If Only I Had Told Her(30)

“Doesn’t it feel like it?” she asks me.

It does, and it doesn’t. Being with Autumn feels natural, but it also feels supernatural. I think about the way her novel captured and displayed my love for her so perfectly without her having consciously known all that was in my heart. I think about my recurring dreams of having returned to the right timeline, where she and I have always been together.

“How did we ever get here?” I wonder aloud. How is it possible that two people could simultaneously seem to be both destined and not destined to be together?

Again, I have that feeling that there must be a catch, that fate will not allow me to be with her; but when I look back at Autumn and see her quietly and calmly watching me, waiting for whatever I say or do next, I realize that it doesn’t matter.

My face must change because she smiles and clambers into my lap. We wrap our arms around each other and settle in. After a moment, she says, “You know, I never thought this would happen either. When Jack told me—” and then she stops.

I move my face away enough to look at her.

“Oh. I didn’t explain that part last night.”

“What part?” I hope I don’t sound as panicked as I suddenly feel. What did Jack tell her?

“It was a couple of weeks ago, after the horror movie we went to with Jack, remember? You went inside to get pretzels or something, and he was all, ‘It took Finn forever to get over you last time. Are you messing with his head?’” Her Jack impression is decent, but she’s still talking. “I was like, ‘Whaaat?’ because I had no idea that you’d ever felt that way. But Jack said you were over me, that he was only worried. So for the past couple of weeks, I’ve thought I’d missed my chance with you.”

I don’t say anything in reply. My head is too full of opposing thoughts and feelings.

“Finny?”

“Sorry,” I say. “I was trying to decide whether I should kill Jack for telling you I was into you or if I should kill him for telling you that I wasn’t into you. Tough call.”

“Noooo,” Autumn says. She kisses my cheek. “Don’t be mad. He was looking out for you. It was sweet. He loves you.”

“Yeah,” I admit. Jack was protecting me, but there’s no way he believed that I was over Autumn. I’m wondering now though. “What would you have done if he’d told you the truth, that I was”—I try to remember how Jack put it before—“bonkers in love with you?”

Autumn rests her head on my shoulder. I can’t believe this is real life, holding her like this.

“Hmm,” she says. “I think I would have had a hard time believing him.”

“Really?”

“I mean, yeah. I’m not exactly your type.”

“I—” I decide to skip over the whole “type” comment. “Let’s say Jack convinced you. I’m certain he could have eventually. Then what?”

“I guess I would have…” Autumn trails off and begins again. “I guess I would have flirted with you?”

“How?”

“I have no idea,” Autumn says. “But when I gave you my nov—Oh.” Before I can react, she’s sliding off my lap and looking at me with frantic eyes. “With everything that happened last night, I almost forgot you read my book.”

She’s looking at me like I’ve turned into a wild animal she does not trust.

“Autumn, it was great,” I tell her. She’s still looking at me dubiously. “Really.”

“It’s a first draft,” she says. “It can’t be great. But if you liked it okay, that’s a good start.”

“I loved it,” I say.

She shakes her head, brushing off my praise.

“Why were you so nervous to share it with me?”

“Because.” Autumn picks at the blanket in her lap. “It’s all of me, dissected and splayed out. I’m not nervous about how you interpreted Izzy and Aden’s relationship anymore, but last night, I thought it might be the end of our friendship. Because you got over me. After I abandoned you.”

“But I didn’t,” I say. “I couldn’t get over you.”

She looks back at me.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” she says, and a smile cracks her worry briefly. “So you liked the book. Obviously, you’re biased.”

“You remember how furious I was last night? I thought you’d recorded my devotion in perfect detail and then dropped it in my lap without considering my feelings. And I still loved it as a story. You’re a good writer, Autumn. You’ve always been good.”

Autumn shrugs and looks away, but her smile is back. “Thanks,” she whispers.

I can’t take it anymore. I lean over and kiss her deeply. A few minutes are lost to that, and then I gasp as I feel her fingers close around me.

“We can’t double our chances of you getting pregnant,” I say, even though I’m kissing her neck now and doing nothing to stop her hand.

Autumn pulls away and puts her other hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers. “I know what to do.” Autumn pushes me down on the bed, and for some unknown period of time, I am entirely at her mercy.