If Only I Had Told Her(29)

“Yeah?”

“I came up here and punched the wall,” I admit. “I’d never done that before. It hurt.”

“You thought…”

“Yeah.” Also, I need to warn her how selfish she makes me. “Then, after I found out you guys had broken up, it was hard to see you miserable over him when I was so happy. I wanted to pick you up and spin you around.” Like I’d watched Jamie do so many times.

Rather than responding to my hypocrisy, Autumn says, “You were sad that time Sylvie broke up with you. I was so angry at her for hurting you that I thought about pushing her in front of the school bus.”

I almost laugh at Autumn’s hyperbole.

“I was sad,” I agree, “but it was my own fault. I told everybody that I didn’t like it when they made comments about you, and Sylvie got jealous. She asked me if I had feelings for you.” She asked directly that time. “And I told her to drop it and kept trying to change the subject. She could tell.”

I’d tried what had worked before, saying true things in a way that hid what I didn’t want to say. Again and again, I tried to get Sylvie to pretend that I’d told her what she wanted to hear, but that time, she wouldn’t play along. Sylvie dumped me, as I deserved. She was cool and brisk.

Sylvie said, “Finn, even if you weren’t being purposefully obtuse, that would still be a problem. I’m tired of the charade.” That had hurt because I hadn’t thought of my relationship with Sylvie as a farce.

Part of me wishes I could tell Autumn how much I missed Sylvie those weeks. I missed talking with her about politics. I missed going on runs with her when no one else would go with me because it was too cold. I missed calling her to say good night. I missed our evenings at the library together, working side by side, not talking.

Finally, I lied to Sylvie. I lied again and again. Sure, I’d told her I had a crush on Autumn. But I said losing her had made me realize that I hadn’t really been in love with Autumn at all. I told Sylvie that she was the only one I wanted to be with, and after that, she seemed to believe me again.

“Why did you get back with her?” Autumn asks, surprising me.

“You loved Jamie all this time too, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” she says, and I’m amazed that I still feel a flicker of jealousy.

“Then why don’t you understand? I wanted—I tried to love only her.”

Autumn’s face tells me that she understands at least that much, so I continue.

“When I told you last month that I was going to break up with Sylvie, it wasn’t because I thought I had a chance of being more than just your friend. It was because loving you from a distance was one thing, but it wouldn’t have been fair to her if I were in love with my best friend.”

Abruptly, Autumn sits up. She hugs the covers around herself like bandages on a wound. I don’t understand what’s happened. I confessed to punching blameless walls and rejoicing in her heartbreak, and she smiled sweetly at me. Why is she upset now? I sit up too.

“Autumn?”

Her hair is hanging over her face. “What if you see her and realize this was all a mistake?”

“That will not happen.”

“It could.”

“It won’t.”

“If you love her—” Autumn says, but I can’t let her go on.

“But if I have the chance to be with you—” It’s surreal to me, but somehow, after everything, she still doesn’t understand how uncontrollably in love I am. “God, Autumn. You’re the ideal I’ve judged every other girl by my whole life. You’re funny and smart and weird. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth or what you’re going to do. I love that. You. I love you.”

After all these years of feeling like I was holding back the most eloquent words of love, my big speech sounds weak to me, but I try to let all my emotion show in my voice.

Her brown hair parts over her face, and her huge eyes peek up at me from under her eyelashes.

I don’t know how I’m still breathing.

“And you’re so beautiful,” I hear myself say.

She ducks her head again, and I laugh aloud.

“Now, I know you already knew that,” I say. I’m laughing because I’ve seen her shrug off that exact compliment so many times.

“It’s different when you say it.” She speaks so quietly I can barely hear her.

I laugh. “How?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers.

Sweet Autumn.

“You’re so beautiful.” I reach for her face and tilt her chin up. I need her to see me say this. “Last night was the best thing that ever happened to me,” I tell her. “And I would never think it was a mistake unless you said it was.”

“I would never say that,” she whispers.

I smile and lean my forehead against hers. I close my eyes as I reply. “Then everything is going to be okay. We’re together now, right?” I need to hear her say it. No more mistakes.

“Of course,” Autumn says, and I can’t help my laugh again.

She pulls away.

I explain, “I never ever thought this would happen, and then you say, ‘of course,’ like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”