Chapter Text
The plane touched down at San Francisco with a quiet shudder, and I felt my chest tighten. I had just visited mom in Philadelphia, like I usually did once every two months since I moved here. Was moving to San Francisco six months ago because of Conrad a good decision? I don’t know. At the time, it made sense. It brought me the job I have now – which I love. And that’s why I can’t leave, even after everything with Conrad ended, I didn’t want to run away again.
It was a long time coming.
I remember how it felt, having to coordinate the distance for the year we were in two different countries. Things between us were never easy. I thought coming back and shifting into the same city would be helpful and improve our relationship but within a month we realised it didn’t work. Maybe we were just too different – different from what we expected and needed the other to be.
So, San Francisco carries a lot of memories now, both bitter and sweet. Paris had been beautiful, chaotic, liberating in ways I never imagined, but there was something about being home – close to the people I loved and cared the most about. Like Mom, Taylor, my brother… Jere.
All the memories of our relationship and how we almost got married rushed into my mind. I hadn’t seen him in three years and hadn’t spoken to him in two years – since I had started my relationship with Conrad in Paris. It was odd not having Jere in my life at all. And learning things about him from Taylor instead of him telling me. I always missed him. But somehow, I didn't feel the same about Conrad at all. But I know he has his reasons. I had hurt him. And not just once.
I walked out of the flight and walked towards the baggage claim. My heart thumped nervously as I waited for my suitcase. The carousel hummed as the bags rolled out. I grabbed mine, telling myself the unease was just travel fatigue, my nerves. What else could it be?
And then I saw him.
Jeremiah.
He was standing by the carousel next to mine, a soft golden halo of afternoon light catching in his hair, his phone held loosely in his hand as he scrolled through something. He looked calmer than he had ever been in all the years I had known him – older, steadier. Three years had passed, but some things didn’t change. And yet, he still felt so far away from me. My chest clenched involuntarily.
I hesitated, torn between crossing to the carousel where he was standing or pretending, I hadn’t seen him and running away in a different direction. Before I could change my mind, I started walking toward him, my suitcase rolling behind me.
He looked up as I reached him, and the faintest flicker of recognition passed over his face. “Belly,” he said, his voice faltering slightly. Surprise was written all over his expression before he masked it with a polite, almost practiced smile.
“Jeremiah,” I replied, the sound of his name rolling off my tongue like something sacred and forbidden all at once.
For a moment, we just stood there, neither of us moving, the air thick with unspoken words.
“You’re… back from Paris?” he asked, finally filling the silence, and I could hear the careful neutrality in his tone.
“Yes,” I said, a little breathless. “I just got back about six months ago. I am living in San Francisco now.” My fingers fidgeted with the strap of my bag. “And you? What are you doing here?”
He paused for a few seconds. I could see that he was contemplating what to say. “Work,” he said at last. “And… visiting someone.” The hesitation was still there, enough to make my chest tighten. He wasn’t here for me, not really. I had a good guess who he was talking about, who that someone was, and that was enough to make my stomach knot. Taylor had mentioned that Jere and Denise had become close over the last three years – I didn’t ask for more details. I just nodded, trying to keep a small smile on my face.
We began walking in the same direction to exit the airport, falling into step, a sort of silent agreement forming. Words didn’t come easily, not at first. Small talk felt awkward, the kind that carries too much weight and too little meaning.
“So… how was Paris?” he asked eventually, brushing a hand through his hair. His casual gesture was effortless, but I noticed the tension in his shoulders.
“Busy, chaotic, wonderful… all at once. All I ever wanted, I guess,” I said, smiling faintly. “What about you? How is Boston for you?”
His eyes flicked toward me briefly, then away. “I moved to LA,” he finally said, shrugging his shoulders. I, of course, already knew that because of Taylor. But that was one of the few things I knew about his life in the last three years. “It’s fast, sunny and warm. It has been good to me.” I wondered why he shifted there and if he was carefully choosing his words.
“I was thinking…” I hesitated, my voice was barely audible as we reached the streets, but I forced it out, careful to sound casual. “Maybe, since you’re here, we could grab coffee one of these days? For old times’ sake?”
He paused. The hesitation was maddening, stretching the silence into something almost unbearable. “I’ll… let you know,” he said finally, his tone even, polite, distant. “Take care, Belly.”
And just like that, he was gone before I could even think of saying anything else to him.
I see Taylor pull up and let out a breath. He’ll let me know. That was all I had to cling to right now, as I placed my suitcase in the boot.
I opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat. “Hey B,” Taylor smiled. Her face immediately became more serious, her eyebrows furrowed. “Okay, you look like someone just said you will never be able to have lemonade ever again. What happened? Don’t tell me Conbad did something again.”
Her eyes went wide. “You’re kidding. Here?”
“Yeah. At the airport.”
“Oh my God.” She whistled under her breath. “I didn’t even know he was coming this weekend,” she mumbled. She turned to me and her voice softened. “So… what did he say?”
“We… We talked. Kind of. He’s… different. Distant. I don’t know why I expected anything else. I kind of figured he was here to see Denise – he didn’t have to say. But I asked him if he wanted coffee for old times’ sake, and he said… he’ll let me know.”
Taylor sighed, the sound somehow both exasperated and sympathetic. “Belly, you have to let him be. You know he was broken about three years ago when you left for Paris. He was full-on sad boy playlist, zero sunlight wrecked. He cared about you more than he let anyone see. I have seen him in the trenches B, and Denise somehow got him out of there.”
“I know,” I said softly, leaning against the car window, staring at the city moving around. “I just don’t know how to stop hoping that maybe I could have my friend back, Tay.”
Taylor sighed and glanced at me, her tone softening in that way it only does for me. “Look, I get it. But maybe you have to give him some time. This doesn’t mean that he doesn’t care, Jere will always care. It just means he’s protecting himself. You need to be patient.”
“I guess.”
We got out the car when reached the Tayor and Steven’s apartment. I was going to stay there that night, having a stay over with Taylor occasionally was a part of my life here. The lights were dim. Steven wasn’t home yet so it was just the two of us. The rest of the night was nothing special, but my mind wouldn’t stop circling back to one blond-haired boy with blue eyes, and all the memories I had with him and all the things we never said.
““He still hasn’t texted, has he?” Taylor asked when she caught me staring at the coffee, as we sat at the kitchen counter. I shook my head. “That was expected.”
I glared at her.
“It’s true. B, he moved to LA instead of San Fran with Steven, Denise and me because he knew when you would return to the US, you would be here in this city. This is the first time he has been here in the last 6 months because he knew you had returned.”
“I know,” I sighed. “I just care about him, still. And I just… I keep thinking about what might have been.”
“Don’t dwell on that B,” Taylor sounded more serious than she ever had in her life. “I was there firsthand to see how shattered he was when you left for Paris. And what about you? You broke up with Conrad only a couple of months ago. Both of you are wounded, and dwelling will not help.” She took a deep breath and then continued in a gentler tone. “I know you never wanted to hurt him. But now, you have to leave it to him to reach out.”
I knew she was right. But I was glad that I didn’t have to wait too long. By evening, a text came through. He wanted to meet. I was full of nerves. What would I say to him?
At the café, I chose a small table by the window, my hands wrapping around a warm mug of coffee as I waited. Then, in the corner of my eye, I saw movement, an unmistakable figure with curly blond hair moving down the street. My nerves kicked in. He looked up, scanning the café, and our eyes met. His smile was faint, and careful. I straightened on my seat, letting my hands rest on the table, and for a heartbeat, the world shrank to just us: the café, the coffee, the city fading into the background.
I didn’t know what he would say, or how the conversation would unfold. Would we completely lose what we had or rekindle that friendship.
At least he was here, ready to talk. And that, for now, was enough.