If Only I Had Told Her(34)

At my car, I say to her, “I promise you, I’ll come back as soon as I can. It may take a while though.”

“Please don’t go,” she says.

Oh, beloved.

I take her in my arms and hold her close to me.

“I have to do this,” I tell her. “You know that, Autumn.”

She’s quiet, but she leans into me.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” I say with my chin resting on her hair. “When The Mothers get home, you go to bed early, and when I get back, I’ll sneak in your back door and come to your room, and then I’ll hold you all night.” Or do more than that if she wants. When she’s ready again, I’ll be ready with condoms.

She pulls away enough to look at me. “Okay,” Autumn says, like we’re making a sacred vow. I wish we were.

I can’t help kissing her quickly, but when she moves in to kiss me again, I lose myself in wonder. Autumn wants me. Autumn loves me.

As Autumn leans back against the car, she pulls me with her, and I press into her, once more seduced into more than I had planned. I want her again, right now, caution and ethics be damned. Autumn kisses me desperately, and I am breathless with love. If I’m not back inside, skin to skin with her in another minute, I will lose my mind.

I feel her tense before my brain registers the sound of the car door slamming. She peers over the car roof behind her, and I look over her head. The Mothers are home early. Aunt Claire has a quiet smile. Mom seems to be trying to hide her face.

“Do you think they saw?” Autumn asks.

“Definitely.” We aren’t even ten yards away, but they are pretending to be completely unaware of their children, who they have not seen for two days, making out in the driveway.

“Oh God,” Autumn says.

I can tell she’s in misery over the coming tide of discrete smiles and little comments. The thing is, when we were babies, The Mothers daydreamed about us getting married so they could be grandmothers together. But really, The Mothers will be happy for me. It’s been impossible to hide how much I wanted this.

“I think my mother has a special bottle of champagne hidden away for just this occasion,” I say. I’m only partially joking. Mom has labeled some of her alcohol, like for when George W. Bush leaves office and stuff. One expensive one said, “Finny-Autumn Day or NYE 2010.” At the time, I was glad she’d made alternative plans for it.

“Oh God,” Autumn says again. She buries her head in my chest. Finny-Autumn Day has come after all.

I look down at Autumn, my beloved. I will make that name a habit. It suits her.

“I’ll be back to help you fend them off.”

“Okay,” Autumn says, and it’s time.

With space between our bodies, I lean down and kiss her before I go, because I can, because it’s not the last time.

I open the car door. The sinking feeling in my stomach is increasing with every moment, but I’m buoyed by the knowledge that I’m going to come back to Autumn and hold her and kiss her and lie beside her as she fights dragon-faerie wars in her sleep. I smile at her. She looks so somber.

“After this, things are going to be the way they were always supposed to be,” I tell her. I can’t put it off anymore. I sit down and close the door between us. “It will all be over soon,” I mumble as I start the car. I don’t let myself look at her again until she’s in my rearview mirror. I turn onto the street and drive down the hill as the rain starts.





fifteen





I only look at my phone because I know it’s Mom calling. I haven’t even turned off our block yet. Autumn must have already made her excuses and bolted.

“Technically, Mom,” I say instead of hello, “it’s raining and I’m driving, so I shouldn’t have answered.”

“My advice worked, kiddo!” Mom says. “I get one minute to gloat. And it’s barely raining.”

I’d forgotten what she said before leaving for the weekend: “Talk to her.” She’d had a better view on the situation than I did.

Neither mother has ever said anything about us dating in all these years, not directly. That’s the thing about being raised by women: you learn about layers of communication from an early age. Without ever saying it, The Mothers have told me many times that they wished, for my sake, Autumn loved me back. It never occurred to me that maybe they were trying to tell me that she did love me back.

“This was not the outcome I was expecting,” I admit to Mom, trying to share enough to get out of the conversation while saying as little as possible.

“It’s been quite a summer,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah.”

“Claire and I are at our place having some champagne,” Mom says, and I have to stifle another laugh. “Autumn has escaped to her room, and we’ll leave her alone for now. I promise.” Mom pauses. “Should I nudge Claire toward staying late or at our place tonight?”

“Uh, yeah. Sounds good,” I say, blushing. I’d thank my mother for intuiting my clandestine plans and assisting them, but it’s too much for me.

“Okay then,” she says, relieving me. “I’ll let you do what you need to. I love you. I’m proud of you.”

“You always say you’re proud of me for the weirdest things, Mom,” I tell her. “I love you too. Bye.”