If Only I Had Told Her(36)

I throw down my money and head out. I vow to always carry cash with me for the rest of my life in case of a similar situation.

The man shouts something after me, but it doesn’t matter what because I’m already sliding into my car. I pull out of the parking lot. I have places to be.





sixteen





Sylvie’s house isn’t as nice as a lot of people from school would expect. I don’t mean to say that it’s not a perfectly good home, but Sylvie carries herself like she lives in a mansion. It’s not a bad thing. I love her poise. I admire the way she finds high-end stuff on sale and handwashes her silk dresses and cashmere sweaters.

It’s not that Sylvie pretends to be rich. It’s more like she’s dressing for the adult she wants to be. It’s part of how she took control of her life after Wilbur, I think. And even though she doesn’t know what dream she wants to pursue, she knows that she could be a senator or CEO.

Sylvie and I make a great team. I never thought, I want to marry her, but I couldn’t see myself breaking up with her either.

I love Sylvie, and the thought makes the ache in my chest intensify. I pull to the side of the road.

It’s not a “but not in love with her” situation. I am in love with Sylvie, but I cannot be with her anymore, and that hurts. It also hurts to know that I am going to hurt her. The fact that this is all my choice doesn’t make it any better. I need to get off the side of the road and drive the rest of the way to her house, but I don’t. Not yet. I tap the CD player and start the song I played for Autumn last night. Last night, when everything was different between Autumn and me.

If only I’d told her that I loved her years ago, I wouldn’t be here now. Because she loved me. She loved me this whole time.

Only two things will get me through this.

The first is that I want Sylvie to be with someone who loves her the way that I love Autumn. She deserves that.

And the second is that Autumn is waiting for me. I cannot fail her. Until I have ended this relationship, we can’t really begin ours. I want to hold Autumn without guilt.

I have to do this, and I have to go home.

By the time the song ends, I’m driving again. I’m nearly to Sylvie’s modest two-bedroom ranch where we studied and made out and tried to make love a few times. She must have been waiting for me by the door because she’s dashing through the rain toward my car before I’ve parked in the driveway.

I unlock the passenger door, and before I know it, she’s in the car, closing her umbrella with a shake and shutting the door.

Sylvie.

She brushes her blond hair from her face and looks at me.

“You fucking asshole,” she says.





seventeen





Part of me had hoped that Sylvie also felt we were drifting apart and suspected something so that I didn’t completely blindside her, but I didn’t expect this.

We stare at each other with only the sound of the rain between us.

“What do you know?” I ask after a moment.

“Everything,” she says, which can’t be true. I didn’t even know everything until last night. And Jack wouldn’t have called her before I arrived.

“Like what?” I hadn’t known I could feel more guilty, but apparently there’s no end to that well.

“Are you kidding me?” Sylvie is as surprised as she is furious. “Every time you and Autumn went to Blockbuster this summer, I got at least two emails about it from people who saw you. You didn’t even try to hide it.”

“Until recently, we were only friends,” I begin to explain, but she’s right. It’s no defense.

“Shut up and drive somewhere,” Sylvie says. “I haven’t told my parents that you’re breaking up with me tonight. They think you have some romantic gesture planned. I needed to yell at you before I figure out how to disappoint them again.”

“They won’t be disappointed in you because of what I did, Sylvie,” I say.

Her seat belt clicks into place. “I’m not looking forward to explaining this to them, okay? But I have Dr. Giles for talking about my fear of disappointing authority figures. You don’t get to give me pep talks anymore. Not after the lies you’ve told me.”

“I–I—” I cannot say I never lied to her. I lied to her years ago when I told her that I wasn’t in love with Autumn anymore, and I lied by omission all summer.

I suggest we go somewhere that we can sit and talk, but she says she won’t be able to yell at me if we go to a coffee shop.

“Why don’t you focus on driving and listening, okay, Smith? Because I have a list of questions I need you to answer.”

Then Sylvie Whitehouse pulls a handwritten list out of her purse and smooths it on her lap. It would make me laugh with love for her if it didn’t also make me want to cry for the same reason. I wish she and Autumn could be friends.

“First of all,” Sylvie says, and I swallow my emotions and pay attention. “When was the first time you cheated on me?”

“Last night,” I reply, but that question takes the longest to answer, because she does not believe me.

It takes so long to convince her that nothing physical happened with Autumn until last night that I drive us over the river and into the rural plains outside East St. Louis. The rain comes down harder, and lightning strikes flash across the sky, stealing our words from us. It feels jarringly intimate.