Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He had been a shitty father for most of his life: absent at his best, cruel and deceiving at his worst. And although he would often find excuses for himself - finding excuses being something he was definitely not shitty at - Adam knew deep inside that it was the sad and shameful state of things.
And so, when his younger son called one evening and told him he would be a grandfather the following summer, he understood that this was his chance to mend the past, and he promised himself to seize the opportunity with both hands.
He wouldn’t screw up this time.
Jeremiah Fisher, for his part, had always been a good son, a good soul. He was an optimist – naïve, his brother would scoff, though he’d never admit how appealing the ability to always see the half-fulness of a glass was to him…
So Jeremiah had become a father twice in the space of three years and Adam, a loving, present grandfather – something Jeremiah had never imagined possible, something that still left a bitter taste in his mouth… 
Those were his exact thoughts as he was bathing his daughters, there in his mother’s bathroom, Cousins largest bathtub, a place of games and laughter that he had shared with his own brother many times…
And these memories left an even more bitter taste in his mouth.
“Margot?” he called, slipping back into the now, “Where’s the girls’ shampoo?” he asked as he looked around and spotted the small bottle on the vanity. “Actually, it’s fine, I’ve got it!”
He took a step aside to reach it and sat on the edge of the tub.
“Head back, pumpkin,” he asked Agathe and gently lathered her hair - hair as silky as her mother’s.
He’d met Margot seven years ago after he’d transferred to London - where their children were born and where they’d lived happily until she got offered her dream job at Villa Albertine. It didn’t take long for both to agree that a move to New York would make the most sense for their family.  
Margot was beautiful, Margot was fearless.
She had hit on him, hard, in a packed pub near Covent Garden one evening, just after work.
He’d noticed her, of course he had.
“Your eyes are so sad when you’re looking at me...” she’d said as she’d sat next to him at the bar.
He'd played it down despite knowing exactly what she’d meant.
“Please…” she’d tilted her head and frowned, unimpressed.
He'd scanned her face; she’d felt the weight of his gaze on her cheeks, her eyes, her chin, like he was suddenly remembering a story he’d forgotten.
“You remind me of my ex, that’s why,” he’d let out in one breath.
She’d sighed a silent o, then smiled, lips closed, dimples radiant.
“Proof of your undeniable good taste” she’d replied, a light French lilt colouring the syllables of each word.
“Yeah?” he’d chuckled sadly, then he’d taken a large sip of his beer, “Well, she dumped me,” he paused, “and she married my brother, a year ago…”
He didn’t know why he’d opened up to her, because it wasn’t the kind of things he’d do, opening up; too much pain, too much shame… But he had.
She’d rested her chin in the palm of her hand and leant forward, closer to him.
“Proof of her undeniable poor taste…” she’d added slowly.
That had made him laugh, and he’d asked for her name.
“Margot,” she’d said, “like the queen.”
She’d downed her drink, her eyes locked into his; he’d blinked but hadn’t looked away. “Yours?”
“Jeremiah…” he’d tapped his index on his pint and smiled, “like the prophet.”
That night, he let down his guard for the first time in many years and Margot found her way into his heart. She’d taken him back to her place, a large shared Victorian flat where Jeremiah would move six months later – why keeping the cost of two flats running when they were spending every single night together?
Jeremiah fought, hard. He didn’t want to, but he’d fallen for her, head over heels, and he was scared shitless because he loved so much about her.
Her irreverence.
Her quick wit and generosity.
He loved the gold of her skin after a long beach holiday.
The darkness of her strong, long hair against the pale linen of her summer dress.
He loved that she loved him, in this uncomplicated and non-negotiable way.
He loved that he didn’t need to ever wonder if he was enough…

They’d relocated in New York at the end of the school year and Adam had invited them to spend time with him at Cousins. Margot had accepted, with caution - the beach house is a minefield Jere had warned her - and he’d called his father to confirm dates and sleeping arrangements.
“What about the second week of August?” Adam had suggested.
“I think that’d work for us,” Jeremiah had replied after checking his and Margot’s shared calendar on his phone.
Adam had gone quiet for a few seconds then had added, hesitant,
“Would you mind if Conrad visited during that week too?”
It'd gutted him, a fucking punch in his stomach, and he hated that his name could still have such a visceral effect on him.
“That’d be great!” he’d lied.
Because of course he minded. Because of course it was a dreadful idea. Because…Belly…
But his father had tried to get them back together under the same roof for years, and Jeremiah knew that he would have to give in eventually. He couldn't keep making excuses forever, he couldn’t be that sore looser, not when he was truly happy.
Conrad had opened the door when they’d arrived at Cousins. He looked healthy, sun kissed. He’d shaken Jere’s hand then pulled him into a forced embrace.
“So happy to see you Jere,” he’d said as he was patting him on the back.
“Yeah, good to see you too,” Jere had managed to say back.
And the nightmare that Jere had braced himself for had, to his surprise, turned into some pleasant family vacation filled with early morning surf expeditions and chit-chat around the grill.
Somehow, Belly had picked that week to complete her yearly road trip with Taylor and would only arrive at the beach house a few days later. By then Jere was gone, after conveniently scheduling an ‘emergency’ meeting which had cut his stay short enough so he wouldn’t have to see her.
Had she also planned that trip to avoid him as much as he was trying to avoid her?
Maybe.
And it didn’t matter.
She didn’t matter - or that’s what he’d been trying to convince himself of on the long drive back to New York.
Margot and the girls were completely smitten with Adam, with the spacious house, the warm sand of the beach and had decided to spend another week there before heading back to Brooklyn, just in time to get ready for school.
“Your brother is a dick,” she’d told Jeremiah as she was flossing before bed, “but your father is the sweetest.”
“Yeah…” Jeremiah had sighed, one arm folded under his head, the book he was reading open flat on his chest, “Are you sure you want to stay though?”
She’d nodded, the minty string looped tightly around her fingers.
“The girls love it here and it’s wonderful to see them bonding with Albie,” she’d paused and looked at him softly, “He’s their only cousin, you know?”
She’d walked out to the bathroom to rinse her mouth and come back.
“They’ll have fun,” she’d reassured him as she’d laid down along his body, “and I’ll be fine too, don’t worry.”
And she’d switched off the light.
He had left early that following morning, and his gals – as he liked to call them sometimes – had travelled back home a week later, with plans for the Christmas holidays firmly sealed by an unbreakable pinky-promise the three children had made.

September had flown by, and so had October and November. December’s frost had settled on the last remaining leaves of trees and the children thought about their next visit to Cousins with growing excitement. As for Margot, her head was filled with lists, deadlines and work projects, and she was counting down the days until they’d packed their bags into the boot of the car, and she’d finally be able to breathe again.
And Jeremiah?
Well, Jeremiah didn’t want to think about what was to come.
Thinking about Cousins was uncomfortable, thinking about them was aggravating. And God knows how much effort he’d put into not letting the past affect him - ever again.
When they got to the beach house, Adam was on his own, and, by some inscrutable means, Jeremiah was, once again, granted a reprieve.
Conrad had had to step in as a wave of sickness had wiped out most of his team; they would have to spend the festivities in Boston and would only get to the house just before New Years’ Eve.
That, Jeremiah thought, was something he could manage, was something he would manage.

And they’d arrived…

He was in the living room, Anaïs perched on his right shoulder,  Agathe dangling upside down, her ankle secured in his hand as she wriggled and squealed in sheer delight.
He heard the tires crunch over the gravel in the front yard, and his heart kicked up in his chest.
Car doors slammed, the front door opened — “Hey! Here you are!” Adam beamed, his words echoing joyfully through the entrance hall.
He guessed her voice first, then the sound of her footsteps on the old wooden floor and he finally saw her.
A timid smile on lips he once knew so swell, she slid her hand in Albie’s hair and nodded:
“Hi…”
And he suddenly hurt and mourned the past, and he silently howled and cursed.
They were now others.
They were now strangers.
They were now nothing.

Chapter Text

“But… we promised him…” she said quietly as she pressed her back against their bedroom door.
“Don’t make it a bigger deal than it is… please...” He looked tired. “He’s six years old for Christ’s sake… And it’s not like we’re breaking a promise,’ He scratched his nose and avoided her eyes, “He’ll have to wait a bit longer to see his cousins and that’s it.”
She felt her jaw tightening despite herself.
“Well, I’m not the one who’s telling him,” she added coldly.
It was late on that December evening, far too late to get into unnecessary arguments, he thought.
“I’ll speak to him tomorrow…” he sighed and he tossed his tie on the bed before heading to the bathroom.
Isabel Fisher Conklin, hated how her husband would shut her out, how he’d often dismiss her when something uncomfortable came up. But she could deal with that, she’d learnt to, the hard way…
What had become increasingly more difficult however, was his detachment, his aloofness, when it affected Albie.
Ever since he’d met his cousins the previous summer, the boy had developed a deep sense of belonging, and all he was talking about, was Christmas and his next visit to the beach house, when he’d finally wake up to the sound of seagulls and he’d laugh and play with Agathe and Anaïs again.
And this, Isabel understood all too well: she’d once been obsessed with this place too -  with Susannah, the ocean, with Conrad.
With Jeremiah too…
When Conrad had talked to her about his father’s summer plans, her heart had jumped in her chest.
“That will be fun,” she’d said softly as she’d stepped out to get something – anything – from the pantry.
She hadn’t seen him in years; she hadn’t seen him since the day she’d married Conrad; and in the months that had followed, she’d called him, she’d texted him, like they were still friends, like she hadn’t betrayed him in the worst possible way. He’d answered and texted back at first, always in a rush, always distant and to the point, but he did answer.
Then he’d gradually stopped.
He'd ignored her and she’d ignored the aching realisation that he simply didn’t want her in his life anymore – until she’d had no choice but to accept it.
And everything she knew about him now, every single detail she had patiently gleaned over the years – from overheard conversations, to the few photos he would post online, from the half-statements Conrad would throw into family meals like bait into a river, to the post cards Adam would display on the kitchen fridge, she’d pieced them all together and had created for herself this happy and perfect picture of the man he had become.
But once the logistics of the family gathering had been finalised and she knew for a fact that she would see him again, she’d felt unsettled, restless, for weeks.  She would think about him, often - on her way to work or in the middle of the night. She would remember the past, their past; and the urge to reach out and to reconcile was sometimes all she could think about. 
She was longing to see him - just as much as she was dreading it; and when she’d pushed the door of the summer house that late August afternoon and she’d realised he’d already gone, a part of her had sunk in disappointment, another had fluttered with relief.
So, Isabel hadn’t seen him that week, but she had met Margot - and she had liked her, in a confusing, star-struck kind of way. Margot was everything she once was and everything she would never be again.
The two women had spent many hours together by the pool, watching the kids, talking about French literature and bitching about Parisian snobbery. Conrad would join them occasionally, displaying genuine interest in Margot’s life.
“So? Where about in South Korea does your family come from?” he’d asked after biting into his ice cream.
“Hmmm… My father grew up in Danyang, in the Sobaek Mountains,” she had replied as she’d reached for the sun lotion. “Have you ever been to South Korea?” she’d added while applying some cream on her shoulders and forearms.
“Not yet, but we are planning to,” he’d said, smiling at Isabel, “And, you said you were born in the French Alps? How is that?!” he’d asked, his eyebrows arched with curiosity.
“My dad was a ski technician for South Korea during the 1992 Albertville Winter Olympic Games. He met my mum and… voilà!” she laughed, lifting her palms into the air.
Margot hadn’t minded engaging in small talk but had remained guarded when it’d come to sharing personal stories, Isabel had noticed. She’d also asked them very little in return - out of indifference maybe, or of unwavering loyalty for Jeremiah…
Isabel could understand her restraint, but she’d also quietly hoped that she’d managed, somehow, to reconnect with him, through her words and recollections. Much to her disappointment, this had not happened; and frankly, she would never dare asking her any question.
The days had flown by, lazy and effortless - all filled with children’s races to the beach and giggles under pillow forts; and despite the lightness of their games and laughter, Isabel would feel overwhelmed by nostalgia at the most unexpected moments.
“Is everything ok?” Margot had asked as she was watching the children running around the garden one last time before they’d drive back to Boston.
“Yeah… I always feel a bit sad when it’s time to leave…” she’d replied, brushing the matter off with a gentle movement of her hand, “But you know what?” she’d perked up, “We have to take a photo of the kids on the peer before we go.”
“We do? Why the peer?”
“That’s a Fisher tradition.”
And she’d gathered the children, Agathe in the middle, her arms wrapped around her sister’s and cousin’s shoulders.
There are three of them; there were four of us…

 ***

Christmas dinner had mostly been a Conklin affair, and an enjoyable one, as a matter of fact.
Steven had flown from California with his new girlfriend - “Another one, Isabel!  And she’s nine years younger than him!” Laurel had lamented on the phone. But by the time she’d made it to their house, she’d forgotten all about her grievances and had unpacked a car boot full of paper bags and beautifully wrapped presents.
To Albie’s delight and Isabel’s relief, Conrad had made it home for dessert and a late bedtime story, and when he’d joined his wife in the kitchen after Albie had fallen asleep, he’d presented her with a small velvety box.
“Merry Christmas,” he’d said and he’d kissed her lightly on the lips.
“Now?” she’d smiled.
“Now,” he'd smiled back.
She had slowly opened the box and gasped at how much she’d liked the look of the delicate gold chain she’d found inside.
“I love it, it’s beautiful…” she’d whispered,  “Thank you,” and she’d snuggled in his arms, warm and happy.
“Should you try it on?”
She’d turned her back and lifted her long hair up for him to fasten the clasp. She’d touched it with the tip of her fingers and walked to the mirror in the living room
“It’s perfect,” he’d said as he’d stood behind her.
“You couldn’t wait until tomorrow, could you?” she'd laughed.
He looked at her and kissed her neck.
“I wanted to enjoy it,” he paused, “I’ll have to rush to work once Albie has opened his presents.”
“Oh…” she’d said
His eyes had met hers in the mirror for a few seconds then he’d turned away and sat on the sofa.
“You know how bad it’s been trying to staff my unit lately -  I had to reshuffle my team’s rota  and everyone is pissed off with me.”
He’d sighed heavily.
“I’m swamped until the thirty-first, sorry… You’ll have to drive to Cousins on your own and I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
So that was what it had all been about - the necklace, the tenderness - just another apology disguised as a romantic gesture, a golden balm for the sting of yet another broken plan.
“You’re upset?” he’d asked.
Isabel wasn’t even disappointed – and perhaps that was the most disconcerting part of it all, the dull acceptance that she’d learnt to master over the years.
“No, I understand,” she’d replied, “You know we’ll make the best of it.”
If not for herself, at least for Albie.
They’d driven to the beach house a few days later, the sky almost as blue as a summer day. Albie was a great companion and had kept her entertained with jokes he would read from a book he’d picked at the petrol station.
The familiar crunch of the tires on the coarse gravel – a sound that once marked the beginning of the best time of the year - triggered something very different that day. Something she didn’t really want to think about…
 “Hey! There you are!” Adam greeted them as they got into the entrance hall.
He took her duffel bag from her shoulder and hugged her for a second before kissing Albie on the forehead.
“Come, we’re in the living room.”
She walked slowly, aware of what she might see, of what she might feel, and she paused in the doorway, her breath shallow.
There he was, playful, grounded.
The winter sun was dancing in the wilderness of his curls, his daughters balanced on his broad shoulders; and for one short painful second, she thought: All of this could have been mine. And she forced that thought away, embarrassed by it.
She was ridiculous, Conrad had always been the one.
Everybody knew it.
She ran her fingers through her son’s soft hair, anchoring herself in what was, not what could have been.
“Hi…” she felt her throat tightening around the word, the first word that reached him after years of silence.
“Hi…” he answered, his voice so flat, his eyes so distant.
 He gently deposited the girls on the couch, then smiled warmly at Albie, arms wide open.
“Come here buddy!”
And, in that instant, she feared he would never be able to look at her with that much tenderness ever again.

Chapter Text

He couldn’t fall asleep.
Still, he felt surprisingly calm, relieved even - like you do after you’ve taken an exam and you know for a fact that you’ve done a good job.
He had finally seen her and the ground hadn’t opened up beneath his feet. He hadn’t lost his shit, but it had hurt - a deep sharp blow that he’d taken in and had let go in a quiet exhale.
We are nothing, he’d initially thought as he’d seen her standing in the doorway.
She looked a little different, her clothes maybe, more than her appearance. 
“Hi,” she’d said, her voice hesitant.
“Hi,” he’d replied — a little distant, though he hadn’t meant it that way.
We are nothing, he’d repeated, and it’s ok.
The thought had felt good, liberating, and the dark void that had filled his heart for so many years had suddenly lightened up.
He'd imagined the worst though, so many times - the confrontation, the anger, the tears… How stupid of him.
His gaze had slowly moved to Albie, standing next to her in his bright winter coat. He’d lowered himself and opened his arms.
“Come here buddy!” he’d smiled warmly, and the boy had launched himself into him, headfirst.
“Ooomph!” Jere had complained as he’d hauled him up above his head, “What have you been eating big guy?! You’re going to break my back!” And he’d dropped him gently on the couch where his daughters had welcomed him with shrieks and laughter.
He'd felt her eyes on him all along. And, as familiar as it had once been, it wasn’t anymore: intimacy, worn thin by time and grief, had quietly turned into otherness.
He'd scratched his head then walked to her because that’s who he fundamentally was: a good person, a decent man.
“It’s nice to see you, Belly,” he’d simply said.
Her name had rippled out of his mouth so easily, his tongue gliding softly against his teeth.
“It’s good to see you too,” she’d nodded, her throat tight.
Her voice was small, hardly there, and Jeremiah didn’t really know what to say next.
He wasn’t even sure he wanted to say anything at all.
“Does Conrad need a hand with the luggage?” he’d added, pointing at the door.
She’d bitten her lower lip - Conrad hadn’t told them.
“Oh…” she’d hesitated a second then recovered quickly, “He’s still at work. They’re short-staffed over Christmas, as usual... And, you know him, he had to step in - he always has to,” she’d smiled, “But he will be with us soon,” she‘d paused, “before New Year’s Eve…” and she'd punctuated the sentence with a sharp self-convincing nod.
“Of course,” Jeremiah had said softly, “That’s part of the oath, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess...”
She‘d looked at the children, then straight into his eyes, and Jeremiah didn’t like what he’d read into them.
And he didn’t like that he had an opinion about it either, because really, it wasn’t his place.
“Do you still need some help with your luggage?” he’d asked.
He’d hoped she would, that she’d give him a reasonable excuse to go.
“Oh no,” she’d shaken her head, “I already took everything out, but thank you,”
“Alright,” he’d rubbed his nose with the back of his hand “I’ll get going with tonight’s dinner then. Fish pie?” he’d offered, “Will Albie eat fish pie?” he'd repeated, “The girls love it.”
She’d looked at her son tenderly and smiled, her fingers playing with her loosening plait.
“This child eats everything, you wouldn’t believe it!”, she’d chuckled.
“Great, I’ll see you later then.” And he’d slipped past her in the corridor.
She’d taken a small step back to give him space and kept her eyes to the ground as his arm had brushed slightly against hers.
He’d turned back and looked at her.
“Margot should be back from the grocery store any minute now. She’ll be thrilled to see that you guys have already arrived,” he’d added.
Then he’d walked away, both hands shoved deep in his jean’s pockets.

***

Jeremiah had taken his time in the kitchen, engrossed in some heartbreaking podcast about gulags survivors – that shit surely puts the chaos of my own life into perspective, he’d thought as he was covering the large oval dish with foil and storing it into the fridge. He’d then loaded the dishwasher and cleaned all surfaces thoroughly before heading to his bedroom where he’d planned to catch up with work until dinner time.
He’d heard Margot’s sing-song voice fluttering from the living room as he’d walked up the stairs, then Belly’s gentle giggle. It’d been an unexpected thing for him, the liking she’d taken to Belly that previous summer. Unexpected and unsettling too, because he’d secretly hoped she would dislike her as much as she’d disliked Conrad. And he’d felt childish about it, maybe even petty. Yet, he couldn’t help it…
The fact was that they had much more in common than he’d imagined they’d ever have. And, although he didn’t think possible that they could become ‘friends’ as such, the two of them had found a common ground and felt increasingly at ease in each other’s company.
He'd come down an hour or so later and had found everyone in the living room. The fire was on and so were the Christmas lights in the tree. Adam and the kids were watching a wildlife program on TV, Margot and Belly were playing scrabble on the small table by the window.
“Adding the J U K E to the B O X, ” Margot had proudly announced.
He could see her long hair gently swaying down her back as she was counting her points.
“Twenty-seven!”
He'd walked to her and softly squeezed her shoulder.
“Impressive,” he’d said.
She’d tilted her head and brushed her cheeks against his fingers.
“Plutôt pas mal, non?” she’d replied.
“Not bad? What??? You’re literally obliterating me, Margot!” Belly had laughed.
She’d then looked up and smiled at him - one of these luminous, unguarded smiles that used to get his heart racing in his chest. And for the shortest moment, something had stirred inside, intimate and dangerous.
“She’s a killer,” he’d smiled back at her and sat with them at the table.
He’d watched them playing for a while, recording points and looking up words in the dictionary when needed. The conversation had flown naturally. Light teasing over questionable two-letter words had led to reminiscence of a shared history and it had felt… uncomplicated.
Belly had just scored a mediocre eight points when Margot checked her watch — the old digital one she’d been wearing ever since he’d known her.
“If I don’t move now, we won’t have dessert I’m afraid…” she’d sighed.
“Can I help with anything?” Belly had jumped in, beating Jeremiah to it.
“Absolutely not. You relax and enjoy the start of your vacation,” she’d answered, then she’d pushed her letter tray towards him. “Here you go Jere, there’s just a few rounds left, I think.”
She’d stood up and leant over his shoulders.
“Try maybe placing this one?” She’d moved around some tiles, “Or that one?”
Then she’d kissed him on the cheek and left the room.
He’d watched her go, his eyes lingering on the door she’d closed behind her. He wished he wouldn’t feel so restless all of a sudden. Things had felt steady with the three of them around the table, and now…
“Your turn,”
He'd looked around.
“Hm?”
“Your turn,” she’d nodded at the boardgame, amused.
“Right, of course,” he’d fumbled.
He'd looked at the green plastic rack in front of him, and thought for a bit: none of Margot’s suggestions would fit.
He'd let out a frustrated sigh and reshuffled all his tiles.
Then he’d smiled.
“Let me build up on that word” he’d said, tapping at ‘coo’ on the board.
He’d laid down an R, an A, and a C.
“N,” he’d concluded, “R A C C O O N”
“God, I hate these little guys…” Belly had cursed under her breath.
“Belly!? How can you?!” he’d accused her playfully, “With their tiny little hands and their adorable big brown eyes?”
“They ransacked Conrad’s office last October. They pooped everywhere on his desk. E-ve-ry-where!” she’d chuckled, “Trust me, they’re evil!”
He'd burst into laughter – the scene for ever engraved in his imagination.
And just like that, he had slipped back into the old, comfortable warmth of her company — and just as quickly, the ease of it all had left him wary and confused.
But Jeremiah Fisher didn’t do confused.
Not anymore.
So he'd focussed back on the game and added up his points.
“One, two, five, eight, nine, ten, eleven… Times three,” he’d said, pushing one of the letters to reveal the triple word square, “makes thirty-three!”
He'd scribbled the score on the record sheet and looked up to find her watching him tenderly.
“I’ve enjoyed that”, she’d said quietly, “the lightness of the moment, the togetherness…”
He'd nodded but didn’t want to look at her. because in his heart, it’d felt exactly the same.

***

Dinner had been a success; Margot’s tarte tatin, its delicious conclusion.
The children had been bathed and were gathered around the coffee table, busy sketching plans for the pillow fort they would start building the following day.
“Jesus! These kids are always making plans”, Margot had rolled her eyes, though she was clearly entertained, “It’s time for bed though – you’ll review your grand design tomorrow morning. Allez, au lit!”
“Should I take them upstairs?” Jeremiah had offered.
“I’ll sort them out, I’ll be quick,” she’d replied softly and left the room with the three children in tow.
“Mummy? You don’t have to tuck me in tonight, ok?” Albie had shouted over his shoulder as he’d ran off.
“Ok, then,” she‘d sung back, “Can I still give you a goodnight kiss?”
“Yeah! But not yet!” he’d shouted again from the staircase.
Adam had laughed wholeheartedly and walked to the bar cart to pour himself a large glass of liquor.
“Anyone for a cognac or a brandy?” he’d asked.
“I’d have a cognac, thank you” Jeremiah had answered and stood up from one of the sofas.
“Just a small shot for me too, please” Belly had said, dropping the interior magazine she was reading on her thighs.
Jeremiah had turned around, eyes wide and gleaming with surprise. Belly had shrugged her shoulders and smiled a silent what?
He’d taken the glasses Adam handed him and brought one over to her, then he’d settled into the armchair across from where she was sitting — near enough but not too close.
Ethiopian jazz was playing in the background — an album Adam often put on at the end of dinner parties.
Jere had sunk into the plush cushions, remembering how his parents would dance along to those hypnotic rhythms, long after the last guests had left the house. And the thought of his mother, radiant in her floral dresses, had utterly overwhelmed him. He’d taken one large sip of cognac to compose himself, but Belly had caught him.
“Are you ok?” she’d gently asked.
Could she still read him like the open book he had once been to her?
“I’m thinking about her,” he’d replied.
“Yeah,” she’d breathed, “she loved that music, didn’t she?”
He'd inhaled deeply and raised his glass in a silent toast, and she’d followed, lifting hers.
Margot had come back shortly after, sitting on the side of Jeremiah’s armchair and sipping the last of his drink.
“They’ve all squeezed in the same bed! So SO sweet!”she’d laughed, her head tilting softly toward Jeremiah's.
“Then I should kiss them goodnight before they fall asleep," she'd stood up, "and go to bed too, i'm finished" she’d added, stifling a yawn.“See you tomorrow and thanks again for the lovely dinner”
She’d walked passed Adam and hugged him briefly before disappearing down the corridor.
“I won’t last much longer,” Margot had sighed as she’d slid onto Jeremiah’s lap.
“Go,” he'd encouraged her, gently nudging her up, “I’ll be right there.”
And he had.
He'd found her fast asleep on her side of the bed and smiled at how she’d once again tucked one of his pillows between her knees. He’d laid down next to her and closed his eyes, focussing on her peaceful breathing - breathing that had always lulled him to sleep.
But tonight, it wasn’t enough.
He just couldn’t sleep.
He got up after too much thinking and twisting under the sheets and grabbed his laptop - might as well use the night to catch up on emails, he thought. He walked down the stairs quietly and got to the living room where he found her reading, her legs folded under a thick blanket.  He couldn't help but pause, observing her in the fading warmth of the fire. He took everything in at once, her neck, her cheekbones, and the swell of her lips.
Belly shifted on the armchair like she’d sensed his presence and his heart kicked in his chest, sudden and stupid. She didn’t look up though, and he felt incredibly thankful for it.
He stepped back without a sound and turned around.
If he stayed, he might say something he couldn’t take back.
And this was not an option.

Chapter Text

A gentle knock on the door had dragged her from her dreams; a second one, more persistent this time, woke her up entirely.
“Isabel?”
She looked around, disoriented, then rubbed her eyes.
“Isabel?” Adam called out once again.
“Yeah…?”
She shuffled up against her pillows and patted the bedside table, searching for her phone.
Almost ten.
And yet, she’d slept so little.
“Just checking with you: did you pack Albie’s swim trunk by any chance?”
“Albie’s swim trunks?” she repeated. Swim trunks? Now? In the middle of winter?
“Well… Jere promised the girls he would take them to the new indoor water park this week, and they’ve decided that it had to be today,” he paused briefly, “We can’t leave the little guy behind, can we?”
She could guess his smile behind the door; he’d mellowed with time, she thought, with time and grandparenthood - if such a word existed.
Belly threw back the heavy duvet in one decisive move and stood up just as decisively. She felt rough though, and a bit cold too. Goose bumps dotted her arms and stomach before she’d grabbed her cardigan.
“Sorry, I didn’t think of packing it,” she apologised as she approached and opened the door.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get one for him at the shop,”
She’d stayed behind the door, one hand high on the edge, fingertips curled over the wood, the other lower.
“It will be much fun,” he added, “Fancy coming with us?” he chanced.
She rolled her eyes and snorted lightly.
“As much as I love the sea, waterparks are…” she grimaced, “not … really my thing…”
“I had an inkling,” he smiled, “we’ll have lunch there and will be back in the late afternoon.”
“The kids will love it! Enjoy!”
He nodded gently then turned around, and she watched him walking down the corridor. She then closed the door and leant against it, her toes digging in the thick rug that was now covering the wooden floor of the bedroom.
Belly had to admit that she wasn’t unhappy to get some time for herself. In fact, she might even enjoy it. She could spend the day in bed and binge watch the series she’d started with Conrad – the one he’d judged the writing of so lazy and predictable but that had completely grabbed her. Or she could also drive into town and browse the new antic shop that she hadn’t had time to visit last summer.
Whatever she’d picked, she would make it enjoyable for herself.
She looked around and spotted one of her woolie socks next to the side table, the other one having mysteriously found its way well under the bed. She slipped them on, then sat crossed leg on the duvet and waited. She was dying for a cup of coffee but didn’t dare getting to the kitchen yet. She didn’t feel like speaking to anyone this morning – and by anyone, she really meant Jeremiah.
She knew she’d missed him, but seeing him after so many years, made her realise the extent of it. The ease with which she’d fallen back into the comfort of their old friendship had been dizzying and she’d felt terribly silly for enjoying and seeking his company as much as she had.
And then, there’d been a brief moment, after dinner; a wordless connection, deep and familiar, that had taken her back to a time when it was just the two of them. Them against the world.
Margot had reappeared, the lightness of her laughter in tow. She’d sat beside him and took a sip from his glass. And the intimacy of it all, just as suddenly as the first wave steals your breath away as it hits the skin of your stomach, had snapped Belly back into who they weren’t any more.
She’d left, with a fake yawn and a quick good night.
She’d gone upstairs and checked on the children before getting her pyjamas from her bedroom and walked quietly to the bathroom.
He is happy with her she’d thought as the warm water ran down her face. Her heart felt heavy, and she knew she was being stupid.
She’d turned the dial to cold and let the water strike like a slap.

Belly had tried to sleep, wrapped in the lavender scent of fabric softener and far too many memories. She’d gone back to the living room in the middle of the night, hoping to quiet her restlessness, and she’d settled by the gentle warmth of the fire. Volute of steam had curled around her fingers as she’d slowly stirred her chamomile tea, the spoon softly clinking against the ceramic cup. She’d opened her book and read the same page, over and over, each word and sentence growing senseless and indecipherable. Finally, she’d given up and allowed her thoughts to wander to places she rarely dared visiting.
Jeremiah’s and hers had been a passionate love story. He had loved her with his whole body and soul, and so had she.
Almost…
For there, in the most secret folds of her heart, lingered the memory of Conrad. And as small as it was, it would always be too big for Jeremiah.
She’d gone through the days and weeks following the wedding-that-never-was, unable to eat, unable to breathe. How does one navigate life when they’ve lost half of themselves?
Nobody had seemed able to guide her through the storm that was tearing her heart apart, some even looked relieved, and that was sometimes the worst…
So, when the opportunity to leave everything and everyone behind her had come up, she’d taken it, with two coward hands, and had landed in Paris on a rainy September morning.
She’d called Jeremiah and he’d called her too, circling around the same bitter words, around the same painful silences.
“Belly?” he’d said at the end, “Can we not do that please…?”
“Do… what?” she’d asked and switched her phone from one ear to the other, like she was bracing herself for the bad news she knew was to come.
“Pretend we still belong to each other’s story…”
She’d sat on her bed, and closed her eyes.
“We need…” he’d hesitated, ‘we need… to let go…”
Her hand was on her throat, desperate to catch the sob she feared she wouldn’t be able to keep in.
“I know…” she’d whispered.
He'd taken a deep and shaky breath.
“We’re going to be okay…”

A few months later she’d received the first of many letters Conrad would send her. She’d placed the sealed envelope on the mantelpiece of her small studio flat and waited three days before she’d opened it. She knew what she’d find inside but couldn’t tell whether she wanted it or not.
Then he’d visited her in the middle of June, his intentions crystal clear, and, as they were walking along the canal Saint Martin, his fingers brushing tentatively against her hand, she knew she wouldn’t be able to avoid the unavoidable.
They’d finally taken the plunge after she’d come back to the US and graduated.
Two years later, he’d proposed at the beach house with Susanna’s ring. Laurel had cried when she’d told her, and Isabelle’s heart had squeezed uncomfortably in her chest.
She was happy though; about to marry the Prince Charming everybody knew she deserved…
But it’s one thing to believe in fairy tales and it's another one to wake up one day with the certainty that they’re just children’s stories…
Conrad wasn’t a prince.
Conrad wasn’t charming. Not any more…
He'd become obsessed with work over the years and strangely self-righteous about his success. Really? And what about that trust fund your grandfather established for you, Conrad? She’d almost asked him at the end of yet another charity dinner. She had maybe drunk a bit too much that evening and bit her tongue just in time.
When Albie was born, she finally had an excuse to bow out of his excruciating work events and, to her great relief, he no longer expected her to sit through their endless boredom. She knew her reprieve wouldn’t last forever, but for now on she’d savour it – the peaceful and soft weight of her son curled against her at night, away from a world she didn’t understand nor approve of.
Jeremiah had been different though.
Sure, he’d often taken full advantage of the money—that had pissed her off so many times. But unlike Conrad, he’d never pretended to be someone he wasn’t.
Belly had also seen him wrestle with the weight of that privilege: the introspection, the doubts, the shame of having so much and wondering whether he’d ever be enough.
Especially for her…
As memories crashed against the guardrails of her mind once again, she’d shivered and wrapped the blanket tighter around herself.
Why bringing the past back? Why comparing, again, now the tide had swept those days far behind them?
But she had observed Jeremiah that afternoon: him playing with his daughters, chatting to his father, sitting next to… Margot. And she’d felt how connected he was to her; she’d seen the way he looked at her, laughed with her, touched her.
The way they used to be...
Isabel had sighed heavily and stood up. She needed to sleep – she knew she wouldn’t manage the following day otherwise. She'd walked quietly upstairs, just before three and had fallen asleep as dawn crept in through the curtains.

The rich smell of fresh coffee greeted her as she reached the kitchen. The pot sat full on the machine, hot and steaming. She poured herself a large mug, drank a cautious sip and exhaled a sigh of pleasure: this would definitely bring her back to life. She sat at the counter and opened the newspaper: the headlines were horrifying and heartbreaking, as usual, and she instantly regretted looking at them.
Jesus… What a dreadful world we are bringing our kids into, she thought, as she dropped it and pushed it away.
She looked through the window, the winter sun was shining on the hydrangeas’ leafless twigs and small birds gathered in groups of two or three on their strongest branches.
“Good morning!” Margot called out.
Belly turned around and greeted her with a movement of her mug.
“Good morning! How was your run?”
“You know what?” Margot said, thinking it over for a moment, “I hate it. I hate running, zero pleasure…But I feel so great afterwards!”
She wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her top, then walked to the fridge to get a carton of orange juice out.
“Are they gone?” she asked as she poured herself a small glass.
“Yeah, you’ve just missed them. Aren’t you going there too?”
“Argh… I was kind of planning to, but I just couldn’t face it. So I left it to Jere and booked myself an afternoon of self-indulgence instead!” She winked and drank the whole glass in three gulps, “Do you want to come with?”
“I could have been tempted, but I’d really like to have a look at the new Antic Emporium on Main Street. You know, the one they opened last August? I checked their website and they’ll be closed from tomorrow, so it’s now or never, I guess,” she smiled.
“Ok,” Margot nodded then started rubbing her arms, “I’m getting really cold now, I should get into the shower.”
She put her glass in the dishwasher, turned around and closed its door with her buttoms. 
“I’ll catch you later then?”
“Yeah, enjoy your me-time at the spa.”
Belly walked back to her bedroom after a quick breakfast and was in her car just after noon.

The small town was buzzing with festive energy. Tourists and locals were both heading to the weekly farm market to get what they’d need for New Year Eve’s celebration. Belly wondered whether she should also get a few bits there, maybe some cheeses or a bottle of fine wine, but Jeremiah would cook and had insisted on organising all the grocery himself.
She parked opposite a small coffee shop and bought a grilled cheese sandwich she finished on the steps of the Antic shop. She sat there a bit longer, taking in the warmth of the sunlight on her face as she kept her eyes closed.
The place was huge: three floors of furniture, decorative objects and vintage fashion, and she had the whole afternoon to enjoy every square inches of it! She wandered through Victorian armchairs and mid-century teak sideboards and found an elegant German porcelain vase that would be perfect for small bouquets. She stopped at the café and drank Earl Grey tea from a floral cup and saucer while browsing through the auction catalogue. The next sale would take place in the middle of January; she could maybe drive back and see for herself.
On the third floor, she finally came across the part she’d been looking forward to the most: the fashion section.
Velvets, laces and leathers; it smelt old, chic and powdery and she just loved it. As  her fingers brushed along pearl necklaces and metallic purses, her eyes caught a well-presented clip-on earrings display, and this required her full attention.
She spun the carousel a couple of times before she spotted the perfect pair: large round earrings covered in wool tartan fabric. They would fit her outfit beautifully, she thought. She hung them off and walked to the till unhurriedly. She paid for them with a ten-dollar bill and put them on straight away.
She’d always loved clip earrings and would still wear some once in a while – but not as often as she used to.
When they were together, Jere would hunt for and find the most exquisite pairs for her – and the most hilarious ones too, like the turkey set that she’d worn for a family Thanksgiving lunch.
On one of their most memorable Valentine’s Day, he’d kissed her good morning and given her a little pouch tied up by two thin strings.
“Just a little something until I give you your real present tonight,” he’d kissed her nose.
She’d tipped the little pouch into her palm, letting a pair of red heart-shaped clip-on earrings fall softly into her hand. And she’d laughed, and she'd kissed his lips and his cheeks hungrily.
“They’re so corny! I love them!”
He’d beamed at her and her heart had overflown with love for him.
She’d opened their clasp and put them on.
“Promise you’ll wear them tonight?” 
“I will, promised” she’d smiled.
And he’d left for work, much earlier than usual, just to be sure he’d return to her sooner.
She’d spent half the day studying and the other half looking forward to their evening.
What should she wear?
She’d need something plain but elegant so that the earrings would pop out. She’d flipped through her wardrobe, pulling out clothes and throwing them on their bed.
Her black strappy dress? Well, she’d already worn it the previous year…
The bodycon one? He absolutely loved her in it, but he loved her in anything and she really wanted to surprise him…
And suddenly, she knew exactly what she’d do.

He'd found her naked on their bed, her body sublimed by the candle light, the earrings her sole ornament.
He'd stood still and quiet by the door, his eyes caressing her, and she’d felt bold, powerful.
Nothing ever left Jeremiah Fisher at a loss for words.
Nothing except her.
“Happy Valentine,” she’d murmured as she playfully touched one of her earrings.
“ You…,” he’d whispered as he tugged at his tie.

He'd cancelled their table reservation and made love to her throughout the night..

***

Belly drove back to the house well after dark. She’d stopped at the mall on the way to buy tights and ended up spending the rest of the afternoon there, splurging on a long wool jacket she’d been coveting for weeks.
Albie ran into her arms as soon as she stepped into the corridor, telling her all about his aquatic adventures.
“Wow!” she said as she ruffled his hair, “That sounds like a near death experience to me - I’m not sure I’ll ever let you go back!”
He rolled his eyes and chortled, squeezing that adorable dimple under his left eye, then sprinted back to the living room where his cousins were waiting for him to continue their game of ‘Operation’.
She brought her shopping bags up to her room, freshened up and found Adam in the kitchen.
“Hi! How are you?”
“Exhausted,” he deadpanned.
“I bet you are!” she smiled, “But thank you for bringing Albie along, he really had a great time,”
“My pleasure,” he smiled back.
“Can I help with anything,” she asked as she’d noticed washed vegetables on the countertop.
“Yes, sure. Could you please take that to Jere,” he said as he handed over a large dish to her, “the kids’dogs must be done by now”.
She walked to the terrace and found him by the grill, hands deep in his pockets, a cap covering his curls.
“Hey…” she started timidly.
“Hi,” he replied.
“Adam asked me to bring this to you” she said, nodding at the dish she was holding.
He looked at her and took it from her hands.
“Thank you,”
He grabbed his beer bottle and drank a long, lazy sip from it.
“How was it today… with the kids? ”
“We had fun,” he replied, matter of fact.
He was looking at her in detail and that made her feel nervous.
He turned around and fanned the coals.
“I didn’t think you would still wear this kind of stuff ,” he said.
“What kind of stuff?” she asked, puzzled.
He drank another sip then pointed at her right ear with his bottle.
“Clip earrings ,”
She touched one of them briefly. "Oh... Those?" She bit her lip. "I... I got them today”
“I like them,” he said as he reached out.
His fingers touched the soft fabric of the jewel while his palm rested against her cheek. And what she felt at that instant was so intense that she could hardly breathe. He lingered a moment longer, mesmerised, then let his fingers slowly trail along her neck.
Belly shivered and he pulled away.
“You shouldn’t be outside Belly. It’s too cold without a coat,”
He turned around and took the tongs .
“I’ll bring the food in a minute,”

Chapter Text

I had to touch you with my hands, I had to taste you with my tongue; one can't love and do nothing.
THE END OF THE AFFAIR
― Graham Greene

He knew it was a bad idea, that he should never have touched her again, but he had, and her skin still burnt the tip of his fingers as he sat opposite her at the dinner table.
As he filled the dishwasher.
As he brushed his teeth.
He'd excused himself early, blaming some pulled muscle in his lower back and had fallen asleep trying not to think about her - like it was something he could actually do…
He woke up early the following morning and went for a long walk along the coast. The air was damp with spitting rain and the few curls that escaped his winter hat clung to his forehead. He hardly noticed though, because all he could think about was how to get his shit back together.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He was a father for Christ’s sake; he was fucking married, fucking happy.
And despite everything, there he was, haunted by her, yearning for her, like a brainless teenager or some dumbass who hadn’t learnt anything from their past mistakes, from the horror show that’d been their wedding day and its aftermath…
He stopped and faced the ocean.
The sun was sickly and weak, pressing hard against the heavy winter clouds, the waves, restless.
He felt cold, terribly so, and he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his down jacket.
“Get a grip, man…” he hissed between his teeth and kicked into the wet sand.
It was all in his head, nothing but unwelcome reminiscence, echoes of a fucked-up time he’d worked so hard to overcome.
He would avoid her, keep her at arm’s length and endure the next few days - never to be repeated.

But his resolves had crumbled as soon as she’d knocked at his car window later that same morning.
The hood of her rain jacket pulled low over her head, giving her that mischievous, elfish look that he’d always found irresistible.
“Margot said you were heading to the grocery store?”
“Yep,” he answered and turned the radio down.
“Well, could you, maybe, get a couple of things for me?” she asked shyly.
“Sure. What do you need?”
“Just a few ingredients for the cupcakes I’d like to bake tomorrow…”
She handed him a small piece of paper.
“A couple of things? What? Belly… where am I supposed to find ‘lavender honey’? And what the heck is ‘turbinado sugar’?” he laughed.
He turned around and looked at Anaïs, securely strapped in her booster seat.
“Should Aunt Isabel hop in and get her own grocery, puppet? This list sounds way too complicated for me!” he said, over dramatically.
“Yes daddy, but she must buy me some stickers. And a slice of pizza.” Anaïs replied, uncompromising.
“Did you hear that, Isabel?” he chuckled as he turned back to look at her through the window.
“Stickers and pizza it is then,” she smiled, "Let me get my purse,"
She ran back in and was out just as quickly. 
He leaned across to open the passenger door for her, and she hopped into the car—soaked but cheerful.

“What happened to your forehead?” he asked her once they’d hit the main road.
His eyes were safely locked on the traffic ahead.
“Crap,” she muttered as she opened the mirror and started rubbing the small red bump, “I hit my head on the dryer’s door this morning,”
“How did you manage that?” he asked, incredulous.
“I was getting the laundry out of the washer and stood up to put it in the dryer… And…” she hesitated.
“And…?”
“And… I forgot I had left that stupid door open!” she blushed.
“Wow!” he giggled, “You’re still as forgetful as ever!”
He glanced at her furtively. She shrugged and looked by the window, her hands folding into the long sleeves of her sweater. Strands of silk were dancing along her neck and he thought she was just as beautiful as she’d always been.
“I have a lot on my mind at the moment…” she added quietly.

***

At the store, they split up — a tactical move.
And confident she would get much more out of her aunt than her father, Anaïs had quietly insisted on staying with Belly.
Jeremiah walked through the aisles with purpose and found the condiments selection without any trouble. He reached for the Dijon mustard he needed for tonight’s casserole and dropped it into his basket with a satisfied sigh.
At least something about today was straightforward...
“Would you be kind enough to get me some horseradish?”
The voice was soft, a little tremulous maybe. He turned around and came face to face with an elderly lady, petite and neatly put together. Her straightened grey hair and her gentle eyes reminded him instantly of their next-door neighbour, Mrs. Abrahams - he made a mental note to get her some buttermilk biscuits before driving back to New York, she’d loved the ones Margot had brought back with her last September.
“Sure. Which one?”
“The red jar, please — it’s my granddaughter’s favourite one,” she said, lowering her voice like she was sharing the most precious secret.
“It’s my favourite too…” he whispered and reached for the small glass pot.
“There,” he smiled at her.
“Thank you, my dear,” she said, placing the jar in her wicker basket.
“Can I help you with anything else?” he ventured. “They’ve got this bad habit of storing their best stuff on the top shelves – or at least, that’s what my wife always complains about…” he chuckled softly.
“I’ve got all I need,” she said, “You’re a very nice boy, thank you” and she gently tapped his arm.
“Daaaaaaaad!”
The shriek cut through the aisle like an alarm and a whirlwind of pastel and glitter slammed into his legs.
“My daughter,” Jeremiah clarified as his hands ruffled through Anaïs’s auburn hair.
Then he saw Belly and tried to ignore the little beat his heart had skipped.
“And this must be her mother,” the old lady said warmly, turning to Belly, who was now standing next to them.
“Er…actu—”
“Your husband has been so helpful,” she continued, “He is a keeper,”
Belly blinked.
Jeremiah blushed.
Anaïs gasped at a page full of horse stickers.
“You make a beautiful family, truly…”
Belly glanced at him, confused, and he shrugged his shoulders apologetically.
“Oh—thank you,” she managed to say and nodded soflty.
“Happy New Year and thank you again for your help,” the lady finally said before turning around and walking away in her fur-lined boots.
“She was very sweet,” Belly observed.
He looked at her for a moment, wondering what she’d made of the whole encounter - whether she, like him, ever thought about the children they might have had together, about the family they might have been…
Of course he wouldn’t ask — silence was a much safer place, the only thing keeping the past from rushing back in his life like dangerous tidal waves.
“Yes she was,” he simply answered.
He picked up his basket.
“I just need to grab some cloves and a few packs of sparklers and we’re good to go,”

***

Conrad pushed the door of the beach house in the early afternoon, a half-case of champagne in his arms.
“We’re never going to drink all of that!” Belly laughed as she kissed him and took the box from him.
“Did you have a good drive?” she caressed his cheek and looked concerned, “You look tired…”
Jeremiah was observing the scene from a distance, and as uncomfortable as it was, he also realised that Conrad’s arrival would make things much easier for him.
“We should put a couple of them straight into the fridge,” he said and moved forward. “Welcome home, Con,” he added and gently squeezed his brother’s shoulder.
“Thanks Jere,” he smiled, “Where are the children?”
“They drove to the store with Adam to collect sparklers and firecrackers,” Jere explained, “we left them at the till this morning,”
He picked up the bottles from the floor and headed to the kitchen,
“I’ll take care of that,”
He kept to himself for the rest of the afternoon, peeling, chopping, frying.
At some point, he brought a tray of fresh coffee and biscuits to the Fisher clan, who were mid-battle over continents on the Risk board.
The kids were fascinated – more by the adults’ bickering than by a game whose simplest rules they could hardly understand.
He went upstairs to shower and changed just before eight, pleased with his labour of love: it would be a good meal.

Margot was cursing through her teeth, wiggling in her velvet dress when he got into the bedroom.
“Do you need some help?” he laughed and moved behind her.
She looked at his reflection in the mirror and offered him her back. His hands were cold, and so he tried not to touch her skin as he pulled on the zip.
“You look amazing,” he said as he kissed her neck.
She looked back at him and bit her thumb nail nervously.
“Are you ok?” she asked.
“Me? Of course, why?”
“I don’t know—you seem… preoccupied,”
He turned around and gathered the clothes he would wear for dinner. He couldn’t risk letting her read the turmoil, the fucking chaos that kept on wrecking his senses since he’d seen her again.
“It’s always complicated to come back here, you know… I’m looking forward to going back home.”
She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek on his back, listening to his heartbeat.
“I’ll hop in the shower and will be downstairs in a flash,”
He took her hand, kissed her fingers and left the room quietly.

Everyone was in the living room.
Adam was standing by the fireplace, content, his flute of champagne bubbling away. Margot was sitting next to Conrad, trying desperately to send him the link to her favourite podcast.
“You will find it mind-boggling,” she assured him.
And Belly…
In a gold sequin dress and bright red lips, she was taking portrait photos of the children using the old film camera they’d found in their bedroom the day before.
“Three, two, one. Cheers!” she called out.
“Lucky there was an unfinished film in it,” he said as he approached her.
She turned around and raised the camera, the dazzling flash catching him off guard.
”Wasn’t it?” she beamed, “I can’t wait to get it developed!”

***

Midnight had come and gone along with its cheers and best wishes. They’d finished the third bottle of champagne, enjoying the fireworks display put on by their neighbour, while the children had burned every sparkler to the very last one.
Jeremiah and Adam had offered to clean up the dining room and the kitchen, and were now sharing one last drink on the patio.
“You outdid yourself, Jere,” Adam said. “It was a feast!”
“Thanks,”
Adam stood up and yawned loudly.
“I’m off to bed. Don’t stay out too long - it’s freezing tonight,”
“I’ll finish my drink and go to sleep. Don’t worry,”
“Good night, son,”
“Good night, Dad.”

The sky was crisp, the moon full and bright. He set his glass on the side table and reached for the packet of menthol cigarettes he’d slipped into his pocket earlier.
He pulled one out with his lips and lit it up.
The first and last smoke of the year, he thought, as he sank deeper into the armchair, exhaling volutes in perfect circles.
The French door opened with a familiar creak, and he stood up, ready to flick away the cigarette — were Margot to come out.
“Phew, it’s you,” he said relieved.
“What are you doing?” Belly asked, intrigued.
She walked closer and noticed the incandescent tip of the cigarette between his fingers.
“Taking a sneaky drag, are we?” she teased, “I didn’t know you smoked.”
“Technically, I don’t,” he said sinking back into the armchair and taking another puff, “I just have one – single - cigarette once a year, on this very day,”
She smiled and rolled her eyes playfully.
“Pass it on,”
“What? No way!”
“Pass it on, come on!”
He handed her the cigarette with a defeated sigh, and she brought it slowly to her lips.
“You know what? I actually smoked when I was living in Paris,”
“You didn’t?!” he said, over-playing the shocking nature of her confession
“I did, I swear. I look very ‘branchée!” she added as she took another puff and passed it back to him.
“I’m sure you were…”
He brought the filter back to his lips, the very part she’d held between her lips a second ago, and the taste of her hit him, her flavour as addictive and as clear as it had always been in his memory.
He took one last drag and stubbed out the cigarette against the floor tiles.
“It’s late, I should go to bed, and so should you,”
He stood up and wished her good night.
She stood up too and took a step towards him, rising onto the tips of her toes to press a light kiss on his cheek.
“Good night, Jere and happy New Year.”
She stepped back and slowly walked inside, leaving the door ajar behind her and his heart racing painfully in his chest.

Chapter Text

“Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.”
KAFKA ON THE SHORE
― Haruki Murakami,

“Enjoy your stay, Mrs Fisher,” the receptionist smiled.
Too many teeth, between too swollen lips, Belly thought.
“Thank you,”
She took the key card and headed towards the lift.
She‘d meant to book a room in the same hotel the convention would take place, but nothing was available anymore  - except for a couple of suites that the sports clinic would, rightfully, never have agreed to pay for.  She’d got lucky though and had found a double in a very fancy hotel, a few stops away from the centre, for a fraction of the price it was worth – the world of online booking was one she would never understand.
She got to the fourteenth floor and slowly walked along the corridor, her heels sinking into the thick carpet. She found her room, the last door to the right and pressed her card on the reader.
It was spacious, much more than she’d anticipated, and the view onto Midtown Manhattan was a bonus she hadn’t expected either. She took her shoes off and looked for her phone in her backpack. Conrad had texted her.

Hope the journey went ok. I can’t find the keys for the shed - I need the screwdrivers set. Do you know where they are? Love you.

She texted back, her fingers jabbing at the screen in frustration. They’d had another row, just before she’d left for the train station. Nothing earth-shattering, but still enough to unsettle her during the entire journey. And the fact that he would reach out and act as if nothing had happened was really getting to her.  
She pressed the send button and tossed her phone on the bed, watching it bounce on the mattress. For a second, she expected it to fall but it’d stopped, just at the edge. She huffed loudly, turned around and walked into the small bathroom.
There, she caught her reflection in the mirror and took a deep breath: the physio and rehabilitation congress would be worth her time - whatever Conrad had said. She washed her hands then tied her hair in a side plait before walking back into the bedroom.
Her suitcase sat by the door; she set it down on the metallic luggage rack and started taking out the few outfits she’d packed with care the night before, unfolding them and putting them methodically on hangers, then she sat on the bed and reached for her phone again.
No new message.
Her heart ached a little bit in her chest and she felt terrible about it, for it wasn’t a message from Conrad she was anxious to get…
She hadn’t contacted Jeremiah once since they’d last seen each other during the New Year break.
She’d wanted to though, many times.
She’d kept writing the same message over and over, agonising over the words, the motive. And four days ago, while driving to work, trapped once again in one of those unpredictable traffic jams, she’d thought, screw it. She’d dug her phone out of her bag and typed:

Hey Jere, hope you’re all well. Just to let you know that I’ll be in New York this coming weekend (from Thursday night). It'd be nice to catch up with you guys. Take care, B x

And as much as she hated to admit it, she’d started waiting... and hoping.
Would he write back? Would he want to see her too?
He knew she was coming; they had talked about her traveling to New York last December; in the kitchen, he had asked her about the dates, and even suggested she came over for dinner.
Belly fell back on the bed, her phone craddled against her chest, and she closed her eyes.
Had he meant it or was he just trying to be polite?  After all, he had every reason in the world to stay away from her, and maybe it would be better for everyone if they kept their distance for a while…
She slowly breathed in and breathed out. Her hands slipped to her sides, fingers fidgety, tracing the soft weave of the sheet. She could hear, she could feel everything around her; and in those rare moments of quiet, when it was only her and her senses, she couldn’t keep him out of her head.
Once again, she thought of the kiss she’d given him on the patio after they’d shared a cigarette — the forbidden taste of their lost happiness lingering on her lips. She’d wanted so much more in that moment and could still not believe how far she’d almost gone.
Finding her way back to Jeremiah had been easy — organic, instinctive, but also irreversible. And that, perhaps, was the most terrifying part of it all… Now that their paths had crossed once more, how could she ever wish for their lives to grow apart again?   
She couldn’t unfeel what she felt, couldn’t unwant what she wanted. And it was madness.
“Utter. Madness,” she exhaled as she stood up.

***

Times Square at night was like Christmas on steroids - an explosion of lights, noise and smells. Some found it compelling, others thought it overrated. Belly didn’t think much about it either way; she just enjoyed being a stranger among strangers, a tourist in her own country — because let’s be honest, which actual New Yorker would hang out there?
She’d found a small Korean restaurant, a quiet place tucked away on a backstreet off 5th Avenue and had decided to sit in rather than get takeout. Solo restaurant visits were not something she usually did, but she felt comfortable, and mostly hungry enough, to go through with it.
She had ordered too much — Conrad would have disapproved — and had, at the owner’s polite insistence, taken half the kimbap back to her room.
It had taken her just under twenty minutes to walk back to her hotel. Her cashmere hat covering her head and ears snugly, she’d enjoyed the gentle bite of the cold on her cheeks. She’d always been a summer girl, she thought, but lately, winter had felt more of a friend and less of a threat.
Featherlike snowflakes were beginning to drift when she reached the corner of 43rd St and by the time she stepped into the hotel lobby, they were falling heavily.
Once in her room, she headed straight to the mini fridge and managed to squeeze her leftovers between two cans of soda.  Then, she grabbed her washbag and stepped into the bathroom.  The underfloor heating was such a luxury – she’d always regretted not having it installed in their ensuite when they’d renovated the top floor.  
She took her time in the shower.
She washed and conditioned her hair, she lathered her skin and shaved her legs. She wouldn’t have to do any of that in the morning, which meant a quick wake-up shower and extra minutes in bed.
Although her presentation was ready, she still wanted to proofread her slides one last time before bed. She went to the wardrobe and got her bag, and as she pulled her computer out, a photo wallet – the photo wallet - fell to the ground. She bit her lower lip nervously and picked it up, then sat at the desk.  
She’d collected it from the photo lab weeks ago and still hadn’t opened it. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to — she did, badly — but the film was likely to be one of the rolls Jeremiah had used at Cousins, back then, when they were still together. She felt like she’d betray him if she looked at those photos without him — as if she hadn’t done far worse already…
She flipped the paper sleeve in her hands, over and over. When would she see him again? Next summer? Next Christmas? Who knows, maybe never again?
She sighed heavily and lifted the flap up.
And her phone rang.
Conrad’s number.
Albie appeared on her screen, his favourite dinosaurs’ pyjamas on, his hair still wet from the bath he’d just taken. He’d had a great day at school, he told her, but couldn’t wait to have her back home.
“I miss you mama,” he said.
“I miss you too my baby boy,” she smiled and suddenly felt overwhelmed by the need to hold him tight against her.
“Time for bed,” she heard Conrad’s voice in the background.
“Good night,” Albie kissed the screen.
She chuckled and blew him a kiss. He blew her a kiss too and ran away.
The image blurred for a moment and the camera settled on Conrad’s face. He was smiling, sat in his favourite armchair. He started chatting about Albie’s teacher’s praises at pickup time and some obscure rumours about their new neighbours – gossip wasn’t his thing; he was clearly trying to stick to neutral grounds.
“You sound grumpy?” he said after a while.
“Do I?” was all she would give him.
He shifted uncomfortably  and sighed.
“I’m sorry ,” he paused, “about this afternoon,”
He scratched the corner of his eye.
“I know I sometimes sound much more judgmental than I mean to… I should be more careful…”
“Yes, you should…”
She said nothing more. Let him sit with it.
“Look, I have to wake up early tomorrow morning and I still need to finish proofreading my slides,” she paused briefly, “I’ll call you. Sleep tight.”
“Good night,” he replied, and she ended the call.
She stood up and noticed the photo wallet on the desk; she felt stupid and sorry for herself. A whole history of love, commitments and unjustifiable heartbreaks — all of her own doing — hadn’t taught her a thing.
She grabbed the envelope and flung it into the bin, then walked to the bathroom.
She stomped out almost as immediately, toothbrush in hand, and reached into the bin to pull it out.
She was fucking hopeless…

***

Her presentation, the first in the panel, had gone impeccably. She was pleased with it but mostly relieved – public speech had never been something she felt particularly confident about. Lunch was, well, a corporate affair of club sandwiches and dry quiche that she’d hardly had time to swallow before the afternoon sessions started.  The talks had all been worth listening to though, and by the end of the day she had compiled a small list of strategies she was eager to try out back at the clinic.
All participants had been invited to an early drink in a wine bar somewhere nearby in the East Village. And although she’d hesitated at first, she’d followed the crowd and ended up having a pleasant time.
She was at the bar next to Clara, one of the physios from Toronto she’d chatted to throughout the day when her phone rang. She swallowed the sip of crémant she was drinking and put her glass on the counter.
“Sorry,” she apologised, patting and fishing her device out of her handbag. “It must be my husband,”
Clara smiled knowingly – she’d left her twelve year old twin daughters with her husband and was secretly enjoying the domestic civil war unfolding in their house.
When Belly saw the caller ID on the screen, her breath caught painfully in her chest.
For a moment she just stared at it, heart thudding, mind spinning, then she fumbled off the high stool and grabbed her bag.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, quieter than she meant to.
She walked out, away from the noise of the bar and swiped her phone.
“Jeremiah?”
“Hi …” his voice came through the line low and familiar, “Is it a good time to call or… or should I call later?”
He was somewhere out on the street; she could hear the Friday night heavy traffic in the background.
“No… No it’s good now. I’m having a drink, with some colleagues.”
“Oh…,” he sounded disappointed, “Sorry it took me so long to get back to you, the week has been crazy, today even more so…”
“I know, right? Things never slow down, do they?” she chuckled nervously.
“Yeah, they don’t…” he paused, “Well, I was calling to check whether you’d like to grab a quick bite tonight, but… I can see you’re busy so, I’ll leave you to your drinks. Enj— “
“Wait!” she’d interrupted him, a bit too eager, she thought, “I’d love to… go for a bite with you.”  
The silence that followed scared her a little, but he cleared his throat.
“ Er… amazing… Where are you right now?” he asked.
“ ‘Barrels and Bricks’ in the East Village, 1^st Avenue.”
“Drop me a pin and I’ll meet you outside?”
“Sure… See you shortly then?”
“Yep, I’m a few stops away, it shouldn’t take long,” and he hung up.
Belly didn’t think twice before sending him her location — thinking about the potential consequences of her actions was the last thing on her mind. For the truth was that of all the things she really wanted, the one she wanted most and had been wanting for weeks, was to see him, here, tonight.
So she went back in and headed straight to the bathroom. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, rising onto her tiptoes as she turned from side to side, because she needed to see what he would see. She had picked one of her favourite outfits that morning: a wool pencil skirt and a buttonless silk shirt. Would he like it? Would he still find her attractive?
She brushed her hair, blotted her nose and re-applied her mascara.
Her phone pinged as she was putting the lid back on her lipstick.
Five minutes, the message read. Five minutes and she would be with him again...
She collected her coat and excused herself for leaving so early - though no one, really, would notice or care - then she walked to the exit, her heart beating a little bit faster with each step she was taking.
He was outside when she pushed the door, his summer curls fighting the winter night. He smiled and took one step towards her.
“Hey…” he waved, a shy little wave of his gloved hand.
She wanted to hug him but didn’t trust herself to let go if she did.
“Hey…” she mirrored him.
“Hungry?”
“Starving,” she grinned.

Chapter Text

Do people always fall in love with things they can't have?
THE PRICE OF SALT
- Patricia Highsmith

The minute Jeremiah had read her text, standing third in line to collect his flat white, he’d deleted it. He wouldn’t try to dissect it– like he knew fucking too well he would - or discover some subliminal message she hadn’t written.
No.
New Year’s Eve had been a lesson way too dangerous for him to risk playing another round of Russian roulette—Belly both the gun and the bullet.
He wouldn’t see her.
Period.
The week had been a mess from day one; work overload, house in complete chaos.
Open suitcases and thick ski jackets lay strewn like fallen soldiers across two bedrooms and a living room. Margot and the girls were flying to France before the end of the half-term (“Let the them sue me,” she’d declared while entering the last digits of her credit card on the airline’s website) and Jeremiah would only join them a few days later.
Unlike Margot, he hadn’t managed to get out of all work obligations and was, amongst other things, expected to attend a big client’s fundraising event on the weekend.
On his way back from JFK airport, alone in his car, he’d thought about Belly. He didn’t want to of course, but what else could he do? He knew she’d be in New York soon, he’d read the text (he was stupid, not senile) and wished he could see her, just once in his life, without it totally messing his head up.
But wishes were rarely granted, not for him anyway, and he wasn’t crazy enough to chase that one.
So he kept busy.
Or tried to at least …
Work. Gym. Facetime with the kids. Repeat.
Thursday came, and he almost caved in. A minute of weakness, he told himself — one he’d managed to pull back from when the train doors slid open at his stop.
That night, he’d left his phone on the coffee table when he went to bed. Temptation took many forms in the twenty-first century…
The next morning, he left much later than planned — he’d overslept and couldn’t find his keys. He eventually spotted them, in the fruit bowl. What the hell were they doing in that stupid fruit bowl?
“Fuuuuuck,” he swore, grabbing them then fumbling angrily into his jacket.
He couldn’t focus. He hadn’t been able to since he’d read her text. And that sucked - on so many levels…
Jeremiah had indeed never been able to resist Belly’s pull — at any time, in any life. And so, despite the heaviness of their past and the significance of their present, he called her.
“Jeremiah?” she breathed.
The familiarity of his name between her lips, caught him off guard and for a second, he didn’t know what to say.
“Hi…” he hesitated, “Is it a good time to call or… or should I call later?”
“No… No it’s good now. I’m having a drink, with some colleagues.”
Of course she’d be busy tonight. Networking — wasn’t it what those conferences were all about?
“Sorry it took me so long to get back to you, the week has been crazy, today even more so…”
“I know, right? Things never slow down, do they?”
She chuckled, there was a nervous edge to her voice, one he knew too well.
“Yeah, they don’t…” he paused, “Well, I was calling to check whether you’d like to grab a quick bite tonight, but, er… I can see you’re busy so, I’ll leave you to your drinks. Enj—"
“Wait!” she paused, and his heart paused too, “I’d love to… go for a bite with you.”
Emotions swelled in his chest like the tide, like a storm.
Are you sure it’s a good idea? he wanted to ask, like she was the only one who could stop the trainwreck about to unfold. But instead, he cleared his throat.
“ Ok… Amazing! Where are you right now?”
“ ‘Barrels and Bricks’ in the East Village, First Avenue.”
‘Barrels and Bricks’ on First Avenue? That rang a bell.
“Drop me a pin and I’ll meet you outside?”
“Sure… See you shortly then?”
“Yep. I think I’m just a few stops away, it shouldn’t take long,” and he hung up.
He caught himself speeding up as he approached the subway entrance and slowed down immediately. His brain was full of contradictions, of self-recrimination, yet, he couldn’t control the delicious thrill of anticipation that was slowly pulsing through his whole being.
He'd been to that wine bar with his colleagues last spring and found its opulent façade without looking at Belly’s directions. He tried to stay composed, though his nerves - and the winter chill- were working against him.
She finally appeared, all wrapped up in wool and beauty. And inside his thirty-year-old ribcage, his teenage heart was still beating for her.
“Hey…” he waved, his fingers frozen in his leather gloves.
“Hey…” she echoed.
“Hungry?”
“Starving,” she grinned.
Her smile - the goddam sun in the middle of the night…
He considered offering her his arm, it was so cold. But she’d buried her hands deep in her pockets before he could ask.
“I know this Italian place? They make a mean aubergine bake and great spaghetti,” he suggested as they started walking.
“Sounds good,” she nodded, then after a moment, “How are you all?”
He flinched slightly at the question.
“We’re all good. Margot and the kids are in France with the grandparents. I’m flying on Sunday evening,”
“Oh…” She pulled her hat lower over her ears and shoved her hands back into her pockets, “Have school holidays already started in New York then?”
“No, no, they haven’t. Not yet. But you know Margot, she couldn’t care less…” he chortled.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, one week is too short and too tiring for the girls to travel there and back again. So… she took them out, ‘unauthorised’ ,” he added with air quotes, “The principal was not impressed,”
“I bet,” she smiled.
“And you guys?”
“Everyone’s ok, a bit stressed and tired, but who isn’t nowadays?”
“Yeah…”
They fell quiet for a few steps, an ambulance siren wailing in the distance.
“How far can you walk in these?” he asked, glancing at her shoes.
“Erm… How far do I need to walk?” She asked straight back.
He snorted softly and shook his head.
“ You and your heels…” he teased her.
“Hey!” she nudged him playfully, “I was working, Mr Fisher! I wasn’t exactly expecting to wander the streets with you, you know!”
“Yeah, yeah…” He nudged her back, “I won’t be cruel enough to make you walk another fifteen blocks, so…”
He stepped off the curb and hailed a couple of taxis before one pulled over.
“After you,” he invited her, gesturing grandly.
“You’re such a gentleman!” She giggled as she slid into the car.
The ride was quick, and soon enough, they were ushered to a small table amid the quiet murmur of conversation and the soft clinking of cutlery on porcelain plates.
“You said the aubergine bake was worth a try, didn’t you?” she asked, peeking at him over the menu.
He swallowed a sip of wine and nodded.
“Delicious. But to be fair, everything tastes great here. The owner cooks family recipes, you see. A lot of sea food - he’s from Sicily, if I recall.” He took another sip. “There was a whole article about him in Time Out a couple of months ago.”
She looked back at the menu.
“I’ll pass on the sea food, thank you very much,” she said, scrunching her nose once again, “I got food poisoning after eating prawns last year – was as sick as a dog.”
She closed the menu and laid it gently on the table.
“I’ll go for the aubergine bake, as recommended,” she smiled and took a small sip of wine.
“So how has your conference been so far?” he asked dipping a piece of bread in olive oil then popping it in his mouth.
“Good,” she answered tearing a piece of bread too, “Interesting talks, interesting people.” She bit the bread and chewed it carefully before adding, “You can sometimes feel a bit isolated working in a small clinic like mine, so I value any professional interaction,” she snorted shyly, “And what about you?”
He leant back in his chair, his fingers playing with some bread crumbs.
“Work has been insane lately, but it’s good news, I guess…” He paused and swept the crumbs from the table, “Well, I make a lot of rich people much, much richer…”
She studied him for a moment, and he knew she understood what he really meant.
“Actually, I’m stuck with a fundraising event tomorrow night – like seriously guys? On my precious weekend?”, he joked, trying to keep things light.
“Hmm... I have one of those too. Not fundraising. Rather some boring ceremony celebrating the same old farts years after years...” She gave her wine a gentle swirl before drinking the last sip, “But hey, I’ll have to wear a nice dress, so it’s not a complete waste of time!”
The candle flickered when she set down her empty glass on the table, the light catching her cheekbones and the soft curves of her lips.
“May I take your order,” the waiter asked.
Jeremiah blinked, suddenly aware of the world beyond her. For a moment, he’d forgotten there was anyone else in the room.
“I’ll have the aubergine bake, and another glass of wine please,” she smiled warmly at him.
“Should I bring back the wine menu?” the waiter asked.
“No, the same one will be perfect, thank you.”
“And for you, sir?”
“For me?” Jeremiah lifted the menu and skimmed through it once again. It’d thrown him off, which was ridiculous really, considering where they were… “Spaghetti al polpo please,” he said handing the menu back. “And another glass of the same wine. Thank you.”
The waiter nodded politely and took their empty glasses away.
A much younger waiter brought back their drinks shortly after. He reminded him of their old friend Cam - kind eyes, soft voice.
“Have you heard anything from Cam lately?” Belly asked.
Jeremiah lifted his eyebrows in surprise and let out a light chuckle.
“What?” Belly laughed.
“I swear I was thinking about him too! That guy could be his long-lost brother, right?”
“That’s crazy how much they look alike!” she said, elbows on the table, palms facing the ceiling.
“Crazy…” he repeated gently.
But really, wasn’t the craziest thing of all that their minds still worked as one?
“He’s in Seattle,” he answered after a moment. “Last time we talked, he and Reeva had just put an offer on a house. Sounds like things are going well for them.”
It felt safe to focus on someone who wasn’t them, on something that wasn’t theirs…
Cam Cameron.
Credit card rates.
Netflix.
Wool cycles…
“What’s the wackiest thing you’ve ever done?” Belly asked him, after she’d chewed and swallowed the last forkful of her meal.
Besides fucking Lacie Barone and burning our relationship to the ground? he thought.
“I don’t know…” He shrugged. “I’m honestly pretty tame these days. I… I don’t really do reckless anymore.”
She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms.
“Come on…” she coaxed, “There must still be something wild hidden under those Italian shirts and silky ties…”
“You noticed my tie,” he feigned innocence and lifted it up, “Got it in Washington a couple of— “
“Ok, ok…” she rolled her eyes, “I’ll start then, since you don’t want to share your dirty little secrets with me.”
She leaned forward over her empty plate, conspiratorial.
“I keyed my neighbour’s car,”
Her eyes were locked on him, challenging and mischievous.
He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe that.”
“Paris, May the first, Impasse des Deux-Anges,” she continued, grave and solemn, “That bitch was blocking the street once again. I cut two long lines down the side of her car… and then lived in fear of deportation for the next three months.”
Jeremiah burst into laughter, throwing his head back, his glass mid-air.
“Oh my God!! Belly?! No!!”
“I did,” she added proudly, “But for my defence, I was drunk. Really drunk,”
She took another long sip, and looked at him over the rim of her glass. “Your turn now. And don’t try to wiggle out of it.”
He traced a finger along the base of his glass then looked straight into her eyes.
“I shaved my head,”
She looked at him, eyes widened, ready to call his bluff — until she realised he wasn’t bluffing at all.
“You didn’t… Oh my God! Don’t tell me you did!?”
He smiled, knowingly.
“Were you drunk?”
“Not at all,”
She looked at him, shock now replaced by sheer curiosity.
“Why?”
He took a dramatic breath and dropped the word like a bomb.
“Lice,”
“Whaaaaaaat?!” she shrieked, “Ewwwww… Jere!”
“Wait! Wait!” he lifted a hand, “It was a preventive measure.”
“A preventive measure?”
“Yeah, the guys I was traveling with strongly advised me to do so, they’d all done it – backpackers are fucking filthy, you have no idea. And I thought, yeah screw it, why not, let’s shave that shit off.”
She stared at him, head tilted, eyes squinting, like she was trying to picture what this version of him could have looked like.
“Do you have a photo?” she paused, “I need proof.”
“I’m not sure, actually…” he said pulling his phone out of his pocket, “it was a long time ago.”
He scrolled through his gallery for a bit then passed the phone to her:
Goa, a couple of guys from Ontario and him - tanned, healthy, almost happy. He remembered how, on that day, he’d felt that all wasn’t lost, that somehow, someday, he’d make it through the emptiness she’d left behind her.
Belly took the phone and examined the picture carefully, zooming in with two fingers.
“It suits you,” she said softly, then handed it back. “It really does.”
She rested her chin in her palm, eyes distant, and he couldn’t help but watch her.
“I also cut my hair when I was in Paris — a longish bob. I looked older,” she glanced at him. “I often wondered whether you’d have liked it…”
He knew he would have liked it.
He would have fucking loved it…
Just as she had, he could ask to see a photo, a proof, but what for? He didn’t need to revisit the past — this dark, soul-wrenching time that had swallowed him whole after they’d broken up.
He slid his phone back in his pocket, avoiding her eyes, and, after a pause that stretched too long, he asked,
“Would you like a dessert, maybe?”
She looked hurt, just for a split second and he felt terrible about it.
He hadn’t meant to, he’d never meant to…
“No… It wouldn’t be wise, I’ve eaten too much already” she smiled, “I think we should get the bill, don’t you?”
She called for the check and insisted on paying. Jeremiah didn’t even try to argue; he knew her well enough not to waste his time trying to change her mind.

“How are you getting back to your hotel?” he asked, wrapping his scarf around his neck.
She checked her itinerary – the cold night shaping each of her breaths into delicate spirals.
“Subway. Seven minutes down the road,” she said, pointing in the direction with her phone.
“I’ll take you there.”
“You’re sure? I can walk on my own, it’s just down the road, you know?”
“I know, but… I’d like to,” he smiled, “And I don’t trust those shoes of yours.”
She smiled back and he stupidly wished for the evening to start over again, for time to slow to a halt where they would never have to part.
They walked side by side, comfortable in their silence. The streets were still busy, alive with traffic and people – alive with him and her.
“Quick! It’s green!” He suddenly grabbed her hand and stepped onto the crosswalk.
“Oh dear! You really can’t wait to get rid of me!” She chuckled as they gained speed to make it to the other side.
He didn’t answer and just smiled, because her hand in his hand was all that mattered, because he couldn’t let go of it - just as much as she couldn’t let go of his.
They reached the subway entrance and stood by the flickering lights of the railing, the cold wind whipping at their coats.
“I had a great time,” Belly squeezed his fingers.
“Yeah… Me too,” he squeezed her fingers back.
He wanted to tell her how much he still missed her, how much he still thought about her and how unforgivable it was. He wanted to hold her and lose himself in the silk of her hair, breathing her scent, tasting her skin.
“Good night,” he whispered, holding back everything.
He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers, and she leaned into his touch, head tilted, eyes closed. She breathed in deeply, almost painfully, and lifted her gaze to him.
“See you...”
Then, she turned around and walked down the stairs, her steps echoing in the night like small, murderous stabs in his heart.

***

Jeremiah was bored, his bow tie too tight around his neck. He’d checked his watch countless times since arriving – for a man checks his watch in polite circles, not his phone – and was counting down the minutes until he could get the hell out of that place.
He’d talked business over champagne, tossed a few well-timed jokes to old clients, and shaken hands with prospective ones. He’d even placed a bid — which he’d obviously lost — on a bottle of Château Pétrus 2010.
He sat at the bar and ordered a martini, its three small olives looking tempting in the clear liquid. Belly would always steal them from his glass — olives, and tiny paper umbrellas.
Belly…
They hadn’t talked since the previous night.
No phone call, no message.
And yet, he hadn’t stopped thinking about her.
How was her evening so far? As dull as his? How had she slept? Had she replayed their conversation in her head, over and over, the way he had?
He took the skewer from his drink, and pulled an olive free with his teeth, its flesh bursting in his mouth.
He was chewing absentmindedly on the third one when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.
He recognised the small round icon before he read her name, and his heart leapt in his chest.
I’ve officially reached peak boredom. H E L P !
He burst out laughing, lightheaded.
No shit? I’ve almost spent half my salary on a bottle of French wine! he typed and sent the message straight away.
They texted back and forth for a while, joking and teasing each other, and before he knew it, she’d called him and he’d offered to pick her up and take her back to her hotel.
He walked into the foyer less than twenty minutes later, bow tie off, collar undone; she was waiting for him, her arm draped along the back of a dark velvet sofa. She smiled when she saw him and stood up in her strapless cocktail dress, the line of her neck and shoulders taking his breath away.
She slipped into her coat and walked toward him.
“You were quick!”
“You were literally a fifteen-minute walk away from me” he smiled.
“So close?” She asked, hesitant, like she couldn’t quite believe what fate — or chance, or whatever you wanted to call it - was throwing at them.
“Let’s go,” she walked past him and gently pulled at his sleeve.
Belly wanted to walk back to her hotel, wanted to see New York by night one last time before she left. She was wearing her dancing heels after all.
“Dancing heels?” he repeated “Like you can dance in those all night long?”
“Hm, hm,” she nodded.
And he took her hand and pulled her close, spinning her gently under the winter stars.
“Like that?” he asked.
“Exactly!” she twirled and giggled, the lightness of her laughter resonating through him, like a song, like a spell.

“You know? I got the film developed,” she said as they approached the hotel revolving doors.
“The film?”
“Yeah, from the camera Agathe found in Cousins.”
“Of course!” he said, his eyes glinting with sudden understanding and boyish excitement. “And? Any Vogue-worthy material?” he teased her.
“Actually, I…I haven’t checked the pictures yet,” she admitted, “Do you want to have a quick look?”
He swallowed. He knew that spending time with Belly was irresponsible.
Irresponsible but also irresistible…
“Why not?” he answered.
And without a moment’s hesitation, he followed her through the lobby, and watched her push the call button for the elevator.
They stood still on opposite sides of the cabin, the weight of their proximity too heavy to ignore, too dangerous to acknowledge.
The doors opened on the fourteenth floor.
“That’s us,” Belly smiled shyly.
He put his hand on the small of her back and followed her out of the elevator. Her low bun was coming loose, letting a few silky strands fall and swing against her shoulders as they silently walked to her room.
They took their coats off; Belly stored them on hangers in the small wardrobe and picked up an envelope lying on the desk.
“Shall we sit?” she offered, nodding in the direction of the bench by the window.
“Sure,” he replied.
She carefully unsealed the adhesive and pulled out a thick wad of photos.
“Cousins!” Jeremiah called, grinning as he recognised his beach and its spectacular sunsets.
Their heads were almost touching, like they always had when they were kids, sharing comic books, earphones or soft drinks.
The following picture was one of him, younger, tanned skin and blond curls, kissing his favourite surfboard.
“Oh my God, Jere!” she exclaimed. “That board was the love of your life!”
“Well… not completely true, but I did love her dearly,” he smiled. “What’s the next one?”
They went through most of the pile: Taylor and Belly lying on the beach, Steven sleeping by the pool, Belly chasing a dandelion seed—she had once told him that, in France, people catch them mid-flight, hoping to hear from a loved one. He’d always wondered if she thought about Conrad whenever she caught one… Maybe she did.
Belly flipped to the next photo: a close-up of them, lying on his bed. She was the one holding the camera and was looking straight at the lens, while he was looking at her, his hand resting on the silk of her neck - Jeremiah didn’t need Heaven; Heaven was Belly’s skin…
And suddenly, it hurt.
Again.
It hurt to have lost her. It hurt to still want her…
“I loved you, Belly,” he breathed, “I was fucking crazy about you...”
He felt her gaze first then the touch of her hand on his cheek.
“Jere…” she murmured, gently turning his face towards her. “I know… I knew…”
Her thumb brushed his lips in slow, featherlight strokes, and he stopped breathing. How could he - how could anyone – breathe when she was so close?
She leaned in, her chest rising and falling against the tight embroidery of her bustier, and she kissed him, her hand on his chest, his blood quickening under her palm.
He cupped her face in his hands, drawing her closer to him and he deepened the kiss, caressing her lips with his tongue, the taste of her truly intoxicating.
She moaned languidly, and he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. He needed to feel her against him. Whole. Real.
Belly was breathless when she peeled off his jacket, her hands shaking when she unbuttoned his shirt. Her mouth bit his chest, her lips kissed his heart and Jeremiah was... burning.
Then, he suddenly froze.
Because it wasn’t right, because it was all wrong.
He pulled back and stood up abruptly, his hand over his mouth, his eyes dazed and confused.
“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t… I, I have to go…” he stammered, fumbling with his buttons.
She looked up at him, her lips still parted, her cheeks so pink and so flushed.
He grabbed his jacket, yanked the door open and rushed down the corridor…Only to realise he’d left his coat in her room.
His coat. His wallet. His phone.
He hesitated, eyes darting up the corridor and back to her door.
“Shit, shit, shit!” He swore between his teeth and stepped back, frantic.
And, just as he raised his hand to knock, the door opened.
She was standing there, holding his coat against her chest, vulnerable and so fucking beautiful. Her eyes were ablaze and all he could see was that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her…
He stepped inside.
She didn’t move.
He slowly took the coat from her hand, his fingers brushing hers before it dropped to the ground - a grey sea of tweed pooling at their feet. The door closed behind them in a quiet thud - not that Jeremiah noticed, for their eyes were locked, their breath shallow.
“Are we …really?” he murmured.
“Yeah…” she nodded.