Chapter Text
4th July 2023
She’d sworn to herself, at the start of the day, that she wouldn’t let herself go near Conrad.
So, when Belly found herself searching in the freezer drawer for more ice cubes, and she turned around to see him holding two bags of ice, a similar coldness seeped into her bones. She hadn’t planned to be alone with him or how to even act around him anymore, so had no idea what she was meant to say, or do. It hurt to look at him, and see how much of a stranger he’d turned into when he’d always been someone she’d known sometimes better than she knew herself.
“We ran out. I bought some more.” Conrad plonked down the bags of ice on the counter, staring at her in that frustratingly impassive way that made it impossible to read the emotions—if there were any—in his eyes.
“Thanks,” she said awkwardly, attempting to rip open the bag to pour into the drinks bucket she’d brought back to the house. She’d just had her nails done, though, so the task proved harder than she had thought it would be.
“Here. Let me.” He reached forward, taking the bag from her, and tearing it open with his teeth in an instant. She swallowed, cheeks red from embarrassment (or, perhaps, something more that she’d never admit to herself).
“Thanks,” she repeated, clearly incapable of providing any more words in his presence.
“Since when do you get your nails done, anyway?” Conrad’s gaze flickered down to her fresh manicure, blue swirls atop a pearly white coat.
Rage seared through her, hot and heavy. Who was he to comment on her appearance, when he’d thrown away everything they’d been? He’d lost the privilege to know her anymore.
“I’m trying something new this summer,” she told him, barely containing her irritation.
“I can see that.” His voice was so cold, unlike any tone that he’d ever used with her, and Belly couldn’t believe that this man had once lit her from the inside; her eternal golden summer boy. Heat still bubbled in her body, but it was no longer the burning red she’d felt during their relationship. This was anger, simple and true, in its rawest form.
“You lost the right to know anything about me months ago,” she retorted.
Conrad met her blazing eyes, and only shrugged. “Okay.”
“Okay?” She threw her hands up in the air. “Is that all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say, Belly? Is there something particular that you want to hear?” His uncaring attitude grated on her because, at least when they’d argued before, it had felt like he did care; like the same emotions about them pulsated through him, too. Now, he was just an empty carcass of what he’d once been; of who he’d been with her, and it made her wonder if any of it had actually been real.
“I–I don’t know,” she whispered, suddenly miserable. Jeremiah had started to fill the hole inside of her that Conrad had personally carved out, but he was still at the beach with Steven and Taylor, so the cracks started trembling their way across her chest again.
Conrad sighed. “I’m sorry, Belly, okay? Is that what you want to hear? So that we can just be friends from now on?” Bitterness wrapped around the word ‘friends,’ and Belly thought that, maybe, he didn’t even want to be friends. Maybe he didn’t ever want to see her again.
“Yeah, maybe,” she replied quietly. “I’m sorry, too. But, I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”
“It won’t be.” Conrad smiled fleetingly at her, but it was so abrupt as if it pained him to even do such a minimal thing. “We’ve got too much history for our futures to be awkward, Belly.”
“I bet you’d pretend not to know me if we bumped into each other.” She laughed, but there was no humour to it, and the sound disappeared on her lips when Conrad stared at her and softly said:
“I could never pretend to not know you, Belly.”
✧☀✧
17th September 2032
It was strange, officially being back in the United States.
Belly had spent the past five years of her life—ever since everything she’d ever known had turned upside down and imploded—living in Paris, grappling with a new identity, and an entirely fresh circle of friends. It had opened her eyes to seeing that there was more to the world than the sheltered corner of the planet that she’d only ever experienced; that there were people out there who would love and cherish her, despite not growing up together.
She may have grown up with summers in Cousins, but she’d learnt how to be an adult in Paris.
The last time that she’d lived in her home country, she’d had no sense of who she was, having lost herself in a co-dependent relationship based on the foundation of numbing grief. It had been weird to land in Philadelphia, back in July, and feel familiar ground under her feet whilst knowing that she had changed so much since walking those same streets. Nothing there had changed, yet simultaneously everything had, and home’s arms just hadn’t embraced her anymore—she hadn’t quite fit.
But, before she had to ruminate on the feeling of not belonging, she was due to start her new job in California, at Stanford Sports Medicine. After finishing up her Finch senior year online in Paris, she’d gone on to study both a master’s degree and doctorate in Sports Psychology, which she’d graduated from this past summer. She was now Dr. Isabel Conklin, and the newest postdoctoral fellow on a sports-psychology service for Stanford varsity student-athletes, and the West coast was a new home that had swallowed her whole.
Luckily, Palo Alto was under forty minutes away from San Francisco, where Steven and Taylor had lived ever since her brother had moved to California to pursue his business start-up with Denise. So, for the first few weeks of settling into her new life, Taylor had willingly driven over to hang out with her, from decorating her new apartment to getting trashed in the best bars that she knew all about, due to being the Deputy Events Coordinator for one of San Francisco’s top companies for event management.
All of a sudden, life hadn’t seemed so abnormal. Belly had been invited over for dinner at Steven and Taylor’s place every week, which had been lovely because she hadn’t seen either of them a lot since moving to Paris, and they’d even invited Jeremiah and Denise one week as he was a chef at a Michelin-star restaurant in San José. It had been so special to reconnect with everyone, but there had been somebody noticeably missing, and everybody had carefully not mentioned the elephant in the room.
The thing was, Belly didn’t think she’d be able to even live in California, never mind literally work for Stanford, without thinking of Conrad Fisher. He’d been her heartbeat for most of her childhood and teenage years and, even though she hadn’t seen him since his love confession had blown up her wedding to Jere, she would always think about him, even just a tiny bit. In the last five years, they’d never crossed paths—not even at Steven and Taylor’s engagement party (he’d been working), or the grand opening of Steven and Denise’s business (he’d shown up, and left before she’d even got there). But she’d always be aware of him, like a bruise on her heart that, when pressed, left her with a small ache.
She knew that he was back in Jeremiah and Steven’s lives again, because she’d seen pictures of him on their Instagrams, but Steven never once mentioned him, and she didn’t ask for details because she was pretty sure she’d lost the right to. They didn’t know each other anymore, and it was like they’d never been intertwined intricately in their youth; like he hadn’t set her on fire, time and time again, until there was nothing more to stoke. They now only existed in dying embers and ashes so, even if she had wanted to call him over the years, she wouldn't dare.
As she settled into her daily routine in Palo Alto, Belly couldn’t help but trace parts of the city back to Conrad. Had he ever been to the Farmer’s Market to buy fruit, like how she’d picked up some peaches on her way to work? Did he go for walks in the Baylands Nature Preserve, and feed the ducks, or hike up the Stanford Dish? Had he wandered around Cantor Arts Centre or The Foster Museum with friends, or cosied up in The Stanford Theatre with a date?
She had once known everything about him, and she now knew nothing. It hadn’t affected her as much in Paris, because that city had been hers to conquer. But, everything in Palo Alto reminded her of him, and made her think about him so much that it couldn’t have been healthy.
Shamefully, her thoughts about Conrad had also crept into her dreams. She woke up some mornings with a slickness between her thighs, a flushed disposition, and a pounding heart. Remembering him came in flashbacks during the day, and echoes in the night, as he whispered the filthy things he was going to do to her, skimming the length of her with those veiny, soft hands. She’d touched herself on a few occasions, closing her eyes and pretending that the silicon head of her vibrator was his tongue as his head was cushioned by her thighs. No matter how disgusted she was at herself for moaning his name into her pillow, she couldn’t shake the dreams of him, and so the cycle was never-ending.
“Iz, I am in a right dilemma.”
Belly looked up from where she’d been reviewing a gymnast’s medical records, as she was shadowing his appointment later, and wanted to have all the necessary information to note down in her assessment of him. As a post-doc fellow, she would eventually be expected to hold evaluations by herself but, for the time being, she was only allowed to work with the students if there was a licensed psychologist in the room. She’d done plenty of supervised training during her doctorate but, now that she was studying to pass her licensing exam and receive her certification, it was more important than ever.
Harry, one of the clinical assistant professors in the Department of Psychiatry and Behavioural Sciences, had become a fast friend to her in the first few weeks of her fellowship. He was in his first year of being fully qualified, and was only two years older than her, at twenty-eight, so he’d become quite the inspiration for Belly. He was also a good laugh, and good company in the office. He straddled the chair next to her, hugging the back of it to his chest as he stared at her in dramatic agony.
“What have you done now, Harry?” She turned away from her computer, grinning.
“It’s what I haven’t done,” he informed her solemnly.
“Go on.”
“I got invited to my ex’s birthday drinks tonight, and he asked whether I was bringing a plus-one. Stupidly–and rather cockily—I said that I was, but then Bethany obviously broke up with me last week which was devastating.”
“Oh.” Belly’s brow furrowed. “But you didn’t seem too upset over Bethany. You hooked up with Jake two days after.”
“That’s not the point. I didn’t tell Rhys the name of the plus-one I was bringing because I wasn’t sure who I’d be sleeping with at the time. And Bethany was hot as fuck, so would’ve been perfect to show him that I’ve definitely got over him. But I’ve been depressingly celibate since Tuesday, and now I don’t have a plus-one to show off at this party, and I’m panicking.”
“Alright, alright,” she laughed, putting her hand on his arm. “Why don’t I just go with you?”
Harry’s face lit up. “You’d do that for me?”
Belly shrugged. “Why not? Strictly as friends, of course.”
“Of course,” Harry replied, with a slightly flirtatious air that, to be completely honest, she didn’t…hate. It had been a while since she’d dated and, though she knew it would probably be messy to get involved with her coworker, she wasn’t opposed to a bit of flirting and play-pretend. She hadn’t been someone special to anyone in a long time.
“It’s a date, then,” she agreed, wheeling away from him to glance back at her computer. “Text me the details.”
“Oh, I will.” Harry winked playfully, before throwing his arms around her. “Thank you. You’re the best, Izzy.”
“You owe me a drink for this,” she replied with a smile.
“I’ll buy you a whole brewery,” he called over his shoulder, as he practically skipped out of the door.
Hannah, at the next desk, looked over with a knowing gleam in her eye. “That was smooth of him.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hannah,” Belly shot back.
Hannah laughed. “Just…be careful, Iz. Harry’s a lovely guy, but he’s a serial dater. Don’t let him break your heart.”
She smiled at the woman who, thirty years her senior, reminded her a little of Susannah. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
What she thought, but didn’t add, was that she didn’t think anyone would ever be able to completely own her heart in the way that Conrad Fisher had, let alone break it.
✧☀✧
The birthday party was taking place at Nola’s, which was a pretty popular destination for students, as Belly was informed by Harry, who was a Stanford graduate. Fairy lights were glowing in the soft dusk, strung around the cream building and hanging over outdoor tables accompanied by white umbrellas and potted plants. The entrance was an archway, more plants dangling over the door, as waiters bustled around with platters of cajun food and trays of colourful cocktails.
Harry guided her through the busy courtyard and into the building, where sections of round tables stretched through rooms, whilst other doorways led into areas specifically designed for drinking. Her hand grew quite warm in his grip as he pulled her into what appeared to be a function room, with a buffet table boasting a variety of cajun dishes, as well as a few options labelled as vegetarian or gluten free. A golden banner embezzled with a sparkling thirty swung overhead, and an egregious balloon arch was positioned in the corner—something Taylor would deem as the perfect photo opportunity.
“Wow, this is quite the event,” Belly muttered into Harry’s ear and he laughed, dropping her hand but keeping his hovered near the small of her back.
“Tell me about it. I guess you don’t turn thirty every day,” he replied. “Drink?”
“Please.” She smiled at him as he disappeared to the bar, weaving through the crowd. She hugged her arms to herself, feeling a little chilly because she’d forgotten to bring a jacket and, though California was still warm at this time of year, Nola’s was almost icily air-conditioned.
Harry was back by her side before she was even able to properly look around, pressing a cocktail glass into her hand. She thanked him, and they stood on the edge of the already-busy party for a second, with Belly slightly glad that he was also feeling as awkward as she did.
“I don’t even know why I came in the first place,” Harry said to her.
She tilted her head to one side. “But you know a lot of people in this room?”
“Yeah, loads. I just haven’t seen most of them since Rhys dumped me,” he admitted ruefully, wringing his hands together.
Belly knew that feeling, all too well. The shame of coming back, knowing what had gone down, and not sure how people would act around you anymore. “I get that. Why don’t we go and find someone who you have seen in the past couple of years?”
“Good idea.” Harry took a gulp of his cocktail—he’d already drunk most of it. He craned his neck to scan the crowd, standing on his tip-toes, and suddenly grinned. “I see Jasper McCarthy. C’mon.” He took her hand again, pulling her through the throngs, and she smiled when he introduced her to some of his old roommates, Jasper and Will, who were both in the throes of their emergency medicine residencies.
Eventually, the conversation turned to the past, and Belly had nothing to contribute as she hadn’t been in college with them, so she excused herself to go and get them some more drinks. Harry pressed his card into her hand, staying true to his promise of buying her drinks, so she used it to buy them more raspberry mojitos. She got chatting to a girl called Jess at the bar, who was a therapist specialising in how play could improve childrens’ mental health, which was a very interesting conversation. Jess followed her back to where Harry was, and they were immersed in their discussion for at least an hour, comparing their practices, whilst Harry kept plying them all with drinks.
“Jessica, there you are.” A woman with short black hair stalked over, looking stressed. “I’m taking Dahlia home because she’s drunk too much, and I don’t want her to start crying over him again. Can you keep Sadie company? She’s already tried to hit on Agnes twice, and she can’t be tamed.”
“Okay, Wren,” Jess replied, quite the calm presence. “Don’t worry. Drive safely.” She turned an amused look to the group—Jasper, Will and Harry had commandeered a table, which she and Belly had happily sat down at, too. “I keep telling her she should let loose when she’s away from the kids, but she can’t stop looking after people.”
“Classic Wren,” Will said, with all the familiarity of knowing someone for years.
Though she’d been enjoying herself, Belly felt a sudden pang of longing for the people that knew her, inside and out. Gemma, Max, Celine and Benito had become some of her closest confidants—bar maybe Taylor and Anika—over her time in Paris and, now that she was somewhere completely new surrounded by people who’d gone to college together, she missed them so much.
“I’ll go and make sure Sadie’s not bothering Agnes again. She just can’t accept that she got back with Phil,” Jess remarked, standing up. “You coming, Isabel? Harry?”
Belly glanced at Harry, and he nodded eagerly. “Sadie was in all the same classes as me in college. She’s just qualified, so she’ll be able to give you some tips on the licensing exam. I’ll introduce you.”
He took her hand again, weaving past more partygoers as they tried to keep up with Jess. Belly’s head was reeling from all the new people she was meeting, but she was trying to keep track of all the names in her brain. Sadie was blonde, and had red eyes as if she’d been crying when they found her, but she smiled at Belly nonetheless and told her some do’s and don’ts about the exam, before Jess pulled her away for a private chat in the bathroom.
“Oh, fuck,” Harry suddenly muttered, grip slack in Belly’s hand.
“What?” She turned her face to catch his stricken expression.
“Rhys is coming over. Shit, what am I going to do? Isabel, he’s fucking coming over—” Harry stressed next to her, bouncing in place, before fixing a bright smile onto his face. “Rhys, hi!”
“I didn’t expect you to actually show up, Harry.” Rhys was rather stocky and muscular, as if he played sport. He turned his steely gaze on Belly. “And who is this gorgeous woman?”
“This is Isabel,” Harry introduced her. “She’s my pl…uh…girlfriend,” he said hastily.
Belly tried not to let her shock show on her face, as she knew what it was like to be tongue-tied over an ex. She smiled at Rhys, extending her hand politely. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Rhys hadn’t taken his gaze off Harry. “How long have you two been together?”
“Oh, only a week—” Belly started to say, as Harry went:
“Three months.”
There was an awkward pause, which Belly panickedly saved. “Harry always classifies our first meeting as our anniversary, but we only made things official last week.”
“I see.” Rhys’ smile didn’t meet his eyes. “And what do you do, Isabel?”
“I’m a postdoc sports-psych fellow at SSM, with Harry.”
“Oh, fascinating. I used to play varsity football. Hey, you must meet my old teammate! He injured his shoulder a few months ago, and he thinks his football days are over. Maybe you can convince him otherwise,” Rhys commented.
“Maybe, yeah,” she replied, exchanging a glance with Harry, who grabbed onto her hand quickly as if remembering what couples were supposed to do.
Rhys was already beckoning them to the corner, and they obligingly followed, though Belly truly thought that, if she had to meet any more people, she might combust. There was no way that she was going to remember all of these names. Rhys led them towards a table right by the window, where three people were sitting, heads pressed together in quiet conversation.
“Conrad!” He called, and every nerve in Belly’s body seemed to blaze at the name, but maybe it was a different Conrad…it was a popular name, wasn’t it? There had to be more than one Conrad who played football and was at a party with Stanford med school graduates. “Conrad, there’s someone I want you to meet. This is Isabel.”
All three heads shot up, but Belly could only focus on the seaglass eyes that found hers instantly, burning into her with such an intense surprise that she felt stripped raw, like he’d peeled back every layer of her that she’d built in the past five years, and could see right through her. The years fell away as she took in the five o’clock shadow on his jaw, and the lighter tufts of his dark hair, bleached by Californian sunlight, paired with the tanned complexion he’d developed over the near-decade he’d spent here.
He looked older, and she knew he’d aged because she had, too, and her hair was much shorter now, bouncing on her shoulders. She was wearing a tight red dress that she never would’ve worn in her teenage years, when she was at the height of her insecurities, and heels which suddenly didn’t feel like they were capable of holding her up, as her legs turned to jelly. He stood up slowly, his body more lean and muscular than it had been, even five years ago, and they were complete strangers at twenty-six and twenty-seven.
But, they were also sixteen and seventeen, kissing on a beach, then sixteen and eighteen fighting in the rain, and hissing insults at a funeral. They were seventeen and eighteen, passing a necklace between palms to symbolise the end of something bigger than they both realised, whilst simultaneously being twenty and twenty-two at Christmas, falling back into something that never really ended. And then, they were twenty-one and twenty-two running errands, arguing on the beach and in the kitchen, and saying goodbye at a wedding.
In that simple look, Conrad and Belly were everything they had ever been, everything they had aspired to be, everything they had loved, and everything they had lost.
Belly wondered if he still meant what he’d said, years ago, but she had no clue who he was anymore, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to know her. So, she introduced herself like she’d never seen Conrad Fisher in her life; like she hadn’t always closed a small part of her heart off to exclusively him.
“Hi, Conrad. Rhys was just telling me you played football together?”
Conrad slowly took her in, as if he honestly couldn’t believe his eyes, and the smirk that tipped up the corner of his mouth was enough to render Belly breathless. “Isabel Conklin,” he seemed to savour her name in his mouth. “From beyond the grave.”