by Jenny Han
Conrad gave me his bemused half smile. “No Cheetos or frozen pizza for you in here. Sorry. I got stuff for dinner, though. I’ll cook something for us.”
He got up, took the grocery bag, and went into the house.
For dinner, Conrad made a tomato, basil, and avocado salad, and he grilled chicken breasts. We ate outside on the deck.
With a mouth full of chicken, Jeremiah said, “Wow, I’m impressed. Since when do you cook?”
“Since I’ve been living on my own. This is pretty much all I eat. Chicken. Every day.” Conrad pushed the salad bowl toward me, not looking up. “Did you get enough?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Conrad. This is all really good.”
“Really good,” Jeremiah echoed.
Conrad only shrugged, but the tips of his ears turned pink, and I knew he was pleased.
I poked Jeremiah in the arm with my fork. “You could learn a thing or two.”
He poked me back. “So could you.” He took a big bite of salad before announcing, “Belly’s gonna stay here until the wedding. Is that cool with you, Con?”
I could tell Conrad was surprised, because he didn’t answer right away.
“I won’t be in your way,” I assured him. “I’ll just be doing wedding stuff.”
“It’s fine. I don’t care,” he said.
I looked down at my plate. “Thanks,” I said. So I’d been worried about nothing. Conrad didn’t care if I was there or not. It wasn’t like we would have to hang out with each other. He would do his own thing the way he always did, I would be busy planning the wedding, and Jeremiah would drive up every Friday to help. It would be fine.
After we finished eating dinner, Jeremiah suggested we all go get ice cream for dessert. Conrad declined, saying he would clean up. I said, “The cook shouldn’t have to clean up,” but he said he didn’t mind.
Jere and I went into town, just the two of us. I got a scoop of cookies and cream and a scoop of cookie dough with sprinkles, in a waffle cone. Jeremiah got rainbow sherbet.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked me as we walked around the boardwalk. “About what happened with your mom?”
“Not really,” I said. “I’d rather just not think about it anymore today.”
Jeremiah nodded. “Whatever you want.”
I changed the subject. “Did you figure out how many people you want to invite?” I asked.
“Yup.” He started to tick names off on his fingers. “Josh, Redbird, Gabe, Alex, Sanchez, Peterson—”
“You can’t invite everyone in your fraternity.”
“They’re my brothers,” he said, looking wounded.
“I thought we said we were keeping it really small.”
“So I’ll just invite a few of them, then. Okay?”
“Okay. We still have to figure out food,” I said, licking my way around the cone so it wouldn’t drip.
“We could always get Con to grill some chicken,” Jeremiah said with a laugh.
“He’s going to be your best man. He can’t be sweating over the grill.”
“I was kidding.”
“Did you ask him yet? To be your best man?”
“Not yet. I will, though.” He leaned down and took a bite of my ice cream. He got some on his upper lip, like a milk mustache.
I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from smiling.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
When we got back to the house, Conrad was watching TV in the living room. When we sat down on the couch, he got up. “I’m gonna hit the sack,” he said, stretching his arms over his head.
“It’s, like, ten o’clock. Watch a movie with us,” Jeremiah said.
“Nah, I’m gonna get up early tomorrow and surf. Wanna join me?”
Jeremiah glanced at me before saying, “Yeah, sounds good.”
“I thought we were gonna work on the guest list in the morning,” I said.
“I’ll come back before you’re even awake. Don’t worry.” To Conrad, he said, “Knock on my door when you’re up.”
Conrad hesitated. “I don’t want to wake up Belly.”
I could feel myself blush. “I don’t mind,” I said.
Since Jeremiah and I had become boyfriend and girlfriend, we’d only been at the summer house together once. That time, I slept in his room with him. We watched TV until he fell asleep, because he liked to sleep with the television on in the background. I couldn’t fall asleep like that, so I waited until he did and then I turned it off. It felt kind of strange, sleeping in his bed when mine was just down the hall.
At college we slept in the same bed all the time, and that felt normal. But here at the summer house I just wanted to sleep in my own room, in my own bed. It was familiar to me. It made me feel like a little girl still on vacation with her whole family. My paper-thin sheets with the faded yellow rosebuds, my cherry wood dresser and vanity. I used to have two white twin beds, but Susannah got rid of them and put in what she’d called a “big girl bed.” I loved that bed.
Conrad went upstairs, and I waited until I heard his bedroom door shut before I said, “Maybe I’ll sleep in my room tonight.”
“Why?” Jeremiah asked. “I promise I’ll be quiet when I get up.”
Carefully, I asked, “Aren’t the bride and groom supposed to sleep in different beds before the wedding?”
“Yeah, but that’s the night before the wedding. Not every night before the wedding.” He looked hurt for a second, and then he said in his joking way, “Come on, you know I won’t touch you.”
Even though I knew he was only kidding, it still stung a little.
“It’s not that. Sleeping in my own room makes me feel . . . normal. It’s—it’s different than at school. At school, sleeping with you next to me feels normal. But here I like remembering what it used to feel like.” I searched his face to see if any of the hurt was still there. “Does that make sense at all?”
“I guess.” Jeremiah looked unconvinced, and I started to wish I’d never brought it up.
I scooted closer to him, putting my feet in his lap. “You’ll have me next to you every night for the rest of our lives.”
“Yeah, I guess that’ll be plenty,” he said.
“Hey!” I said, kicking out my leg.
Jeremiah just smiled and put a pillow over my feet. Then he changed the channel and we watched TV without saying anything more about it. When it was time to go to bed, he went to his room, and I went to mine.
I slept better than I had in weeks.
chapter twenty-eight
CONRAD
I asked Jere if he wanted to surf because I wanted to get him alone so I could find out what the hell was going on. I hadn’t talked to him since he made his grand announcement at the restaurant. But now that we were alone, I didn’t know what to say.
We bobbed on our surfboards, waiting for the next wave. It had been slow out there so far.
I cleared my throat. “So how pissed is Laurel?”
“Pissed,” Jere said, grimacing. “Belly and her had a pretty big fight yesterday.”
“In front of you?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.” I wasn’t surprised, though. There was no way Laurel was going to be like, sure, I’ll throw my teenaged daughter a wedding.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“What does Dad say about all this?”
He gave me a funny look. “Since when do you care what Dad says?”
I looked out toward the house. I hesitated before saying, “I don’t know. If Laurel’s against it and Dad’s against it, maybe you shouldn’t do it. I mean, you guys are still in college. You don’t even have a job. When you think about it, it’s kind of ridiculous.” My voice trailed off. Jere was shooting daggers at me.
“Stay out of it, Conrad,” he said. He was practically spitting.
“All right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . I’m sorry.”
“I never asked for your opinion. This is between me and Belly.”
>
I said, “You’re right. Forget it.”
Jeremiah didn’t answer. He looked over his shoulder, and then he started to paddle away. As the wave crested, he popped up and rode it to shore.
I punched my hand through the water. I wanted to kick his ass. This is between me and Belly. Smug piece of shit.
He was marrying my girl, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I just had to watch it happen, because he was my brother, because I promised. Take care of him, Connie. I’m counting on you.
chapter twenty-nine
When I got up the next morning, the boys were still surfing, so I took my binder and my legal pad and a glass of milk out to the deck.
According to Taylor’s checklist, we had to get the guest list figured out before we could do anything else. That made sense. Otherwise, how would we know how much food we needed and everything?
So far, my list was short. Taylor, her mom, a couple of the girls we’d grown up with—Marcy and Blair and maybe Katie—Anika, my dad, Steven, and my mother. And I didn’t even know if my mother was coming. My dad would—I knew he would. No matter what my mother said, he’d be there. I wanted my grandma to come too, but she’d moved out of her house in Florida and into a nursing home the year before. She’d never liked traveling, and now she couldn’t. In her invitation I decided I would write a note promising to visit with Jeremiah over fall break.
That was pretty much it for me. I had a few cousins on my dad’s side but none I was particularly close to.
Jeremiah had Conrad, three of his fraternity brothers like we agreed, his freshman-year roommate, and his dad. Last night Jere told me he could tell his dad was softening. He said Mr. Fisher asked about who was marrying us and how much we were planning on spending on this so-called wedding. Jere told him our budget. One thousand dollars. Mr. Fisher had snorted. To me, a thousand dollars was a lot of money. Last year, it took me the whole summer to save that much waitressing at Behrs.
Our guest list would be under twenty people. With twenty people we could have a clambake and feed everyone, easy. We could get a few kegs and some cheap champagne. Since we’d be marrying on the beach, we wouldn’t even need decorations. Just some flowers for the picnic tables, or shells. Shells and flowers. I was on a roll with this wedding. Taylor was going to be proud of me.
I was writing down my ideas as Jeremiah came up the steps. The sun blazed behind him, so bright it hurt my eyes. “Morning,” I said, squinting up at him. “Where’s Con?”
“He’s still out there.” Jeremiah sat down next to me. Grinning, he asked, “Aw, did you do all the work without me?” He was dripping wet. A drop of seawater splashed down on my notepad.
“You wish.” I wiped at the water. “Hey, what do you think about a clambake?”
“I like a good clambake,” he agreed.
“How many kegs do you think we’d need for twenty people?”
“If Peterson and Gomez are coming, that’s two already.”
I pointed my pen at his chest. “We said three brothers and that’s it. Right?”
He nodded, and then he leaned forward and kissed me. His lips tasted salty, and his face was cool against my warm one.
I nuzzled his cheek before I broke away. “If you get Taylor’s binder wet, she’ll kill you,” I warned, putting it behind me.
Jeremiah made a sad face, and then he took my arms and put them around his neck like we were slow dancing. “I can’t wait to marry you,” he murmured into my neck.
I giggled. I was super ticklish on my neck, and he knew it. He knew almost everything about me and he still loved me.
“And what about you?”
“What about me?”
He blew on my neck, and I burst out laughing. I tried to wriggle away from him, but he wouldn’t let me. Still giggling, I said, “Okay, I can’t wait to marry you either.”
Jere left later that afternoon. I walked him out to his car. Conrad’s car wasn’t in the driveway; I didn’t know where he’d gone off to.
“Call me when you get home so I know you got there safe,” I said.
He nodded. He was being quiet, which was unlike him. I guessed he was sad to be leaving so soon. I wished he could stay longer too. I really did.
I got on my tiptoes and gave him a big hug. “See you in five days,” I said.
“See you in five days,” he repeated.
I watched him drive off, my thumbs hooked in the belt loops of my cutoffs. When I couldn’t see his car anymore, I headed back inside the house.
chapter thirty
That first week in Cousins, I steered clear of Conrad. I couldn’t deal with one more person telling me that I was making a mistake, especially judgy Conrad. He didn’t even have to say it with words; he could judge with his eyes. So I got up earlier than him and ate meals before he did. And when he watched TV in the living room, I stayed upstairs in my room addressing invitations and looking at wedding blogs that Taylor had bookmarked for me.
I doubt he even noticed. He was pretty busy too. He surfed, he hung out with friends, he worked on the house. I’d never have known he was handy if I didn’t see it with my own two eyes—Conrad on a ladder checking the air-conditioning vents, Conrad repainting the mailbox. I saw it all from my bedroom window.
I was eating a strawberry Pop-Tart on the deck when he came jogging up the steps. He’d been out all morning. His hair was sweaty, and he was wearing an old T-shirt from his high school football days and a pair of navy gym shorts.
“Hey,” I said. “Where are you coming from?
“The gym,” Conrad said, walking past me. Then he stopped short. “Is that what you’re eating for breakfast?”
I was munching around the edge of the Pop-Tart. “Yeah, but it’s my last one. Sorry.”
He ignored me. “I left cereal out on the counter. There’s fruit in the fruit bowl too.”
I shrugged. “I thought it was yours. I didn’t want to eat your stuff without asking.”
Impatiently, he said, “Then why didn’t you ask?”
I was taken aback. “How could I ask when I’ve barely even seen you?”
We scowled at each other for about three seconds before I saw a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Fair enough,” he said, and his trace of a smile was already gone. He started to slide the glass door open, and then he turned and said, “Whatever I buy, you can eat.”
“Same here,” I said.
That almost-smile again. “You can keep your Pop-Tarts and your Funyuns and your Kraft mac and cheese all to yourself.”
“Hey, I eat other stuff besides just junk,” I protested.
“Sure you do,” he said, and he went inside.
The next morning, the cereal box was out on the counter again. This time, I helped myself to his cereal and to his skim milk, and I even cut up a banana to put on top. It wasn’t half bad.
Conrad was turning out to be a pretty good housemate. He always put the seat back down on the toilet, he did his dishes right away, he even bought more paper towels when we ran out. I wouldn’t have expected any less, though. Conrad had always been neat. He was the exact opposite of Jeremiah in that way. Jeremiah never changed the roll of toilet paper. It would never occur to him to buy paper towels or to soak a greasy pan in hot water and dishwashing soap.
I went to the grocery store later that day and bought stuff for dinner. Spaghetti and sauce and lettuce and tomato for a salad. I cooked it around seven, thinking, ha! This will show him how healthily I can eat. I ended up overcooking the pasta and not rinsing the lettuce thoroughly enough, but it still tasted fine.
Conrad didn’t come home, though, so I ate it alone in front of the TV. I did put some leftovers on a plate for him, though, and I left it on the counter when I went up to bed.
The next morning, it was gone and the dish was washed.
chapter thirty-one
The next time Conrad and I spoke to each other, it was the middle of the day and I was sitting at the kitchen table with my wedding binder. Now
that we had our guest list, the next thing I needed to do was mail off our invitations. It almost seemed silly to bother with invitations when we had so few guests, but a mass e-mail didn’t feel quite right either. I got the invitations from David’s Bridal. They were white with light turquoise shells, and all I had to do was run them through the printer. And poof, wedding invitations.
Conrad opened the sliding door and stepped into the kitchen. His gray T-shirt was soaked in sweat, so I guessed he’d gone for a run. “Good run?” I asked him.
“Yeah,” he said, looking surprised. He looked at my stack of envelopes and asked, “Wedding invitations?”
“Yup. I just need to go get stamps.”
Pouring himself a glass of water, he said, “I need to go into town and get a new drill at the hardware store. The post office is on the way. I can get your stamps.”
It was my turn to look surprised. “Thanks,” I said, “but I want to go and see what kind of love stamps they have.”
He downed his water.
“Do you know what a love stamp is?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. “It’s a stamp that says ‘love’ on it. People use them for weddings. I only know because Taylor told me I had to get them.”
Conrad half smiled and said, “We can take my car if you want. Save you a trip.”
“Sure,” I said.
“I’m gonna take a quick shower. Give me ten minutes,” he said, and ran up the stairs.
Conrad was back downstairs in ten minutes, just like he said. He grabbed his keys off the counter, I slid my invitations into my purse, and then we headed out to the driveway.
“We can take my car,” I offered.
“I don’t mind,” he said.
It felt sort of funny sitting in the passenger seat of Conrad’s car again. His car was clean; it still smelled the same.
“I can’t remember the last time I was in your car,” I said, turning on the radio.
Without missing a beat, he said, “Your prom.”
Oh, God.
Prom. The site of our breakup—us fighting in the parking lot in the rain. It was embarrassing to think of it now. How I had cried, how I had begged him not to go. Not one of my finest moments.
