

It breaks my heart to see Conrad lose himself. Bits and pieces and chunks of him keep floating away with the ocean this summer. Each day means another part of him is lost. I wonder if anyone but me even notices. The only two people who know Susannah’s secret.

To my surprise, Conrad smilingly says, “I think Laurel’s hooking up with him.”

“No effing way!” The shout flies out of me and Jeremiah, in the same style, in the same exact words. We look at each other again and yell, “Jinx!”

Conrad laughs. It sounds so airy, like he’s free of his shackles. “You guys are such kids.”

“Dude, you’re only eighteen,” Jeremiah replies. He sounds a little bit ticked off all of a sudden. “It’s not like you’re a grown-up.”

Conrad leans back against his seat. He shrugs. He’s closing up again. “Depends on who you ask.”

“Mom doesn’t think you are,” his brother argues. I wish he’d stop. Jeremiah is terrible at getting his point across, and I’m afraid this simple car ride will turn into a fight too easily. “And neither does Dad.”

I shake my head at my friend. “Jere, stop it.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Conrad butts in. He sounds suave, like he was expecting this exact scenario to play out. “Go on, man. Tell me why Mom and Dad think I’m not an adult.”

Jeremiah glances at me. His silent cry for assistance and validation cause my heart to burn. The pain of it, of his bewilderment, it makes me want to take hold of the wheel and jump out of the car only so the brothers can talk. In my head, it sounds like a decent idea but I know, in actuality, it would never work. Conrad is the sort of person whom, once he’s made up his mind, very little can sway him. I’m afraid Jeremiah’s temper is the last thing which will push his older brother to voice the truth their mother doesn’t want either of them to know.

A deep sigh escapes me. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to fix this. I wish Belly was here. Maybe she would know what to do.

“Whatever,” Jeremiah finally mumbles out.

He stays quiet for the rest of the ride. At least, until we drop Conrad off by the docks. There aren’t many people around, but I notice Mr. Kelly, the art store owner downtown on a walk with his new wife. He waves ‘hello’ to Conrad who hardly musters the same in return.

Jeremiah tries to whip the car out of the parking lot the moment Conrad falls out of view, but we don’t get very far before he stops again. My heart aches for him. Even when he’s irate, he makes sure the people he loves are okay. It reminds me of a few weeks ago when I blew up on him at the deb tea. He wasn’t even angry. He tried to understand me, my perspective, even though the normal reaction would have been fiery.

I don’t think he notices, but he’s grown up, too. It’s not only Conrad who’s changed.

“Hey,” I murmur, quiet as a bee. I lay my hand on his thigh with the palm facing up. “Don’t worry about Conrad. He’s gonna be okay.”

Jeremiah looks down for a second at my hand then meets my eyes. “Wanna get McDonald’s?” We’re ten minutes away from the country club with half an hour still left on the clock. There’s time, but I don’t want to spend it at a fast food joint when he’s hurting. If I know as well as I think I do, he’ll shovel too many French fries into his mouth to avoid answering my questions. Worse, he might shove vanilla ice cream coated French fries in his mouth. He makes fun of me for mixing mustard and ketchup but he’s the real villain.

“Can we talk about… you know?” I gesture between him and his brother off in the distance. He’s climbing onto a boat. The author we talked about in the car before stands on the deck with a grey backpack.

Jeremiah seems to ignore my plea and changes lanes anyway. In seconds, we’re en route to McDonald’s.

“Jere–”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he interjects. He uses the same tone from the start of summer. The time after I kissed him and acted like it meant nothing. “Conrad’s just Conrad.”

“He’s hurting–”

Jeremiah slams on the break. The car lurches forward. My heart jumps into my throat, nearly suffocating me. I wander out to grab the dashboard when I sense his skin over my t-shirt. His arm is out, protecting me.

“Sorry,” he mutters. I glance at him in shock. His hand on the steering wheel is shaking. “I-I can’t right now. I just… shit.”

I snap out of my daze and push his arm away. With one glance out the window, I check to see there’s no on-coming traffic before throwing the door open. I rush to his side of the door and tug him outside with as much strength as I can muster. It’s not just his brain which has grown. His muscles are higher and thicker in number, too.

“Hey, come here,” I gently say, folding his hand in mine. I don’t squeeze it. His emotions are lofty. He only needs to know I’m here. That I haven’t left him. That I’d never leave him. Even if he gave me a thousand reasons to. Jeremiah stumbles onto the road beside me. It’s the middle of the road, too, which isn’t safe. “Go sit in the passenger seat.”

Jeremiah looks at me like he wants to dispute my instruction but I shoot him down by diving for the driver’s seat. He gets in a moment later. I pull the car to the side of the road and turn the ignition off. Though his hands are still a bit shaky, the trembles are now less distinct.

I turn to face him. “What’s going on?”

Jeremiah swallows. His Adam’s apple firmly glides up then down. He doesn’t look at me as he whispers, “I think it’s my mom.”

The train inside my mind screeches to an abrupt halt. A million littles me’s jump out of the train and onto the platform. A few of them are on fire. All of them are screaming. They bang into poles and fall off the edge of the platform. They don’t stop hollering even as I crush my nails into my palm.

The fear in my heart muscle makes it accelerate. I gulp it down.

“What… what do you mean?”

Jeremiah lifts his head, and I find his eyes glisten with tears. Again, my heart pangs. “I think she’s sick again.”

“Jere…”

“Think about it,” he rushes out to say. He sounds breathless, almost. As if this is something he is frantic for me to understand. The utmost frenzy painting his voice makes my lips wobble with the urge to cry. “She wants her cardigan all the time even though it’s hot as hell. And she keeps taking these–these naps. She almost didn’t wake up in time for the Fourth of July. Do you know how crazy that is for my mom?”

Worriedly, I try, “Maybe she’s just really tired–”

“Fine, let’s say she’s just tired. But all summer, Daisy? All summer?”

It’s the fact that he thinks he doesn’t sound sane to himself. The fact that he’s trying to make sense of the changing world around him. The fact that he’s calling me Daisy because I’m the person he trusts to share this with–his fear, his plight, his agony.

And still, I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth.

I think about Conrad that morning on the beach, how scared he looked when he thought I’d tell his brother about their mom. I think about Jeremiah whose hysterical cries are lodged so deeply inside my brain that I know if I touched the memory again, I’d turn to dust.

“It’s only mid-July,” I tacitly convey. Every syllable fights a battle to cross my teeth. “She’s getting older, too.”

Jeremiah shakes his head at me. “You don’t get it. It's cancer. I know it is. It came back. I don’t wanna believe it, but–”

My heart lurches in his direction. I press my thumbs under his eyes where moisture has gathered. He doesn’t realize he’s crying. I push soft tendrils of curly blonde hair out his eyes. His eyes may be the ocean, but they aren’t meant to be wet. “Susannah is healthy. Quit worrying. You’re really ugly when you cry.” I ruffle his hair to make him laugh but he doesn’t. “Jere—“

“If she’s sick,” he begins, in a voice which resembles pure ire, “and Con knows, I’ll never forgive him. I swear to God, I won’t.”

“You don’t mean that—“

“I do. I mean it with all my heart. I don’t care if he’s my brother.” His eyes turn dark with viciousness. He looks like Conrad, he looks just like his big brother, that night at Jumper’s party and in his bedroom on Belly’s birthday. He looks ready to set the world on fire.

And again, I lie. I tell myself if he switches gears and chooses to hate me in the future then so be it. If it means he won’t spend this summer sobbing. If it means Susannah doesn’t have to see her angel cry.

I place my palm on his cheek.

“There won’t be anything to forgive, Fishie. Susannah’s not sick.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because we… talk.”

A smile twitches on the corner of his mouth. It’s so strange to see him this way. To see my bubbly, happy-go-lucky best friend who’s always smiling and laughing and having a good time transform into a weepy, helpless boy who doesn’t know what to do.

“She really loves you,” he says. He sounds so proud of himself. He pecks the inside of my palm. I try to hold back my blush but I don’t think I’m successful. I’m pretty sure I’ve made it worse. And more so than that, I feel like the most horrible human being in the world for allowing myself to get caught up in his affections when I’m lying to his face. “She talks about you all the time.”

“She… she does?”

“Yeah, all the time. Sometimes I think she likes you better than me.”

“That’s not true,” I shake my head, bringing my hand away. “She’s your mom. She has to love you more.”

He turns and rests his head against the backrest. “Doesn’t mean she can’t love you, too.” He glances at the phone in his lap. “Crap, work starts in fifteen.” I nod, strapping on my seatbelt. He looks at me as he reaches for his own belt. “I can drive us.”

I push the key into the ignition and start it up. Being behind the wheel of his car is second nature now. I spend so much time in the driver’s seat that I’m sure the seat has molded to the shape of my butt. Jeremiah is flat as they come. “I’ll drive. Your old people driving skills will make us late.”

He snorts. I smile despite the way my heart is calling me a bad friend by pinching my strings. “I’m a careful driver.”

“Slow. You mean slow.”

Jeremiah laughs, and it sounds happier.

By the time we get to work, he’s back to his chipper self. He carries me on his back to the front door. I don’t ask. He just sets himself down in front of me. I know it isn’t really for me. It’s for him. He needs to keep me close to help himself understand his own emotions. I need him the same way. Sometimes it feels like we can’t exist without each other.

The whole walk there, he tells me about how he’s going to try out for the hockey team in college. He doesn’t care if it means learning the sport outside of school. He’s going to do it because he wants to.

I keep my hands busy in his hair. I sift my fingers through the curls, I count them, and I pray he doesn’t feel the tears which glide down my cheeks and land on him.

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katthekittycatkiller · 2 years ago

Text

you and me,

—a the summer i turned pretty fic starring my first and favourite book boyfriend, jeremiah fisher ♡

「part thirty-one, reader insert」

JEREMIAH

Laurel keeps giving my dad weird looks over dinner. She thinks the rest of us don’t notice, and maybe a few of us don’t. I know Conrad doesn’t. He’s staring at his steak so hard that he might end up burning a hole through it. Belly still is reeling from the effects of underage drinking this afternoon so she’ll be under the weather for a while. My mom is sipping on her wine as if it’s a marvel, and me… I’m trying hard to focus on two things at once.

The first being Laurel who narrows her eyes at my father every time he chews his food too loud or tries to crack a joke only I laugh at. Half the time, I don’t know why I’m laughing at all. Dad’s never been the funniest person in any room. That was Mom. But he tried, and that mattered more than him being bad at jokes. He wasn’t the sort of dad you showed off because he made your friends laugh. He was the sort of dad you told your friends about because he made you proud.

He used to anyway. Before he went and cheated on Mom.

That’s the thing about this whole summer. I know what he did and Conrad does, too. But our parents think we don’t. Mom keeps trying to act like a happy family while it’s falling apart. Our family hasn’t been the same since she was diagnosed with cancer years ago.

Dad’s been off in the deep end with all his shit for months. He acts happy-go-lucky when he sees us, but then he and Mom fight behind their bedroom door. When they think me or Conrad aren’t home, they fight out in the open, too. Then Dad gets frustrated, grabs his cigarettes, and leaves the house in his new car. The car he never lets me nor Conrad touch.

He told Con he could have his old Mercedes for college but I doubt it’ll happen. Conrad stopped accepting things from our father the moment he found out about the cheating. He wanted me to follow suit. He never said, of course. My brother seldom asks me to follow his guidance. But the request was there in the way he’d share looks with me or the way he’d ask me if I was coming with when he decided to go out for a bike ride at night when our dad tried to gather us in the living room to watch football.

I know Conrad hates me for choosing to go with our dad. I don’t go because I think Dad’s right or because I’m okay with the cheating. I go because I know he’ll be alone if I don’t. Dad hates being alone more than anything else in the world. It’s probably why he cheated on Mom to begin with. Back when he thought he was going to lose her to cancer.

I feel the weight of my decisions drag me down every time I make them, and I feel like crap as a result. I know Conrad’s the older brother and I also know it’s not my responsibility to keep our family together. But if he’s worrying about Mom, I feel like it’s my job to worry about Dad. Even if he’s a liar and a cheat, he’s still our dad. And Mom still loves him. And me and Conrad do, too. He won’t say it but I know he does. He thinks he can brush off love but he can’t. It doesn’t work with Dad and it definitely doesn’t work with Belly.

Laurel purses her lips when Dad cracks a joke about the chicken being so delicious that we’ll have to roll him out of the room after dinner. I chuckle, but no one else really laughs. I wonder if he knows Mom made it despite thinking he wasn’t going to come to Cousins this summer. I wonder if he knows she’d never divorce him even if he did tried to ask. I know he won’t, though. He loves her, too. In his own weird, twisted way. It’s not the way I want to love, that’s for sure. But it worried me a lot. Don’t they say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?

Next to me, YN is stuffing her mouth with the same chicken. I want to say it’s ‘eating’ but it’s really not. The moment she places one piece of food in her mouth another follows. She doesn’t even chew. Not really. I don’t know much about digestion but I’m sure she’ll get sick from this if she doesn’t stop.

“Hey,” I whisper, reaching out for her hand under the table. I squeeze her fingers on top of her knee. “Chill out. The chicken’s not gonna grow new legs and run away.”

YN smiles with her mouth full. My heart does a pesky little swoop, and I know she’s not offended. Not like she was about the bikini she wore this afternoon. The red and the strings and the way it sat on her body is permanently etched into my head. I think it gave me brain damage.

“I can’t stop,” she whispers back after swallowing. “It’s so good. Why’s your mom such a good cook?”

I grin. I turn and grab another leg of chicken and drop it on her plate. I squeeze her fingers again then let go. “Eat up.” If she does get sick later, I’ll be there. It’s not like I enjoy being anywhere other than by her side.

YN doesn’t hesitate and devours that chicken, too. I leave her in peace so I can stare at the adults again. Dad is asking Laurel when her new book is coming out. This earns a scoff from Conrad. Dad notices straightaway, and it makes him frown.

“Laurel had a book party a few weeks ago, Dad,” I speak up, not really sure why. I keep getting the sense that I need to fill in the gaps. “You had to be there. It was amazing.” Laurel smiles my way but it’s tight. Mom keeps sipping her wine. “Laur, you should give me a copy. I want to read it.”

Laurel chuckles. I notice some of the tension wafting off her shoulders as she relaxes back into her seat. “It’s not a book for you, kiddo.”

“Why not? I love to read.” YN chokes on her food. I roll my eyes. “It’s true! I read that one book for English Lit. a few months back. Right, YN? Jane Ear?”

“Jane Eyre, doofus,” she laughs. She wipes her mouth with a napkin. Some of the lip balm she was wearing earlier rubs off on the white paper. I don’t why but for a split second, I get caught up in it. It’s only for a second, though it’s a reminder that I’m always floating around in her atmosphere.

“Yeah, so, same thing.” I look at Laurel expectantly. “I’m sure your book couldn’t be more boring than Jane Ear.”

Laurel laughs, almost as loud as YN. It’s a full-belly laugh. I grin, proud of myself. “Jane Eyre is a classic, Jeremiah, but I still don’t think you would enjoy my book.”

I pout. “I might.”

“The book’s about her divorce.” Conrad interjects. His voice reverberates across the table. When he talks, he demands attention. Belly and Steven weren’t listening to me at all but as soon as he spoke, their ears perked up. It ticks me off a little but I bite back a scowl. Mom wouldn’t appreciate me losing my temper at dinner. “What would you know about that?”

“It’s fine, Conrad,” Laurel adds in softly. “Jere, I’ll give you a copy later, okay?”

Suddenly, I don’t want to read the book at all. Not that I wanted to read it very much to begin with. I hate when Conrad stays quiet for an entire conversation and only speaks up when he thinks he can bring me down. He’s been doing it a lot lately.

Dad glances at us, me and Conrad, and starts to speak up when Mom places a hand on his arm to stop him. She’s at the head of the table. From her seat, she can see all of us. Cousins is the only place where she gets to sit there. In Boston, in our real house, the chair is empty most nights because Dad can’t get away from work long enough to eat with us. When we were kids, Conrad and I would fight over the chair when Dad wasn’t around. We thought responsibility was so cool back then. We had no idea what it really meant.

“I’ll check on the dessert,” Mom chirps, and then she pushes her chair back and stands up. “Adam, come help me, please.”

All of us watch them leave. I’m surprised Laurel doesn’t go with them. Mom and Laurel have the kind of friendship me and Steven have. I can tell him anything, and he’d have my back. And anyway, it’s not like Dad can hide the cheating from Laurel. She already knows about it.

Laurel folds her hands under her chin and looks at us. I can tell she’s placating in my parents’ absence. “Are you kids going to light the fireworks after dinner?”

No one says anything so I speak up again. “Yeah. Me and YN were gonna do it. Steven’s gonna join, too. Right, man?” Steven nods, but his eyes are downcast. He’s so bad at hiding the fact that he’s on his phone even though we’re not allowed to have devices at the table. “The food was really good, Laur.”

“It was all Susannah’s magic,” she replies, but I know that’s not the full truth. I saw her making the garlic bread from scratch. She didn’t even use a recipe from Youtube. But Laurel doesn’t like to be praised. Not for anything she does. It’s the reason why she never hosts her own book parties so my mom has to.

When my parents don’t return from the kitchen, Conrad asks to be excused which leads to a domino effect. So then Laurel tells us we can all go, and that she’ll clean up the table after us. We don’t argue.

On my way out the front door, I glance in the direction of the kitchen. YN stops in her tracks ahead of me then walks backward to grab my hand. Her palm meets mine, and I feel some of the stress seeped in my bones melting away.

“They’re gonna be alright,” she says, and each word feels like a warm hug. “Let’s go light some fireworks, ‘kay?”

I let her pull me along, feeling defeated. Conrad snuck up to his room, and who knows when he’ll return. If he ever will. He stopped enjoying holidays after the second Christmas Dad spent in a business meeting.

When we get outside, YN turns me around on the porch and sets her fingers on either side of my mouth. She pulls the ends up. I hadn’t realized I was frowning.

“Cheer up, Fishie,” she tries. “It’s the Fourth of July. You love this holiday.”

I open my mouth just to clamp down on the edge of her finger. She yelps, and I laugh so hard, it shakes my whole body. The cheerful moment doesn’t laugh because then I’m asking her, “Do you hate your parents?”

Her brows crinkle. I’ve managed to surprise her. “What do you mean?”

“Their divorce. Do you hate them for it?”

“I… I don’t know. Sometimes.” She pauses for a second. “Where’s this coming from?”

“My dad cheated on my mom.”

The way YN’s eyes widen makes me want to bellow in laughter but I hold it back. There are too many emotions rushing through me right now.

“What? When?”

“A year ago, maybe? Conrad told me.”

“Conrad told you?”

This time, I let out a chuckle. “Why are you saying it like that? He’s my brother. ‘Course he tells me stuff.”

I watch YN’s expressions change under the moonlight. The stretch of desert in her eyes, and the twitch of her lips. She’s on the verge of telling me something. Something that might change everything. It makes me wonder what she knows, and what she’s hiding. But then she doesn’t say anything, and the conversation begins to drop off the edge of the Earth.

A poke her in the side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Let’s just go.”

As she starts to walk away, I grab her arm to keep her back. I search her eyes for signs of distress. “Seriously, what’s up? Did Con say something to you?”

“N-No. That’s crazy. We barely talk.”

I chew on my bottom lip for a second before responding. “You tried so hard to convince me you guys were friends a while ago and now you sound like you don’t know him. What happened?”

“Are your parents going to get divorced, too?”

“Answer my question first.”

“Answer mine.”

I sigh, and rub the back of my head. Then I shrug. “I dunno’. Maybe.”

YN seems to think about it for a second. A second which stretches out into a minute. But then she says, “I don’t think they will. Susannah wouldn’t let it happen.” Her eyes find mine. “Your parents love each other too much.”

“So do yours. Maybe they won’t split either.”

Behind her, the sky is clear. In its last few moments, as the sun waves goodbye, it sets its glow on my favourite person’s back and I lose myself in her again. I can forget the bad stuff for a little while when she’s around. I don’t know how she does it, but it’s always been that way.

YN hops down the porch. I follow suit. We make our way down to the beach. Our stretch of it. Not many people in Cousins have what we have. It’s a luxury. The house, our family, our friends.

On the sand, YN slips off her flip-flops and towards the water. By its edge, she dips her toes in just to test its temperature before submerging her feet. It doesn’t take her long to start splashing around.

The waves and her laughter and her singing dance in my ears while I plant myself down by the fireworks. I left them on the beach earlier so I wouldn’t have to carry them out after dinner. Conrad helped but we didn’t talk much. Not that he’s a big talker as it is. But we used to be able to say more than two words to each other. He didn’t even tell me to shut up when I cracked a joke. He’s done that forever.

Mom has a theory. She thinks Aubrey is his first love and that’s why he’s so torn about the break-up. I wanted to argue with Mom about it because it isn’t true. Aubrey was just a girl Conrad liked. He didn’t love her. Not like he loved Belly. Sure, the break-up could have been hard on him but not enough for him to spend months sulking. But Mom was so convinced and I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was probably wrong. Whatever Conrad’s messed up about–it doesn’t have to do with Aubrey or even Belly. There’s something else. I just wish he’d talk to me about it.

Before Dad cheated, me and Conrad talked about everything. I hated him sometimes, sure. I hated that Dad liked him more. I hated that he was better at football even though I liked it more than he did. I didn’t like it as much as hockey but I did enjoy it enough to keep playing even though Dad hardly showed up for my games. I hated Conrad for that, too. That him quitting meant Dad didn’t have a reason to come to the games at all anymore.

Mom says me and Conrad have to be each other’s best friends in this world. Because we’re brothers. Because blood is important. She says friends are important, too, but we’re her sons. We have to stick together. When she got sick the first time and we didn’t know if she was going to make it, Mom told all the nurses and the doctors to leave the room so she could talk to us.

I’ll never forget the way she looked lying there on the hospital bed. How her hair was so thin from the stress and matted because she hadn’t been able to shower in a few days. How her eyes were sunken in. How her lips were chapped. Mom cared about lip balm more than anybody. Dad used to joke that she should just start her own company. But when she was sick, she didn’t care about that stuff. She didn’t care if she looked like a ghost. She said she only cared about us–her kids.

Conrad sat on her left and I sat on her right and our Mom told us we were the best thing she had ever done. That she was proud of us and that she loved us. I cried a lot. Conrad cried, too. He tried to hide it at first but when Mom put her hand on his head, he sobbed and the weight of that, that scene of my brother crying–it shook me up. It shook Mom up, too, and we shared this look that was just for us. She told me, without saying it aloud, that I had to take care of Conrad sometimes. Like how he was always taking care of me.

I don’t know if I’m any good at keeping that promise but I try. For my Mom’s sake, I always try with Conrad.

“Hey, Fishie,” YN calls, settling in with her wet, sandy feet next to me. “Remember how you almost killed everyone the last time you set off fireworks?”

I roll my eyes. Every chance she gets, YN reminds me of summer fifteen when my Dad first taught me how to light fireworks. I was no prodigy, I can tell you that. “Do you have to bring that up?”

“Oh, yes, I do. I can’t have you killing me tonight. I have too much to live for.”

“And what’s that?”

“Piercings, for one.” She knocks her shoulder against mine. “I didn't forget, you know.”

“Shit, I was hoping you forgot.”

“Never.”

I move all the plastic wrapping out of the way and push it aside. “What else?”

“Hm… skinny dipping?”

I bark out a laugh. I turn to look at her in pure amusement. “Skinny dipping? You’d hate that.”

“Excuse you? Why would I hate it?”

“Because you have to get naked to do it. Are you gonna get naked and go in the water, Daisy?”

“You really need to stop calling me that…” she mumbles, only half meaning it. I know she likes it. If she really hated the nickname, she’d have put a stop to it years ago. She’s what my Mom calls ‘moxie.’ A go-getter; someone who’s got spunk. “And how do you know I wouldn’t get naked and go skinny dipping?”

“Because I know you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. Shut up.”

“Yes, I do. Make me.”

YN grabs a fistful of sand and drops it on my head. I laugh, and shake my curls out. She gets in close to see the fireworks. “Whoa, is that a penis?”

“What?!” I bow my head to see as YN dumps two fistfuls of sand in my hair this time. She laughs so loud that it vibrates in the air around us. I don’t mind. It’s still my favourite sound in the world. I shake my curls out again, and pout. “Hey, stop it! It’ll take forever to get this sand out of my hair.”

“Should have picked your words more carefully then, Fishie. I’m not above getting revenge.”

I pick up some sand and pour it in her hair. She reacts exactly the way I knew she would–with more laughter. “Yeah, I know. Because I know you.”

YN’s cheeks burn crimson. “Shut up.”

“Like I said… make me.”

Not having anything more to say, YN turns away from me to stare out at the ocean. An ache of disappointment transpires in the middle of my chest. It’s the weirdest feeling in the world. I told her not to, made her promise not to kiss me, and somehow now, when she doesn’t, it frustrates me. I want her to be a liar so badly, I’m ready to grab her by the neck and bring her into me so we have to kiss. So my lips can stop begging for hers on them. The power she has over me is ridiculous, and it makes me wonder if I’ll always feel this way around her.

Dad says that’s how Mom made him feel when they were dating. Actually, he went out with Laurel first. They met in some class at college. But Laurel handed him off to my Mom because she thought they were better suited, and she was right. Laurel’s wrong about very few things.

When we were kids, before the cancer and before he cheated, Dad looked at Mom like she was someone from another world. Not like she was an alien but like she came straight from heaven. He said when they were together, he felt like the luckiest man in the world. Mom comes from a rich family, but Dad had to work his way up. He said she never made him feel small for that, and that made him love her more.

Enough so that Mom was already pregnant with Conrad by the time they got married. Laurel told me that a few summers ago when she and Mom were wine-drunk during a Police Academy marathon. Mom wasn’t even embarrassed when Laurel said it. She just giggled and said that happens sometimes when two people really love each other. Then Laurel laughed so hard that she almost spilled her wine all over the sofa.

“Is it ready?” YN breaks the silence to ask. I’m so lost in my head that her words whiz past me. “Hey, weirdo! Still on Earth?”

I give her a full smile. I feel loopy in the head all of a sudden. I forget how to be sad around her. “No. I’m on Mars.”

“It’s inhabitable.”

“Not forever.”

“Okay, Elon Musk.”

I tinker with the firework some more until I’m sure it’s ready. YN pulls out a lollipop from her pocket. She unwraps it, shoves the plastic in her pocket, then pops it into her mouth. I wait for her to give me one, too, but when she doesn’t offer, I whine like a kid. “Gimme one.”

YN leans back and shakes her head. “Get your own.”

“From where?”

She takes out the lollipop for a second to answer me. “Laurel left them on the picnic table. Should’ve taken some initiative, Fishie.”

As soon as she pops the candy back in her mouth, I easily reach out and grab its tail. My fingers brush her chin, startling her, but what shocks her more is when I pull the lollipop out. I don’t hesitate with my actions afterward. I simply dump it in my own mouth. Her eyes widen to the shape of golf balls. Then her face twists into one of repulsion.

“What the hell?! That’s so disgusting!”

“I’ve had your tongue in my mouth and you think this is disgusting?”

That earns me a well-deserved shove. For a girl who hardly lifts weights (I tried to take her to the local Cousins gym once and she promised to end our friendship if I ever pulled such a stunt again), she’s rather strong. Not strong enough for me, though. When I’m not in Cousins, I spend hours at the gym in Boston.

I have to, for football. I was really scrawny as a kid, and Coach said I had to build up the muscle if I wanted to play all season. I didn’t argue. Even if no one but my Mom and YN came to see me play, it was worth it.

YN appears more gobsmacked than before. Her eyes are lined with offence. When she finally finds her voice, she argues, “Are you calling my tongue disgusting?!”

“No.”

“Asshole.”

She reaches back into her pocket and pulls out another lollipop. That’s when I notice they’re both cherry red hearts. My favourite.

Laurel must have bought them whilst thinking of me. I’m not too humble to admit it. Laurel’s been doing this sort of thing our whole lives. She’ll pick up tangerines for Conrad when he’s in a mood. She’ll make double chocolate fudge milkshakes for Steven when he’s tired. For Belly, she’ll make those pancakes she loves in the middle of the night. Even for YN, Laurel has bought bags and bags of Skittles for our movie nights multiple times over the years. Laurel’s love is quiet, but it’s always there.

YN waves the new lollipop in my face before proceeding to pop it into her mouth, too. “If you had waited like, one more second, I could’ve given you this new one. Now you have my germs in your mouth.”

I suck on the lollipop a bit then pull it out. The heart is tinier. “Doesn’t taste so bad even with all your germs.”

“You’re so gross.”

As she allows herself to descend to the sand-covered floor beneath us and settle in as if she’s in bed, I stay upright and finish tinkering with the firework. I don’t know why I don’t understand. The instructions are clear and I’ve done this before. At least enough times to not keep messing it up. I don’t know if it’s because my brain is short-circuiting or if it’s because I’ve got too much on my mind, but it takes another few minutes for me to get it right.

When I jump up, I tell YN I’ll be right back and then I jog towards the water. About five metres away from the edge, I light up the cylinder tube. It starts to sparkle, which makes YN clap her hands. I roll my eyes, knowing she’s being just a little bit condescending. I know she’s proud of me too because the moment I get back to her, she tugs on my arm and pulls me down beside her.

Her body sneaks closer to mine as the fireworks light up the night sky. I hold my breath just like always. Heat smothers my body and I go stiff, the tension tightening a rope around my throat and limbs.

It didn’t used to be this way. I used to be okay around her. I used to be able to breathe in her presence. But sometime between age ten when we became friends and age twelve when I started noticing her as more than that, breathing and walking and talking and existing in the same space as her has transformed into the most daunting task on Earth. Most days, I’m biting back the thick lust on my tongue and hands.

Tonight, I grant myself respite. I suspend the knowledge that she doesn’t want me the way I want her, and I let myself have a morsel of her knowing I’ll remain hungry long after.

As the salty air grazes my lips, I stretch my arm out in the capsule of distance between us on the dry sand. The touch of my fingers to hers makes her breath hitch. Even above the boom of the fireworks, her sounds seek me out as if they only emerge for my ears. I spin our fingers together, locking us in.

Her head tilts upward. “Do we really need to hold hands for this?”

“Fireworks scare me,” I mumble. I shift closer so her head can rest properly on my shoulder. I wonder if she can smell my cologne the way I can smell the watermelons in her hair. The wind seems to carry it straight into my nostrils.

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

A moment passes. The fireworks are on their last few breaths. The package they came in said they’d last about a minute and a half. I worry it’s enough time for her to decide she doesn’t want to be this close to me.

YN surprises me when she doesn’t say anything back. It’s abnormal because she always has something to say. Her quietness makes about as much sense as Steven and Shayla together. Not that I would ever tell him that. He might be my best friend but he’s a sensitive guy. I can’t tell him what I really think about his new relationship. He’d never speak to me again. When he broke up with his ex at the end of last summer, he was so torn up that he wouldn’t leave his room until Laurel honked the car horn and said they were going home. We spent the whole last week in Cousins playing video games in his room without talking.

“Ah,” YN finally muses with a giant smile, “our great American palm tree.”

I smile with her, or really, at her. I miss most of the fireworks for this reason. “You know, they’re not native to America.”

“What? How do you know that?”

“Just something I learned in class.”

YN bursts into laughter. Her eyes are shining with mirth as she heaves herself off the ground to look at me. “So you know that random fact but you don’t remember Jane Eyre?”

I sit up, too, just so I can tuck her hair behind her ear. I hate when I can’t see every inch of her face. I know she isn’t hiding from me, but I love her so much that not seeing as much as I can of her, makes me anxious. “Jane Ear’s boring.”

“Says you! It’s a classic!”

“Classics are boring then.”

YN swats my chest like I’ve burned her. “Take that back right now!”

I lean my head in close enough so that our eyes are parallel. YN doesn’t move but I can tell she’s shaken up. Her breath catches, and her tongue slides out to moisten her lips. I follow the trail, engrave the motion to memory, only to meet her gaze again. Her eyes are clouded with uncertainty. I wonder if she thinks I’ll kiss her.

Just to tease, I move a little bit closer so she feels my breath on those wet lips. “Do you wanna kiss me, Daisy?”

I watch her closely, inspecting her like a crime detective. I want to understand her. I want to figure her out. I want to see if our closeness is affecting her as much as it’s affecting me. The way it’s set a flame inside my heart unrelenting.

I don’t know what she’s thinking when she leans in. It’s only a centimetre, but it manages to kick my heart into overdrive. My mind draws a blank. I don’t know what to do.

“No,” she whispers, and the syllable bounces off my bottom lip where her gaze is settled. “Do you want to kiss me?”

My mouth twitches with an amused smile. “Maybe.”

“Then… don’t.”

The chance to study her face only lasts a second because the next thing I know, YN is standing to her feet. I catch her by the arm as she starts to walk away.

“Hold on,” I murmur, trying to stand up, too. My somewhat sleepy legs are of no help. I look at her curiously. I wonder if I appear as quizzical as I feel. There’s so much confusion inside me right now that it’s bursting at the seams. “What does that mean?” YN tugs herself free and continues walking towards the house. Her house. Not mine. I immediately rush after her, not the least bit worried about the fireworks I’m leaving out on the beach. I’m sure I can pick it up later.

I follow her to her house. The three story beach house which looks so much like ours isn’t a place I visit very often. Not from the front door anyways. The tree next to YN’s balcony is the thing I know best on the property. I’ve even given him a name–Gerald. Because his sturdiness reminds me of my Grandad who nearly played professional football back in the day. WHen he was alive, we would hear the stories all the time. They were his favourite to tell and me and Conrad’s favourite to listen to. Grandad wasn’t as tough on us as our dad was. It was easier being around him.

By the door, I ask YN, “Can we talk?” I sound desperate even to my own ears.

“Sh,” she scolds, placing a finger on her lips to shush me. Her brows crease in the middle. “My parents will hear you!”

I glance at the windows. The house is dark, but there’s a single lamp on. I’m guessing it’s for YN. “But it’s not even midnight.”

“They always sleep early on holiday nights. They hosted a party today, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” It’s something her parents do every July 4th. Normally, YN has to attend and do all sorts of chores to prepare but she didn’t this year. I wonder why. And I also wonder if her parents are just keeping up appearances in the midst of their pending divorce just like my parents. What sort of two people hate each other enough to keep hosting holiday parties? “Do you want me to go home?”

YN looks at me pensively. I can tell she’s debating it. I hope she says no. I want to talk about earlier. I want to know what she meant.

It feels like every time we get close to talking about us, the universe stops it from happening. Sucks for the universe because I’m not the kind of guy who gives up easily. One of these days, I’m going to kiss her and I’m going to make it count, and she won’t run away, and then perhaps we’ll finally understand what the hell we are.

“No, just–” YN grabs my hand and shoves open the door after inputting the numbers in the keypad. Her voice is small as she instructs, “Let’s go to my room. I wanna watch a movie.”

Once inside, YN guides me through the semi-darkness like we’re mice. I don’t complain even though I know her house well-enough to get around on my own, especially with her parents in dreamland. But I’m relishing her skin on mine way too much right now to go on my own.

“I think there might be some cake left from the party,” she tells me. “I’ll grab it from the fridge and bring it upstairs.” She shoos me off and I go, a little hurt. I wanted to keep holding her hand some more. It’s ridiculous the little things I crave with her even though I get them all the time. I’ve heard people say love gets boring with the same person over time, but I don’t think that makes sense for me. I think I could hold YN’s hand every second of every day and still want her more. I don’t think there’s enough time in this life to have her as much as I want to.

Doing as she says, I quietly ascend the staircase. At the top, I notice her parents bedroom door is left ajar and sounds of snores emitting. I tip-toe down to YN’s room at the end of the hall past the guest bedroom and the bathroom. Her room is as dark as night when I get there so I turn on her bedside lamp. Next to it, she has a picture of us in a gold speckled frame. All of us summer kids. Even Steven’s ex is in it.

The picture is from last summer and I’m sure one of our parents took it. It was the day we had the hamburger eating contest and Belly beat me. I remember pretending like I was okay when she won when I wasn’t. I really wanted to win so I could get a new skateboard. Dad had set the prize to a hundred dollars. He was so surprised when Belly won and not me. I never lost at food contests.

That was the summer I realized she was changing and so was everyone else. We were growing up. I think the parents noticed, too, because they’d make comments every now and again about this precious and memorable time of our lives that we’d look back on in the future. They told us we were all lucky to have each other. The six of us.

I’m grinning as I bring my gaze away from the picture. I let my eyes glance around her room. This room I’ve known for seven summers. This room YN decorated with things she loves and the things her grandparents left behind. Like the antique table Skittles is sitting on, and the light fixture hanging over her dresser. There’s a guitar in the corner she promised she’d learn how to play in summer thirteen, and the green jump rope she loves. On her dresser, there’s the Marc Jacobs’ Daisy perfume I gave her with half the bottle empty. It makes me laugh. She’s had the bottle for years but she refuses to use it up. I wonder if she knows I’d be back in the store to buy her a new one tomorrow if she wanted.

I sit on her bed with my feet up and scroll through my phone for a few minutes. Instagram is the same. The same summer kids posting their beach selfies and fireworks displays. The kids in Boston with their big flags and dollar-store sparklers. Halfway through my feed, I see a post from Steven’s ex from early this morning. It’s an OOTD post. Steven’s ‘liked’ it because of course he has.

After Instagram, I check my texts. A few from the school group chats are lit up with emojis and pictures of everyone’s July 4th celebrations. I have a few texts from girls asking to hook up. I don’t know what compels me but I block all of them. I’m sure I’ll see them around this summer but I don’t have to see their messages. When I click out of the app, a picture of YN pulling my cheek glows back at me. I think Conrad took it. It’s been my background photo since forever. I don’t know if I’ll ever change it.

Curious about why YN hasn’t returned nearly five minutes later, I walk back down the stairs to find her in the kitchen. Her back is bent over a cake box with the lid still drawn closed. As I walk closer, the refrigerator light alerts me to the tears spotted on her cheeks.

“Hey, hey,” I whisper in a mode of panic. I go around the breakfast table to look at what she’s staring at. There’s a note taped to the cake box. It’s in her mother’s handwriting.

I missed you today.

Eat well, YN.

Please share with Jeremiah, too.

–Mom

It’s a simple note. A note I’ve seen my mother leave for me dozens of times over the years in my lunchbox. I’ve never cried about it but I know why YN does.

I don’t circle my arms around her in a hug. I know that’s not what she needs right now. What I do instead is flip on the kitchen light, dim it so it’s no longer bright, and then I grab the cake box. I set it on the floor and set YN down in front of it. She comes willingly. Her tears drip on the tile. I grab two forks from the drawer and sit down beside her.

We don’t talk. We sit next to each other and I open the cake box. I stick the fork in and dish a sizable bite onto it. After that, I carry it to her mouth. She doesn’t open it instantly. I’m not shocked. I just do what I always do when she acts like she doesn’t want to eat. I tickle the spot under her chin. YN garbles a laugh, and I commit it to memory.

For the next few minutes, I feed her and eventually, she feeds me. I make her work for it, too. I swing my head back and forward and left to right. At one point, I even drop my head in her lap and she paints the tip of my nose with a dollop of cream. The worst, or maybe the best, is when she dips her down to lick it off me. Her hair and her eyes trap us in the moment. I think, What if I just inclined my head and met her halfway? What if I just kissed her?

But I didn’t. Because her eyes were still wet and she was thinking about her mother.

We spent a quarter of the night on her kitchen floor and the rest in her bedroom where we watched some Netflix show I couldn’t pay attention to because she was too close to me and I was running laps inside my head. Eventually, we both fell asleep tucked into each other and I whispered that I loved her when I knew she couldn’t hear me.

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katthekittycatkiller · 2 years ago

Text

you and me,

—a the summer i turned pretty fic starring my first and favourite book boyfriend, jeremiah fisher ♡

「part twenty-four, reader insert」

Taylor dyed her hair.

It’s the first thing I notice when she walks off the bus. Her usual brown hair has been dyed blonde. The last time she did that was when she was twelve and her mother did it for her. I wonder if she got it done at a professional salon this time. It looks really good. When her feet land on the pavement, she seems older. Older than all of us.

“Oh my God! Happy birthday!” Taylor hollers, a variety of balloons and a pink gift bag in her right hand. Her and Belly go in for a giant hug, and it reminds me of Ashlyn and me. And suddenly, I miss my school friend more than ever. I haven’t spoken to her at all since I got to Cousins weeks ago. Taylor looks at Jeremiah. Her eyes are flirtatious as always. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from rolling my eyes. “Hey, Jeremy.” He smiles back at her and offers to hold her bag. As she’s passing it over, she reaches out to hug me. I’m stiff as a log at first, but then I realize I’m being stupid. She’s a friend. Her and Jeremiah flirt all the time. It doesn’t mean anything. “Hey, YN. You look hot. Actually…” Taylor takes a step back to examine me and Belly. “Both you bitches went and got hot on me.” A grin pounces onto her mouth as she rushes in for a group hug. “Good, I’ll fit right in.”

We laugh, and I know what we’re all thinking, same old, Taylor. Cousins stays the same every summer, but so do the people. We stay the same even when we change.

Jeremiah says his mom is treating all of us to ice-cream for Belly’s birthday. It’s hardly ten in the morning, but I’m not complaining. I could have ice-cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I never get tired of the dessert. And by the looks on their faces, Belly and Taylor agree.

We head to Pin-Pin’s by the boardwalk. Along the way, Belly and Taylor walk ahead of us. Jeremiah struggles with Taylor’s bag. He tries keeping it on his back but it weighs him down like a mule. Then he attempts to put it on backwards but that doesn’t help much either.

“I think she packed her whole bedroom,” he whispers to me, his face coloured with a faint red. The heat of the burning sun isn’t helping his case. “What if I just left this here?”

I chuckle, then reach out to grab ahold of the bag. “Here, I’ll help.” I grab one end of the bag then give him the other. We bump fists on top. “For the princess!” We stifle our giggles when Taylor glances back.

To our surprise, Pin-Pin’s isn’t crowded like it usually is. It may have to do with the fact that it’s early in the morning and most people are either waking up at this time or having a hearty breakfast. Joke’s on them because we already had breakfast. Pancakes with fresh maple syrup. Laurel made Belly’s in the shape of Mickey Mouse because she loves that. Me and Steven had chocolate, and Jeremiah had blueberries. Conrad didn’t bother to have any. He ate his cereal in silence at the breakfast table, staring at his phone like the cure for his mother’s cancer was on it.

These days, he’s even more removed from the rest of us than usual. All he does is look at his phone in silence. Hours will go by and he won’t say a word. He might grunt or nod, but it’s difficult to get much else out of him. And he’s treating Belly like shit. I catch her every so often, the abundant hope in her eyes as she peers at him. I can tell he wants to say something, do something, but he doesn’t. He pushes her away and calls Nicole or goes surfing. A few times, he just disappears. Laurel mentioned in passing that he was teaching someone how to sail for extra cash.

Either way, Conrad isn’t Conrad this summer and I’m not the only one who sees it. But he has a secret only I know. I won’t tell anyone. Of course, I won’t. But I wish he would. I wish he’d tell Susannah. Tell his mother what’s going on inside his messy head. Or Laurel. He can talk to her about anything.

“Get whatever you want,” Jeremiah says, flashing his mother’s American Express credit card as if it’s his own. The card catches a line of sunshine pouring through the window which makes him look like he’s in an advertisement.

Taylor takes the suggestion in stride and makes Belly order the biggest banana split off the menu. They carry it out to the picnic table and dig in. For a girl as conscious about her appearance as Taylor is, she eats well. She doesn’t care who’s watching when she eats. It’s nice. It makes me feel proud of her in a strange, motherly sort of way.

Jeremiah is at the counter while I’m gazing at all the flavours in the glass freezer. There are so many, but my eyes only hunger for the chocolate flavours. I’m not a big fruit person. Not in my ice-cream and pancakes, anyway.

“Hey, man, can I get four scoops of cookies ‘n cream?” He pauses for a second to grin at me. “With extra sprinkles. As many as you can fit.” He reaches out, grabs my hand, then slings an arm around my shoulder. I fit perfectly into his side. “This one gets cranky when she doesn’t get her sprinkles.”

I’m laughing as I attempt to swat his stomach. I’m met with his thick muscles again, and it reminds me of yesterday. How he dragged my hand down his body and I felt everything I told myself I wasn’t allowed to feel. How he did it like it was nothing. How he looked at me like he could tear me apart, limb by limb. And I’d let him. I’d welcome it.

I gulp down my inner turmoil and take the baby blue spoons the cashier holds out. We’re digging into our own ice-cream as we walk out of the shop. Taylor waves us over to their table. Upon sitting down, I notice that their banana split is almost finished. I set our ice-cream down on the table and attempt to make conversation with Taylor.

“Hey, so,” I lick my spoon clean, “how’ve you been, Taylor?”

Taylor runs a subtle hand through her new hair. “Can’t you tell?”

Jeremiah snorts, and I fold back a grin. “Yeah, totally,” I tell her. “Did you do something new with your eyebrows?”

Taylor’s mouth falls open. The unbridled offence is splattered clear as day upon her features. “Seriously?”

I sit back in my seat and tilt my head. “It looks pretty,” I nod. “Blonde suits you.” Belly agrees. Just to mess with her, I ask Jeremiah, “Hey, Fisher, doesn’t Taylor look great with blonde hair?”

“Oh, yeah, she does,” he answers. “You do look great, Taylor.”

Taylor’s cheeks heat with a reddish colour. As long as I’ve known her, I’ve never known her to feel embarrassed or shy. She wears confidence like a designer handbag. But right now, I can see that suit of armour falling apart.

A part of me feels bad. A small, almost inconsequential part. A part I push down because my other emotions are ten times stronger. With Jeremiah beside me and Taylor's earlier words in my ear, I realize I’m not as over her calling him Jeremy as I thought I was. Actually, I hate her for it a little bit. Or a lot. I hate her a lot.

Jeremiah lets me drive us back to the summer house, but he lets Belly pick the music. Just to be a little shit, I ask him about Belly’s CD but he mumbles that he doesn’t have it in the car with him. We end up connecting her phone to bluetooth and jamming out all the way home.

Susannah and Laurel welcome Taylor with hugs and we gather in the living room to open presents. Belly sits on the big sofa and faces the rest of us. We go around in turns giving her our gifts.

Laurel gives her a rare edition of E.E. Cummings’ poem collection, with a bookmarked page for the poem the Fishers and Conklins grew up reciting.

I feel the burn of being an outsider again, but I push it away. I ignore it. This is how it’s always been for years and years. Belly flops, poems, and late night movie marathons. I don’t fit in here and it’s stupid to force myself to do so. I know Susannah says I’m as much a part of the family as Belly is but it’s a nicety more than a truth. It’s like my mother says, I’ll never truly be a part of their lives. I’m simply one chapter of it.

When Belly opens Susannah’s gift, a curious hush falls over the room. All eyes are on Belly as she picks up the beautiful pearl necklace. Laurel tries to argue with Susannah about it, but Susannah isn’t listening. She’s beaming at her almost-daughter. I even see tears in her eyes as Belly stares at her gift in shock.

“When I was sixteen,” Susannah explains, “my father gave those to me. I want you to have them.”

Belly licks her lips then quietly asks, “Really?” Susannah nods, still smiling like there couldn’t be anything better than this moment. “Thank you, Susannah. They’re beautiful. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything,” Susannah rushes to say. “Wear them to the debutante ball.” And then she switches the subject because she hates lingering on one thing for too long. She looks expectantly at the rest of us. “Who’s next?”

Taylor tells us her gift is a secret. Then she winks at Belly. Steven tells her she’s no fun but she ignores him. Before they can get into an argument, I pick up my gift bag off the floor and walk it over to Belly. I drop it in her lap then ruffle her hair.

“Happy birthday, Conch Shell,” I muse, smiling brightly. “I hope you love it.”

Belly whispers a “Thank you,” and then opens my gift. Her eyes grow wide. “Oh my God, YN! You didn’t!”

I smirk, pleased with myself. “I totally did.”

Belly pulls out the two items from the sea green bag and places them in her hap. Everyone extends their necks out to look.

First, there’s the unicorn body scrub because Belly has always had a strange fascination with unicorns her whole life. And next, there’s a portable, bluetooth microphone in the colour purple. I bought that with half a mind to hear Steven complain about Belly’s singing in the future. Even though she’s actually quite a good singer. Off-key sometimes, but not terrible.

Belly makes me grin when she wiggles the microphone in Steven’s direction. “YN just gave me a weapon, Stevie. Watch out!”

We all laugh while Steven slumps back against the sofa with a groan. The poor guy doesn’t stand a chance.

Jeremiah goes next. That’s when the nervous jitters start. I fold my fingers into my palms so I don’t go off pinching my thighs with wine. I glance at Conrad, just to give my eyes something to do, and I notice him dig around in his pocket for something. He pulls it out for a second, then shoves it back in. I wonder if it’s the gift he had asked me for advice about months ago.

“I never thought I’d see the day Conrad Fisher would be calling me,” I laughed into the telephone. I was doing my calculus homework and hating myself for not paying more attention in Mr. Donovan’s class. There was absolutely no way I was going to pass Friday’s test. I leaned back against my desk chair and grinned. “What’s up, Connie?”

“I need some help,” he requested, and he sounded so far away. Like he wasn’t home, and like he had to be quiet. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

That made me stand right up. A thousand thoughts about Jeremiah, about Susannah, even about Mr. Fisher raced through my head. I started pulling on my sweater and thinking up an escape plan with my parents on the living room sofa watching cable news.

“What–what happened?!”

Conrad laughed. A true Conrad Fisher laugh which he only let a few people hear. “Calm down. Your boyfriend’s fine.”

I blushed. He was always teasing me about Jeremiah like I was his kid sister. And maybe that was how he saw me. I wasn’t complaining. I’d always wanted an older brother. Older sisters proved not to be so great already. “Shut up. Jere’s not my boyfriend. What happened, though, seriously?”

“I’m at… Tiffany’s.”

That was the last thing I was expecting him to say. It wasn’t even in the realm of things I thought he was capable of saying. The fact that Conrad even knew what Tiffany’s was was unbelievable.

“You’re… where?”

“Tiffany’s,” he replied impatiently. “I’m looking for something. But I… there’s so many women here. And… couples.”

“You do realize Tiffany’s is a jewellery store… right, Connie? Did you get lost?”

He huffs out, “No, I didn’t get lost. Are you going to help me or just ask questions all afternoon?”

“Damn, okay.” I laughed. I threw off my sweater and fell flat on my bed. “One last question, though. What are you doing at Tiffany’s?”

“I’m looking for a necklace.”

“Okay. What kind?”

“Silver. With the infinity symbol.”

“Infinity? That’s so cheesy.” I slap a hand over my mouth. “Sorry. You’re not cheesy, Conrad.”

I could tell he was rolling his eyes when he replied, “Maybe I was better off calling someone else.”

“Wait! No! Don’t go! I want to help!” Conrad didn’t say anything for a few seconds. I had to check my phone to see if he was still there. The call was ongoing so he hadn’t hung up yet. “This is what you’re going to do.”

I spent almost an hour with him on the phone that afternoon. It was a cold Sunday in February. Valentine’s Day had already passed. He didn’t need to tell me who it was for. Even though her birthday was still months and months away, he was thinking of her. He was always thinking of her.

Belly holds up a coloured box for everyone to see. There is a tiny, silver charm in the shape of a key. It’s nestled on a bed of cotton. It’s beautiful. Belly thanks Jeremiah profusely as he stands up to go to her. He helps her clasp the charm onto her bracelet. I really pinch my thigh this time to keep myself from crying. I’m pathetic enough to do it on whim when it comes to him and her.

As Jeremiah sits back down, he takes a spot on the floor in between my legs. He physically pulls them apart and sits in the middle. He keeps his eyes on Belly as he reaches up for my hand. When he’s got it, he brings it to his head and drops it there. I breathe out a quiet sigh but give him what he wants in the end. He relaxes against the sofa when my fingers sift through his thick curls.

Belly looks at Conrad with the same hope tagged in her eyes. Her smile is subtle, but it’s also full of excitement. I’m on the same boat. I can’t wait to see how she’ll react when he gives her his gift.

Conrad shifts uncomfortably, pushing his hair back like he needs to give his fingers something to do. He won’t meet her eyes. “I forgot. Sorry, Belly.”

Her lips part in shock. Everything hangs in the moment. Laurel and Susannah share confused looks, and Susannah even appears a little angry.

Taylor begins to say something, but Belly finally finds the words to utter, “That’s okay. I wasn’t expecting anything, so…”

The tension in the room is palpable. Worried about the threat of an oncoming tornado, I reach out to twist the skin on Steven’s arm. He squeaks in pain but gets the memo. He picks up his gift and throws it at Belly. In seconds, the tension shifts from Conrad and Belly to Steven and Laurel, who very nearly get into a spat about his post-secondary ventures.

Jeremiah says they should all go for a swim before dinner. I tell them I’ll meet up in a few minutes. Then I hightail it upstairs. I head straight for Conrad’s room. I don’t bother to knock. I walk right in. He’s got his shirt off, his hand reaching out for the purple lighter on his desk.

I shut the door behind me and face him with fire in my eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Conrad rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to get into it with you, YN. Leave.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“Fine, you stay. I’ll leave.” He starts to walk past me, but I grab his wrist and push him back. I have to use all my strength to do it but I manage well enough. “YN, let go of me.”

I do. Almost at once. I don’t let him leave, though. Not until we have a conversation about the height of his stupidity.

“Belly isn’t your punching bag,” I remind him. “You’ve been treating her like crap for weeks. Do you get off on it or something? Knowing that she’s holding a candle out for you?”

Conrad leans in closer. Maybe to intimidate me. Maybe to show me that he doesn’t care what I truly think of him. “Take your own advice, YN.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Conrad grabs his shirt off his bed and walks past me. He opens the door a smidge then just stands there. A few seconds pass before he finally says, “He’s not gonna wait around forever either.” Then he pulls the door open wider and steps out.

I turn around to come face-to-face with Jeremiah. His face is solemn with hints of rage embed in the crevices. He doesn’t say anything and I don’t bother to explain myself. I try walking past him but he grabs my wrist in the hallway.

“So it’s Conrad now?”

I bite my lip to keep myself from screaming. “Don’t, Fisher. Not right now.” Then I shrug him off and keep walking. I go to Belly's room and watch Conrad from the window. He gets into his car and speeds away. A bunch of expletives crowd my mouth but I don’t release any of them. I don’t really have a right to be upset. Not when I’m feeling this way for entirely selfish reasons.

We don’t go swimming. Well, me and Belly don’t. I sit in her room and we eat saltwater taffy. We put on her sad girl playlist and sing along to the songs using her new microphone, too. Taylor joins us later after she finishes swimming. I can tell Belly wishes Taylor had stayed with us but she doesn’t say anything about it.

Around dinner time, I excuse myself to go find Jeremiah before the two of us have to sit through an awkward dinner. He’s playing video games with Steven in the living room. He tries to ignore me when I take a seat beside him, but the moment I grab Steven’s controller and beat him in the race, he has no choice but to acknowledge me.

Steven notices the tensity of our body language and quickly runs away. Knowing him, though, I know he’s in the kitchen with one ear pressed to our pending argument. But I won’t let it become one if I can help it.

I stare Jeremiah down. “Don’t say that to me again.”

Jeremiah rolls his eyes, and once again, I notice the similarity between him and his brother. “Whatever.”

“I’m fucking serious, Fisher,” I grumble, my voice laced with venom. I could tell him I hate him right now. I’m that furious. “I told you before–don’t treat me like one of your girls. I’m–”

The moment shatters when Jeremiah throws his controller to the floor and pushes himself onto me. I fall back against the sofa, my own controller falling from my limp hand. His body hovers over mine. Each breath he takes stretches his grey shirt. His eyes are big, round, and ready to feast on me.

“And you,” he practically growls, “don’t get to treat me like an idiot.”

I open my mouth to say something, not really sure what I’ll say at all, when Steven hops back into the room.

“Whoa, whoa, guys,” he starts, and his voice comes out sounding embarrassed. There’s a strain to it characteristic of someone who wishes they were anywhere else but here right now. “Take this somewhere else. The moms are in the kitchen.”

Jeremiah doesn’t move, though. He keeps staring at me, his royal blue eyes ravenous. He looks like a shark who could end my life at this moment.

I put my hands on his chest then push him away. Steven stands behind the sofa in confusion. He doesn’t know what to say and neither do I. I walk past him to the kitchen and offer up my services to Susannah and Laurel so I don’t have to look at Jeremiah anymore. My hands shake as Laurel passes me the plates for dinner. I nearly drop them twice on my way to the dinner table.

Belly and Taylor come down ten minutes later. They have flower crowns on. Taylor drops mine on my head as I place a pitcher of ice-cold water next to the bread rolls. Conrad walks in a minute after and takes a seat. He doesn’t acknowledge anyone but we all know not to approach the subject anyhow.

As I take my seat next to Jeremiah, who won’t so much so as acknowledge my existence, the doorbell rings. Taylor shouts that she’ll get it. When she returns, she’s not alone. The boy from Jumper’s party is with her.

Cam.

Or, Cam Cameron. I’m still not sure about the logistics of his name.

Belly offers him a seat next to her. I can tell Laurel is as surprised about his arrival as everyone else. Except, maybe, Susannah, who smiles at the two of them. As soon as he sits down, Jeremiah leans out to grab a lobster leg. He starts tearing into it even though no one else has started eating yet. We all glance at Susannah who just shrugs, and then dinner is officially underway.

I’m taking sips of the soup Laurel made in honour of Belly’s birthday when the meat starts pouring in. Jeremiah shells his lobster and every time I think he’ll put the meat in his own mouth, he drops it onto my plate. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, but he not looking at me. He’s just focused on the lobster.

So we don’t talk, and he keeps feeding me, and that’s how we forgive each other for earlier. Except I’m still a little mad and I know he is, too. It feels like this is simply who we are these days. We fight and make up only to fight again. All we do lately is run in circles.

Laurel and Susannah shoo us off after dinner. Even though we all offer to load the dishwasher and clean the table, they won’t have it. This comes much to Taylor’s elation who grabs Belly’s hand and then mine and takes us upstairs. As soon as the door to Belly’s bedroom closes, Taylor shouts, “Party time, bitches!”

I laugh as I take a seat on the edge of Belly’s queen-sized bed. “Did you hear about Martin’s party, Taylor?”

“Of course,” she replies, giving me eyes which say ‘duh.’ She looks at her friend expectantly. “We’re gonna go, right? Right?”

“I don’t know…” Belly finds a seat next to me. “Maybe we should just have a movie night with the moms. That’s what I always do.”

“That’s the problem. It’s what you always do.” Taylor looks at me to back her up. I just shrug. Party or no party, I don’t really care. I’m pissed off at both Fisher boys tonight. I’m alright with not seeing either of them for the time being. “See? Look at YN. She wants to go.”

I stretch my arms out in the air and stand up. I face Belly and paste a smile to my face. “Look, Bells, it’s your birthday. You can either party it up or stay in with the moms like you always do. It’s up to you. I’ll just go with the flow.”

Taylor scoffs. She elbows me in the stomach and I grin. “So much for backing me up,” she mumbles. Her eyes land on Belly again. “Belly, please? Come on? For me?”

I can see the gears turning in the girl’s head for a minute. When she finally says, “Fine, fine. Let’s go to this party,” Taylor throws her arms around the both of us with glee. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look happier.

Belly goes out to let her mom know where we’re going. Taylor immediately seizes that moment to throw open Belly’s wardrobe. There isn’t much in there besides t-shirts and shorts and the occasional floral dress, but the glint in Taylor’s eyes tells me it doesn’t matter. She’ll find a way to work around it.

This is when it occurs to me that I also need to seize the moment and apologize. Before too much time psses and my apology fails to mean anything. That’s what my dad always teaches me. Apologize as soon as you know you messed up.

“Hey, Tay, wait a second,” I grab her arm as she’s rifling through the clothes. “I’m sorry if I came off as a bitch earlier. The blonde looks great on you. I really mean it.”

Taylor smiles, and it appears genuine. “Thanks, YN. I can give you the number for my stylist, if you want. Maybe she could do something about those split ends.”

Her minor quip makes us both fall into a fit of laughter. I tell her, “I deserved that.”

“I know,” she smirks, and then she pulls me into the closet with her. “We need to find something hot to wear. I might meet my next boyfriend tonight.” The way Taylor says it, I know she means it.

Half an hour later, we meet the guys in the driveway. Belly decides to drive out with Cam. The rest of us pile into Jeremiah’s Jeep. No one bothers to call shotgun. Not even Taylor. I’m so surprised that I don’t say anything.

Steven does call out dibs on the music, though, so we end up listening to Drake, Kanye, and Harry Styles the whole way there. Jeremiah sings along for most of it, but his heart is elsewhere. When we stop at a gas station, the others file out with Conrad and his fake ID. I take the moment alone with Jeremiah to apologize to him, too.

“I’m not interested in your brother,” I tell him straight out. No beating around the bush. No half truths. “Okay? So whatever you think you saw today, it’s really not what you think.” Jeremiah doesn't say anything. He just stares straight ahead. I wait for him to process the information before again asking, “Okay?”

He finally nods. “Yeah, fine. It’s okay.” He looks at me. His eyes are damp with something I cannot distinguish. “I know he’s not your type anyways.”

That pulls a sincere laugh out of me. It makes him smile, too. “And you know my type?”

“Yeah,” he tilts his head. “Blonde hair, blue eyes, loves cheeseburgers.”

“You wouldn’t be describing yourself, would you?”

He grins at my teasing. “Maybe. Who knows? Maybe in another life, you and me are meant to be.”

Conrad, Steven, and Taylor get back a few seconds later. I don’t say anything for the rest of the ride. I’m too scared to. I fear that the moment someone talks to me, my heart will spill out.

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katthekittycatkiller · 2 years ago

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a moped???? in this economy????

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katthekittycatkiller · 2 years ago

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i wanna be a trucker slut

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katthekittycatkiller · 2 years ago

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you and me,

—a the summer i turned pretty fic starring my first and favourite book boyfriend, jeremiah fisher ♡

「part eleven, reader insert 」

“YN, is that you?”

I’m at the top of the stairs, ready to descend and run out the front door, when I freeze at the sound of someone speaking to me. It’s Susannah, and she’s smiling at me as she leaves her bedroom. I bite my lip, knowing I can’t escape this. I turn to look at her with the best smile I can muster on my mouth.

“Hi, um,” I hold my purse closer to my chest. I hope it doesn’t look like what she probably thinks it looks like. “Good morning. Sorry, was I too loud?”

“In Jeremiah’s room?”

I blush scarlet. “N-No, sorry, uh. I mean… the hallway…”

Susannah chuckles as she comes to stand in front of me. Her hand reaches up for my head where she gently pats me. I feel some of the tension in my bones dissipate. I never knew what it was about a mother’s touch that left me wanting to cry every time I received a morsel. I hold back my tears by pinching my thigh.

“Does he make you happy?” Her question makes my heart pound. Her eyes are warm, soft. She looks at me like I’m worthy of being looked at with love. I pinch my thigh again.

“I…” I know what she’s asking me, every part of me knows, but I’m still too scared. It feels too real if Susannah knows. If she understands something no one else does.

Her finger runs down my cheek. Her smile is so sweet that I almost cry out loud. The pinches on my thigh are meaningless. “You make him happy, too,” she continues, and that same finger catches a tear under my eye. “He’s going to need you, YN. Promise me you’ll stay by his side?”

I blink fast, my heart in my throat. “W-What? Susannah, what do you mean?”

Her chest rises then falls as she takes a deep breath. She reaches out to squeeze my upper arm. “I smell breakfast. Let’s head down.”

I watch her take the steps slowly, almost as if she has no energy to do something so mundane. I think back to when she was like this before. Two years ago, when the cancer was rigorous, unrelenting. Jeremiah cried so much back then that he was hardly a person. He was simply bones and muscles and skin held together with hope.

I feel a sickening feeling erupt in my belly. I rush after Susannah to talk to her only to find Steven hovering over Jeremiah as he stirs a purple concoction on the counter. Laurel is talking to them. I hear the words ‘portrait’ and ‘your mother.’ When Susannah joins them, everyone’s attention turns towards her, like she’s the sun. In a way, I suppose she is. Susannah Fisher is the sun and the glue and the permanent fixture in all these people’s lives.

Jeremiah catches my eye as I walk into the kitchen, but he doesn’t say anything. Steven, on the other hand, asks, “Hey, when’d you get here?” which I know is for his mother’s sake. Laurel shakes her head at him then smiles at me. We were fooling ourselves last night thinking she wouldn’t know what we were up to. Laurel Park knows all and sees all, too. She’s like a military sergeant, but prettier and not always as rigid.

I fix my eyes on Jeremiah as I tell everyone, “Thanks for letting me crash here last night. I’ll see you later,” and with that, I head straight for the front door.

From behind me, Steven calls, “At least have Jere’s smoothie!” But I’m already out the door.

Belly is out on the porch with her knees pulled up to her chin. I take a seat beside her for a minute.

“Hey,” I greet, hitting my shoulders with hers. “What are you doing out here?”

“I…” She releases her legs and looks out ahead of her. “Do you remember the boy I was with last night?”

“Yeah,” I smirk. “He’s really cute. Where’d you find him?”

Belly laughs, and it sounds very honest. If it’s possible for a laugh to sound honest at all. “At a latin convention. He was sextus.”

“Sex–who?”

She smiles then shakes her head. “He’s interning on a whale-watching boat. I wanted to go with him this morning but…”

“You missed your chance?”

“Yeah.” From her sweater pocket, a sweater I’ve never seen her wear before, she pulls out a thick, white card and shows it to me. “Am I being crazy?”

I take it from her and grin. “Belly Conklin, you little shit! You’re going to be a debutante?”

“I don’t know. I think so?” Her voice is filled with hesitance. I bump her shoulder again. “Conrad says the deb scene is stupid.”

“Conrad is stupid.” I slip the card back into her pocket and stand up. I walk backwards until I’m headed in the direction of my house. “Don’t let that moody, broody, wannabe guitarist kill your vibe!” I’m being unfair because Conrad is actually a pretty decent guitar player since he picked up the instrument last summer. He practices nearly everyday. But I want Belly to laugh so I don’t mind bashing the guy so much. Even though I see him coming up with his surfboard from the other side of the house. “Bye, Stupid Conrad! Bye, Conch Shell!” I wave at the two of them and then I’m off.

The walk to my house is hardly five minutes, but I take my time anyways. There are so many thoughts in my head, and so many worries. I don’t know what to think and at the same time, I’m thinking too much. It gives me a headache. By the time I reach my front door, it’s pounding so much that I hardly notice the cars in the driveway as I sneak inside.

The scent of rice dishes and a myriad of fried ones hit my nostrils the second I walk into the house. The smell is everywhere, on everything. I wonder how early my mother had to get up this morning to cook. Usually, I helped, but seeing as I was otherwise occupied with my stupid feelings, she must have slaved away all on her own. I don’t have to look at my phone to know there are probably more than a hundred messages from her screaming at me in both English and our mother tongue. She likes to do that, intimidate me with both languages as if it made a difference in my level of fear. I’d be scared of her even in sign language.

I’m about to reach the stairs when a stranger walks out of the powder room. It’s a lady in a green dress and cropped, black hair. I’ve seen her before, maybe once or twice, in my parents’ pictures. But I’ve never met her personally. She seems to recognize me, smiling as she walks up.

“YN, right?” Her arms wrap around me in a hug. I stand there stiffly because I don’t know if I should hug her back. My mother always tells me handshakes are best with strangers. The lady’s eyes are light as she takes me in. “We were all wondering where you were.”

“I…” I tug on my ear, nervous about what I should say. “I’m sorry. I had somewhere to be this morning.” A thought comes to me. “My friend is interning on a whale-watching boat so I was with them.”

“Well, that sounds like a lot more fun than spending time with us old folk, hm?”

She pats me on the shoulder as she passes by. I notice my mother entering the kitchen from the backyard door. The look she gives me sets my back ramrod straight. There is so much ire in it that I wonder how the ground hasn’t caved in and taken me away. Before she can yell at me, I race up the stairs.

In my room, I grab my orange towels and head into the bathroom. I shower quickly, probably the fastest I’ve ever showered in my life, then walk out to my room again. I stand by the dresser and dry myself off, hopping from foot to foot to pull everything on. I grab a dress off the hanger in my closet and throw it on over my body. Then I slip a pair of earrings on and spritz myself with my old bottle of Daisy by Marc Jacobs. Jeremiah’s gift to me on my thirteenth birthday. Steven and Conrad thought it was a gimmick, and for a long time, I did, too. But it felt nice to believe my friend gifted it to me because it meant something special, so I did. I believe it with all my heart.

I’m heading back down the stairs again when I notice a familiar figure walking in from the front door. It’s Jeremiah. He doesn’t see me but I grab his forearm before he can venture further into my house and get me killed by my parents.

“What are you–?” I spin him around until we’re face-to-face. He doesn’t look the least bit guilty for sneaking in. He looks like he’d do it again. And he has. Our friendship has survived hundreds of sneak-ins at one another’s houses all these summers. “What are you doing here?” I’m practically hissing at him. I don’t sound like me at all.

He opens his mouth to say something then stops. He blinks, quite a few times, like he doesn’t understand what he’s seeing. My grip on his arm loosens out of embarrassment. I had hardly glanced twice at myself in the mirror before coming down–maybe I look terrible?

Finally, he says, “I was worried. You weren’t answering your phone.” He steps closer to me, and I’m so stunned, I don’t move back. His eyes are on mine, beckoning me near. He almost looks dazed. “I want to talk to you.”

“About… what?”

His thumb finds the edge of my lip. He sucks in a breath when my tongue peeks out and slides over his skin. I don’t know what makes me do it. It’s like an aleatory reaction to him, something I never thought about doing before I did it. “Us.”

My body goes stiff. But it’s not like before, not like with the lady I didn’t know. This cemented stature is because I’m wonderstruck. “I told you, I don’t–”

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, his voice hardly above a whisper. He swallows hard, and I watch the motion slide down his neck. His beautiful, perfect neck I wish I could have my lips on. “You don’t get to kiss me and then lie to me. We don’t do that to each other.”

I grab his wrist to pull his hand away from my mouth. I lick my lips to give myself time to think through what I want to say. “I was drunk.”

His mouth twists. “Bullshit.”

“I was. Why can’t you just accept that?”

“Why are you lying to me? Since when did lying to me become so easy for you, YN?” He walks me back until I hit a wall. He’s not that much taller than I am, but at this moment, he feels bigger. Like he could crush me and I’d let him. His eyes are ablaze. “Fine, you wanna lie to me? You want to pretend you don’t remember what you did to me?” His knee parts my legs, and it sends me spiraling as he crowds my atmosphere. He grabs my jaw and makes me look at him. I hear him everywhere, feel him everywhere. Even the places I’m too frightened to admit to. “I’ll help you remember.”

It takes all of my willpower, all of my broken strength, to push his chest. He stumbles back. He looks at me like I’ve wounded him, and maybe I have. Maybe that’s all I know how to do.

“Leave,” I growl, feeling tears spring to my eyes. “I mean it, Fisher. Get out of here–”

“Oh, hello,” a voice suddenly cuts in. We both turn to look at the same lady from before. She has a plate of food in her hands and she’s openly staring at us like we’re a paid-for spectacle. Her eyes dart between our bodies. “YN, who’s this?”

Jeremiah waits for me to explain, but when I don’t say anything, he smiles broadly at the woman and stretches out his hand. “Hi, I’m Jeremiah Fisher.” He even swoops down, crosses his leg, one over the other, and kisses the back of her hand. A total gentleman.

The woman’s cheeks lighten with a reddish hue. “Is this the friend from the whale-watching boat?”

Her question is pointed to me but Jeremiah is the one who answers it. “Yes, I am. I love those big guys,” he makes motions in the air. “Way better than… dolphins.” He shoots me a bemused half smile, which I don’t return. He looks at the woman again. “Is that barbeque I smell?”

I try to reach out and grab his arm to stop him, but Jeremiah swerves right past me and stalks to the back of the house, past the kitchen, and pushes open the backyard door. The adults all turn to look at him and he doesn’t even mind. He simply introduces himself then claps my father's shoulder, ready to join in on the festivities.

I watch from the window in the kitchen, the way his blue eyes widen when my father lets him take over the grill. Jeremiah loves grilling. Probably more than he loves anything. His father taught him how to use a grill because he loves it, too. Back when he was around more, Mr. Fisher was always finding excuses to fire up the grill. Sometimes, us kids would have hamburgers twice in a single day. Jeremiah loved it the most because it was one of the only times Mr. Fisher paid all his attention to him and didn’t ask where Conrad was.

My mother walks in a few minutes later, a plate of salad and grilled meat in her hand. She sets it on the counter then takes a moment to analyze me. “You’re not wearing make-up?”

“I…” I lick my lips. “There wasn’t enough time.”

“There would have been. If you hadn’t snuck out of the house.” Her gaze is so lethal that it practically dismembers me. “Were you with him all night?” I don’t like the way she emphasizes ‘him,’ like Jeremiah is scum and not my best friend, not a person.

“I slept over. We went to a party. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“That boy is nothing but trouble. Just like his father.”

I breathe in slowly. “I thought you liked Jeremiah. I’ve known him forever.”

“I liked him when you both were kids, but now you’re adults. Almost seventeen. I won’t have any daughter of mine sleeping in a strange boy’s home, especially without my permission.”

I grab the edge of the kitchen counter to keep myself from screaming. “I’m not Esmé.”

“Perhaps not. But I will not be taking any chances.” She pushes the plate of food towards me. “Don’t ask for more.”

After she leaves, I let out a giant sigh, the toughest one I’ve ever held in. I could take her saying things about me, to me, but to say things about my friends? About Jeremiah? I can’t handle that. My friendships are the only things I have going for me. I can’t lose them. Not even if it pisses my mother off.

I grab the plate and open up the garbage bin under the sink. I’m about to throw the whole plate in when the scent hits me and my stomach grumbles. Then worse, I think about those commercials, about the children from my motherland, who go hungry everyday because no one cares about them. Guiltily, I load up my fork with some leafy greens, a tomato, and a slice of beef, and shovel it into my mouth. I finish the plate in minutes, just standing there in the kitchen with the voices of strangers chatting outside the window.

When I’m done, I shove the plate into the recycling bin and turn around. Jeremiah steps into the kitchen with a plate stacked high with an assortment of sizzling meat. He grins over the tower, like he’s so impressed with himself.

“Wanna bet me ten dollars that I can eat all of this?”

I laugh, but it’s almost soundless. “I don’t have to bet you anything. I know you can do it.” I open up the fridge to grab the Nando’s Peri-Peri sauce I know he loves. I buy a big bottle just for him at Costco every summer before we leave for Cousins and keep it in the back of the fridge knowing he’ll finish it before the summer ends. I pour the sauce on one side of his plate and tell him, “Bon appetit, Mr. Fisher.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Mr. Fisher is my dad. Not me.”

“It’ll be you someday. Pretty soon, actually. When you start applying to colleges.” I hit my chest twice and stand up straighter. With a big voice, I announce, “Dear Mr. Fisher, we are pleased to offer you admission to the University of Idiots, Class of–” I don’t get to finish my spiel because Jeremiah is reaching out to ruffle my hair until it’s all messy. I swat his arm away. “Hey! Don’t touch my hair!”

His hand travels down the side of my face where he tucks a lock behind my ear. His eyes grow hazy again, just like before. “I don’t like it when we lie to each other,” he says. He sounds a little broken, and a little bit sad.

I gulp. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m not lying about anything. I don’t remember last night.” I moisten my lips with my tongue. “And I wish you’d stop trying to kiss me. I’m not one of your girls.”

“One of my… girls?”

“The girls you kiss or hook-up with or whatever. I’m your best friend, Fisher. I thought you’d at least respect me enough to avoid treating me like a toy.” The words are so harsh, so unlike me, that I have to physically push each one past my teeth. It’s worse when I watch his expression darken.

“You think I treat you like a toy?” He doesn’t wait for me to agree. He stabs his steak with his fork then brings the whole thing up to his mouth where he grabs one end by his teeth and wretches it off. He keeps his eyes on me the whole time. “I thought this summer was going to be different for you and me.”

“How so?”

“I thought we’d finally get past all the crap we’ve been dancing around for years. But we won’t, will we?” He drops the steak back on the plate. “Because you’re too scared to admit you have feelings for me.”

My body tenses. Hearing him say it aloud, knowing that he knows, it changes things. Everything. I can’t think properly. “Why would I have feelings for you, Fisher? Am I an idiot?”

“No, you’re in love with me.”

I scoff, but inside I’m flailing. Like my nerves are on fire. “Just because every girl in Cousins seems to want to make out with you in the back of your car doesn’t mean I do, too.”

He smirks. He wipes the corner of his lip with the back of his thumb. The scene shouldn’t be erotic, but it is. My toes curl. I swallow the saliva in my mouth. “That’s oddly specific,” he counters, tilting his head. “Do you want to make out with me in the back of my car, Daisy?”

“If I did, I’d have to be really drunk. Like, plastered.”

“Like how you were drunk last night?”

“I told you–”

He scoffs. His eyes are filled to the brim with irritation. “I know, you weren’t drunk.” He reaches into his pocket to produce a small bottle of purple liquid. He sets it down in front of me. I’m so enraptured by the fact that his pocket is deep enough to hold an entire bottle when mine can’t even fit two fingers that I don’t notice what he’s giving me. “Drink up, YN.”

Then he picks up his plate and leaves my house, my heart trailing after him.

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