If Only I Had Told Her(28)

No matter what the dream with Autumn was about—whether it was set in deep space or in a version of McClure High School with upside-down halls—I always felt such a sense of relief when I dreamed that we were together. It was like the dream was my reality, and when I woke, I was in a nightmare where Autumn and I were both dating other people and weren’t even friends. I’d denied my feelings to Jack, to Sylvie, to myself, but my brain had continued to stubbornly insist that Autumn and I were supposed to be together. I’d thought that it was my lust and jealousy mixing to give me the delusion that an error had been made and the matchups that kept us apart were all a big mistake.

But.

Here we are.

“Do you feel guilty?” Autumn’s voice is feather light, like she’s trying to gently blow the words from her mouth.

The guilt is mine alone. I need her to understand that.

I need her to understand that I had to do this. I had to be with her if the chance was there. My love for her is part of who I am.

“Yeah,” I say. “But I also feel like I’ve been loyal to something bigger.” It’s only the start of what I want to tell her, but I’m interrupted by a beep I should have expected.

I’m going to ignore it, but Autumn says, “You should see who it is.”

“I don’t want to,” I say reflexively.

“It could be The Mothers, and if we don’t answer, they’ll think we’re dead and come back early.”

I would still put the odds on it being Sylvie confirming her flight details before she boards her plane from Chicago, but Autumn has a point. I don’t want The Mothers interrupting our time.

I roll away from Autumn, sit up, and pick up my phone.

ORD > STL Flt#5847 4:17pm Dinner after Y/N?



I’m glad that my back is turned, because I can’t help the tiny smile that cracks my face. It’s such a Sylvie text: the militaristic shorthand, the assumption that I’ll recognize the Chicago airport code. Part of the reason Sylvie underestimates herself is she doesn’t recognize that most people don’t possess her efficiency or candor. Sylvie assumes everyone else knows exactly what they want from life and is strategically plotting to get it as soon as possible. Autumn is the only other person I know like that.

Glad u r safely stateside. Up all night. Need rest. See u alone? 7?



I turn off the sound on my phone.

I lie back down, and we settle in close, facing each other.

“It was her again?” Autumn asks, because she knows.

“I told her that I won’t be meeting her plane. I’ll see her after she has dinner with her parents.”

“Oh. When?”

“We have a few hours.” Four hours fifty-one minutes and counting. “Go back to sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Me neither.” It doesn’t matter what we do as long as I can look at her.

Perhaps Autumn feels the same, because she stares at me, and I do what I’ve longed to do a thousand times: I reach out and brush the hair from her forehead.

Autumn’s eyes drift closed as I stroke her temples and her hair. She looks so happy. How is it possible that I’m making her smile like that with just the tips of my fingers? There isn’t anything else I can blame the smile on: no music, no other sensations.

There must be a catch.

After four years of saying no to Jamie, why did she say yes to me?

I almost laugh because I realize she didn’t say yes to me. She proposed it. I gave in to her request, despite the reasons it was a bad idea.

Autumn trembles under my touch, like the feel of my fingertips is more than she can handle.

“Do you regret it?” I ask, because surely something will go wrong.

Her eyes open. “No,” she says. Before relief can hit me, she continues, “But I wish it had been your first time too.”

Autumn looks away from me, and I freeze.

Without betraying Sylvie, I need to explain to Autumn how significant last night was for me.

I let my hand fall away and concentrate on my words.

“The first time, we were both so drunk neither of us can remember it. And then it turned out that she couldn’t do it unless she was drunk. And if she was drunk, it felt wrong to me. It didn’t happen often or even go very well when it did. So, I mean, in a lot of ways, it was a first for me.”

I hope I don’t have to say more, but Autumn says, “What do you mean ‘she couldn’t do it unless she was drunk’?”

“Someone hurt her once,” I say. It’s true that Sylvie was hurt, but it’s not true to say that she was hurt only once.

“Oh,” Autumn says.

It’s a bit of a bummer to not really remember the first time I had sex, but that isn’t why last night felt like a first time for me. With Sylvie, most nights ended with me telling her she was too drunk for me to keep going. There were nights she was sober enough to consent, but we had to stop in the middle. Success was rare, and I lived in fear of hurting Sylvie.

Autumn lays her hand over mine, and suddenly, I remember all the things that I still need to tell her. I twine my fingers with hers.

“I wanted something better for you,” I told her. “That’s why I made you promise not to do it when you were drinking, but really, the idea of you ever doing it with anybody made me mad.” I need to warn her about the effect she has on me. “Do you remember how you told me that you were going to do it after graduation? And then the day after, you were sitting on the porch, and you said you were waiting for Jamie?”