All The Summers Between Us | TSITP

Clarifications.

The Fisher house always seemed the loudest at night, when everyone was finally in pyjamas and gathered in the living room. Belly was curled up under a blanket in the corner of the couch, her damp hair falling across her face as Jeremiah threw popcorn kernels into her mouth and laughed when she missed. Steven sprawled out on the rug, trying to defend his take that the second Indiana Jones was "the superior sequel," while Laurel shook her head, refilling Susannah's glass with wine.

Lydia ducked out of the noise and into the shared room, letting the door click shut behind her. She pulled on her softest pyjamas—an oversized tee and cotton shorts—and braided her hair loosely to keep it from tangling overnight. The laughter from downstairs drifted up faintly, and she smiled despite herself.

She had just finished putting her cotton shorts on when there was a knock.

She frowned, looking up. "Yeah?"

The door opened a crack, and Conrad stepped in. His hoodie was pulled low, hair still damp from a shower. He closed the door gently behind him and leaned against the desk chair, like he hadn't decided if he really wanted to be there.

"Hey," Lydia said slowly, confused. "Everything okay?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes fixed on the floor. "I just... wanted to say I'm sorry. About Nicole. At lunch."

Lydia blinked, then let out a quiet laugh. "That? Please. She never stood a chance against me."

Conrad's mouth twitched, and for a moment, he actually chuckled. The sound was low and rare, but real.

"I noticed," he said.

She tilted her head, a grin tugging at her lips. "Oh, you were watching?"

That shut him up, his eyes flicking briefly to hers before shifting back to the floor.

Silence stretched for a beat, heavy but not uncomfortable. Then he said, carefully, "She's not my girlfriend. Nicole. She's not... anything."

Lydia froze, the words hanging between them.

Why are you telling me this? she thought, pulse quickening. Why me?

Out loud, she forced a light shrug. "Good to know."

Conrad nodded once, but his eyes lingered on her, like he wanted to make sure she believed him.

Lydia scratched the back of her neck, trying to keep her voice casual. "I'm not exactly losing sleep over Nicole Richardson."

That made him laugh again, short and quiet. "Yeah. I didn't think you would."

She studied him for a moment—the way the shadows from the hall light softened his face, the crease in his brow that never really went away. For a second, she wanted to ask why he'd bothered knocking at all, but she swallowed it back.

Instead, she said softly, "Thanks for telling me."

He nodded, pushed off the chair, and opened the door. "Come on. We should go down before my mom sends out a search party."

————

The living room glowed warm when they came back in. Belly was half-asleep against Jeremiah's shoulder, who was still talking a mile a minute, while Steven had the remote in his hand, fighting to put on Die Hard against Laurel's protests.

"There is no way you're watching Bruce Willis tonight," Laurel said firmly.

"It's educational," Steven argued. "Action film history."

"It's past your bedtime," Laurel shot back.

"That stopped working when I turned thirteen," Steven muttered, earning a laugh from Jeremiah.

Lydia dropped onto the couch next to Belly, pulling the blanket over her legs. Conrad settled into the armrest beside Susannah, silent as usual, though Lydia could feel the awareness of him there—quiet, steady, present.

Susannah lifted her glass, her eyes shining. "To tomorrow," she said, voice soft but brimming with excitement. "To my girls at the ball."

Belly groaned into the blanket. "Don't remind me."

"Don't pretend you're not excited," Jeremiah teased.

Belly shoved him lightly. "Shut up."

Lydia laughed, but when Susannah caught her gaze and winked, her chest swelled with something she couldn't quite name—nerves, pride, maybe both.

The group lingered a little longer, the room humming with warmth and familiar banter. But eventually, Laurel clapped her hands. "Alright. Enough. Everyone to bed. Big day tomorrow."

"Finally," Steven muttered, dragging himself up.

Belly whined but didn't argue as Jeremiah pulled her off the couch. Susannah kissed each of them on the head as they shuffled toward the stairs.

At the landing, Lydia glanced back once. Conrad was behind her, eyes meeting hers briefly before he turned down the hall toward his room.

She slipped into bed, the blanket cool against her skin. But long after the house went quiet, Conrad's words echoed in her head.

She's not my girlfriend. She's not anything.

And Lydia couldn't stop wondering why he thought she needed to know.