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She’s dressed in all white and Etta James is playing and you’re nothing. You’re not even a blip in the night sky when she glows, and she always does. And there it is again. That thing. That thing about one Isabel Conklin.
You’ve had all summer to think about this, about what it is about Belly that both carves a hole in your chest and fills all the niches of what make you hollow and cold. When she runs hot, you run cold because if you’re both burning, you’ll turn to dust for her. When she laughs, you feel like crying because it’s the greatest sound and best thing you’ve ever seen. When she turns her eyes on you, everything just fades, because this is your moment with her, and in every room, you’ll always look for her first. Just for that single second you can feel so fucking important.
Is this what love is? Crushing defeat and utter triumph?
For a single second, she floats into your arms.
God you’re drifting right now. You know you’ll always think about this. About her in all white, about you in a tux, about your mom - fuck, your mom - watching you two dance together.
Maybe it’s lame, and Steven would knock your fucking shit out if he knew this (and only God knows how Jeremiah would feel if he knew), but you’ve thought about this.
She was nine and you were 10 and she’d just watched The Philadelphia Story, which of course she loved because she’s from there. She came up to you, in a white sheet wrapped around her bathing suit, picked flowers from the garden in her hand, a big, goofy, gap-tooth grin on her face.
“Marry me, Connie! Like Dexter and Tracy!”
You made a gagging noise and she ran all around the backyard chasing you, You both almost slipped into the pool twice, but when she caught you, you both tumbled to the ground. She started crying - scraping her elbow. You instantly shushed her. Partially because Laur would kill you if she knew you made her cry, but also because seeing Belly cry makes your stomach hurt. It’s always been that way. Even when she totally deserves to cry, you don’t want her too. She should never shed a single tear.
“Okay, okay! When we’re big, I’ll marry you, ok, Belly? Just. Don’t be a baby right now!”
That got her quiet, and she pushed you off her and scrambled away to tell you she wasn’t a baby. You left the grass, the indent of your bodies on the space, her sheet covered in grass stains.
Then you’re fifteen and she’s fourteen, and she’s looking at her braces in the mirror in the living room (she hates them and man, you wish she’d stop whining about it cause she doesn’t look that different). But she’s wearing a white sundress for one of her mom’s book signings and so you think to yourself, does she remember?
If you were to marry Belly, what would the wedding be like?
Here, you decided, as you started to finish off your waffles. The thought comes so easy. You don’t even second guess how easy it is to think about it. You would get married here in Cousins, and your mom wouldn’t be sick anymore. She would be glowing as she watched you two, and knowing your mom, she’d start crying. Jeremiah would be the one to pop the first bottle of champagne, and Steven would get over the fact that you were marrying his baby sister. Laur would roll her eyes, tell you, “duh,” and you’d laugh because… Because.
You’re fifteen and you think to yourself, Yeah I could totally marry Belly.
That memory plays in your eyes, when you pull her to your chest, feet moving in perfect tune. This is how it should always be. You two in perfect synchronization.
Then she drifts away for a moment to spin, but your hand doesn’t leave hers.
She’s different now. But she’s still the same. She’s your favorite person, the best person to talk to, someone who doesn’t always understand you, yet, always tries to. Which means more to you. If she could understand you that would mean she’s as broken as you, and if you couldn’t protect her from the world getting to her, then you’d have failed as a person. So many times, you think as you spin her, you wanted to tell her. You wanted to break down in front of her in the pool that first night. Tipsy and high, you thought, I could just say it. And if I cried, she’d hold me.
This is what Belly does to you. She makes you real, she makes you human. With Aubrey, it was kisses, touches, dates that were really extended ‘how was your week’ conversations before hooking up in the back of your car to escape from your dad asking you about why you were dropping football. With Nicole, it was the soft, reminiscent reminder of how beautiful it could be to like someone again. Nicole, who is so fucking perfect, it literally hurts.
You’ve been hurting so much, for so long.
And watching Belly bring around Cam Cameron, knowing she wanted to spend time, turn those eyes, give that smile to someone else made you feel sick everyday. I deserve this, you thought to yourself, I’m lying to everyone and I deserve to feel like shit for it. Without meaning to, you turned that feeling to Nicole. More an abstraction of a thunder rod than a person, and you’re not proud of it.
These days you’re disgusted with yourself.
You’re lying to your baby brother, you’re lying to your mom, you’re lying to your Laur. For someone who goes off the principle of wanting to do the right thing even if it’s the worst thing, you can’t help yourself. You want to play pretend with your mom even if it means you hate yourself this summer.
Belly doesn’t make any of that go away, but then again, that was never her job. It’s the hope that Belly can forgive you, knowing that she has the capacity to do that keeps you going. You can beg, you can grovel, you can work for her forgiveness because that’s all apart of being human.
Being human means making you selfish, too.
And so, even though this is a moment meant for your brother - the greatest person in the world, who may just be in love with your girl - you can’t help but preen. You want desperately to live this moment again.
You want to live this moment again at your wedding. Maybe the dress would change. Definitely the music. But not the people. Laur would be there, Cleveland maybe, certainly Steven and Jeremiah - if they can ever forgive you - without a doubt, your mom. More important than any of those people, it would be Belly. Your Isabel Conklin, your summertime, your forever girl.
It has to be her.
“I’m glad.” You say. It’s soft, because she’s looking at you and she’s smiling at you, and it’s like you haven’t seen this look all summer except for in all those moments that you royally fucked that up. “Glad that it was me.”
Because you are. You're glad it's you that's with her right now for a memory she'll never forget and one you'll never let go of.