Is Conrad’s Love for Belly Realistic? A Therapist Weighs In

Conrad, Belly, and the Question of Mature Love: What The Summer I Turned Pretty Gets Right (and Wrong) About Real Relationships

When people think of epic love stories, they often picture The Notebook. For a new generation, though, the same kind of romance is being imagined through The Summer I Turned Pretty. These stories captivate us because they portray a love that seems to transcend time, flaws, and circumstance.

Think of Conrad and Belly. From a very young age, Conrad loves her. At first, it’s companionate, the comfort of friendship, of being around each other all the time, of sharing history. But as they grow, that affection matures. Conrad’s love for her isn’t just about desire or image. It’s about joy in her happiness. He delights in seeing her flourish. He doesn’t demand that she exist to please him. He doesn’t collapse when she chooses differently. He waits, yes, but not idly. He stays productive, he builds himself, and as he grows older, he works on what he needs to be working on.

This storyline resonates because it touches something deeper than adolescent infatuation. It hints at the kind of love many people quietly hope for: a love that is patient, steady, not self-serving, a love that grows up alongside us.

Adolescent Love vs. Mature Love

Adolescent love is intense, intoxicating, and often self-referential. It says: You make me feel alive. You’re beautiful, and when you choose me, I feel valuable. You’re an extension of how I want to be seen.

There’s nothing wrong with that, it’s the starting place for most of us. But it’s fragile. When circumstances change, or when the partner no longer enhances one’s image, adolescent love can crumble. Adolescent love isn’t confined to adolescence, many people carry this self-referential, image-driven pattern throughout their entire lives, never growing into the steadier joy of mature love.

Mature love sounds different. It says: Your joy is my joy. I delight in your thriving, even when it isn’t about me. I want the best for you, and I want to grow myself so I can be the partner you deserve.

That’s the shift we see in Conrad. His love isn’t about control or possession. It isn’t about “you make me look good” or “your dancing pleases me.” It’s about Belly’s happiness for its own sake. That is a fundamentally different orientation to love.

Is This “Unconditional Love”?

Here’s where the tension lies. My mentor in graduate school used to say that adult romantic love should not be unconditional. The reason is simple: conditions protect us. Relationships require respect, accountability, honesty, and safety. Love without boundaries isn’t noble, it’s dangerous.

And yet… the kind of love people long for, and that stories like The Summer I Turned Pretty and The Notebook illustrate, feels unconditional. It feels that way because it isn’t contingent on appearance, status, or performance. Conrad’s love for Belly isn’t fragile in the face of her choices. He doesn’t stop loving her if she isn’t choosing him.

That’s the paradox. Mature love has conditions for behavior, but it also carries unconditional regard for the person. It says: I won’t accept harm, but I will always wish for your joy.

The Research Behind It

This isn’t just fiction. Decades of relationship science show that what lasts isn’t passion alone, but what psychologists call companionate love.

Robert Levenson and colleagues at UC Berkeley followed couples across decades. The happiest couples weren’t necessarily the ones who still felt “in love” in the Hollywood sense. They were the ones who had cultivated steady, affectionate bonds: delight in everyday routines, shared humor, and deep regard for each other’s well-being.

These couples irritated each other. They aged. They argued. But they consistently described their partner’s happiness as a source of their own happiness. Not because of what it reflected back on them, but because it was inherently satisfying to see the person they loved flourish.

This is exactly what Conrad models.