Chapter Seven
Two summers ago, the night before Pop died, Jeremiah had stumbled up the driveway of their Heart Beach home, tripping over his own feet and struggling to see straight because he was so drunk.
Hours ago, Theo, an old friend from NYU whose family also had a home in Heart Beach, had met Jeremiah at the Sand Saloon, the main bar in town.
They’d taken shot after shot before switching to beer, and eventually Jeremiah realized that it was almost three a.m. He was an adult and could do whatever he wanted, but out of respect for his mom and grandfather, he tried not to come home too late whenever he was at Heart Beach.
A lot of the time, he failed at this endeavor.
He didn’t always get as drunk as he did that night.
Sometimes he didn’t drink at all. Most nights, he was just out.
Whether it was here in Heart Beach or back home in the city.
He was still part of the same friend group from college, and the great thing about those friends was that they didn’t expect anything from him because they didn’t care.
They didn’t care about how he fell short in comparison to Percy, who was ambitious and intelligent, or Amara, who was creative and individualistic.
They didn’t care that Jeremiah stuck out like an inadequate sore thumb among his stellar siblings.
When Jeremiah was out with those friends, he didn’t have to think about his shortcomings.
They cared only that he knew how to have a good time.
At his private high school, Jeremiah hadn’t made friends through debate team and Model UN like Percy, or through art club like Amara.
True, he did have a couple friends from cross-country and track, and he’d been best friends with Danny since childhood.
But Danny lived in Heart Beach, and Jeremiah saw him only during the summer.
At school as he’d made jokes in class to distract his classmates from how he struggled with his grades, he’d discovered his niche.
If he distracted people with humor, maybe no one would find out that Celeste had hired a tutor to help him a few times a week.
Academics just weren’t Jeremiah’s thing.
But in his social life, he thrived. He was the one who everyone invited to their parties because they knew he’d liven things up just by being there.
This strategy followed him to NYU, where he formed an easy friendship with Theo because Theo also knew how to have a good time and was always looking for the next party.
Theo and the rest of their friend group never talked about serious things.
They didn’t discuss life goals or encourage one another to be their best selves.
If shit ever went left or if Jeremiah found himself in a real pinch, he knew he couldn’t count on Theo or the rest of them to be there for him.
Their friendship was surface level, but Jeremiah didn’t mind because it was easier that way.
Into adulthood, Monday through Friday, thoughts about being the one subpar Smith crowded his mind from the minute he woke up at the crack of dawn to take the NJ Transit to the Smith’s Sweets headquarters in Hamilton.
There, he watched his mom and siblings thrive in their respective roles, while he worked with the crippling fear that nothing he contributed would ever be up to par with the rest of his family, which resulted in him not trying hard enough.
His social life was where he found escape.
Being out with Theo one-on-one could get intense, though. Theo didn’t have a drinking limit, and he peer-pressured those around him, which was why Jeremiah was drunker that night than he’d expected to be.
He tried to be quiet as he fumbled for his keys outside the door.
Once inside, he tripped over a pair of flip-flops and almost face-planted in the hallway.
He regained his balance, kicked off his sneakers, and rubbed his eyes, thinking about the blueberry pie that Celeste had baked earlier that day.
He wanted to heat up a slice and eat it with vanilla ice cream.
“Jeremiah.”
Jeremiah snapped his head up and froze at the sound of his grandfather’s voice. Pop was sitting on the living room couch. His hands were clasped together, and he was looking at Jeremiah with somber eyes.
“Pop…I didn’t know you were awake,” Jeremiah mumbled.
Even in his cloud of inebriation, Jeremiah was aware of how he must have looked to his grandfather.
Sloppy, careless, irresponsible. But this was all wrong.
No one was supposed to be awake right now.
Especially not Pop, who’d made a habit of going to bed earlier and earlier lately.
Jeremiah didn’t want Pop to see him like this.
Pop was more of a father figure to him than his own dad.
“What are you doing, Miah?” Pop asked.
“Uh.” Jeremiah fought through his brain fog to form a coherent reply. “I was going to warm up some pie. I’m sorry if I woke you. I couldn’t—couldn’t find my key.”
“You didn’t wake me up. I waited for you.
” Pop walked over to Jeremiah. Now in his early eighties, Pop moved slower than he had before, and he’d lost weight, but his vibrant aura remained.
He was wearing an old Heart Beach T-shirt and pair of plaid blue pajama pants that Amara had bought him for Christmas years ago.
It was a running joke in their family that Pop never bought pajamas for himself and preferred to receive them as Christmas gifts.
Gently, he rested his hand on Jeremiah’s shoulder.
“I meant, what are you doing with your life?”
Jeremiah stared. His arms fell limp at his sides. This was an important conversation, one he didn’t currently feel equipped to have.
“Every weekend, you’re out carrying on at all times of the night,” Pop said.
“Then the next day, you sleep and waste the day away. You’re missing it, missing us.
When you were in your early twenties, I chalked it up to you being young, but you’re twenty-seven now.
Still young but old enough to start taking yourself more seriously. ”
“Aw, Pop, come on,” Jeremiah said, even though he knew deep down that Pop was right. He dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t want to talk about that now.”
“Yeah, because you’re drunk.” Pop crossed his arms over his chest. “When I was your age, I worked two, sometimes three jobs. I worked as hard as I did to make your mom’s life and your life easier.
The world is at your fingertips, and this is how you’re choosing to spend your time?
I raised you better than this, Jeremiah. ”
His words were a sharp cut to Jeremiah’s chest, because they were true.
Pop had always been Jeremiah’s biggest supporter.
Pop helped Jeremiah study when he struggled in school.
He cheered him on at his track and cross-country meets, and whenever a herd of nerves stampeded over Jeremiah’s thoughts before his race began, he’d look into the crowd and see Pop up on his feet, clapping.
Then Jeremiah would feel assured that no matter the outcome, everything would be okay.
Because Pop was in his corner, and he believed in him.
To be confronted with the reality that Pop was disappointed in him was the worst feeling.
Jeremiah was angry at himself because Pop’s disappointment was warranted.
Every now and then, Celeste had made a comment to Jeremiah about how she thought he was staying out too late, but Pop was the one who saw Jeremiah clearly.
Jeremiah was angry at Pop for seeing through him because it was so much easier to hide behind his facade.
“What are you talking about? You act like I’m out here getting into fights or driving drunk,” Jeremiah said. “I just had a few drinks, and I walked home. What’s the problem? Why are you judging me?”
“I’m not judging you.” Pop sighed, and Jeremiah realized how tired his grandfather looked.
“My wish is for you to realize your potential and to find your purpose and work toward it, no matter what it is. I can tell you’ve been unhappy working for the company, and that’s okay, Miah.
Maybe you need to find what’s best for you and your life.
But you won’t find it by going out every night, especially not with people who don’t care about your well-being.
Come on, let’s get you a glass of water.
We can talk about this more in the morning. ”
“No, I don’t want to talk about it more.
” Jeremiah backed away. He couldn’t stand to see the look in Pop’s eyes, a mixture of disappointment and fierce love.
It asked too much of him. It asked that he be the person whom Pop thought he was capable of being.
Jeremiah was terrified that he’d never live up to whoever that was, and he’d let Pop down even more.
He didn’t want to talk about it then or the next day.
He wanted to run away from the conversation entirely. “I’m going back out.”
“Miah,” Pop called after him, but Jeremiah kept walking until he was out the door. Only when he was walking down the driveway did he realize that he forgot his shoes.
He walked to the beach. The cold, wet sand and the chilly night air helped sober him up.
He sat on the beach for a while, breathing in and out and listening to the waves crash loudly against the shore.
He replayed his conversation with Pop and felt like the world’s biggest asshole for walking out.
He needed to go back and apologize. He splashed some ocean water on his face and jogged back to the house.
But when he returned, Pop was asleep in his room.
First thing in the morning, Jeremiah vowed to talk to Pop and apologize.
He went to bed that night and closed his eyes as soon as his face hit the pillow.
In the early-morning hours, he felt someone trying to shake him awake.
“Miah,” Amara whispered. “Miah. Get up.”