If Only I Had Told Her(9)

“Thanks,” he said, “but don’t think this means I’m going to put out.”

“I just felt sorry for you,” I said.

By the end of lunch, the table was littered with white petals from hitting each other with it. The other guys we hung out with, more for numbers than their conversation, were annoyed with us, but it was probably the most fun I ever had for two dollars.





four





Fantasizing about having spent a different sort of night with Autumn in that tent and then mulling over all my mistakes that have kept us apart did not improve my mood. My head aches. I’m even more exhausted, and the guilt is back. Autumn doesn’t want me thinking about her that way. I need to get control of myself.

I roll off the bed and head to the bathroom, unable to stop myself from glancing out my window at her closed curtains as I go. I strip down and get into the shower, switching the water to as hot as possible and staying under the stream for as long as I can stand. Then, quickly, I turn the dial all the way to cold.

You are here, in this moment, right now, I tell myself as the frigid water batters my fevered skin.

The reality is, what you imagined will never happen, and what you remembered is already done.

In this moment, Autumn is your friend.

Don’t fuck this up.

But be ready for when she leaves again.

Once I am shivering, I turn the water dial to the middle. I wash away the fantasy of her beneath me and the memory of her head under my arm.



My cell rings as I’m putting on clean boxer shorts. I answer automatically, assuming it’s Autumn without looking at the screen.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hi!” Sylvie says.

My stomach drops.

“Oh. Hi. Wow. Where are you?”

“London. I have a long layover until my flight to New York, so I’m going to go sightseeing, and I’m trying to squeeze in a lot, so I’ll be busy. I wanted to talk to you one last time.”

She means one last time before she’s back in the States, but it feels like she means one last time before I break up with her, not that she knows it’s coming.

“Yeah,” I say. It’s been getting harder and harder to pretend there will be something for us after Sylvie returns.

“So?” she says. “Are you looking forward to seeing me tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” I say again, and it may be the biggest lie I have ever told. “When are you arriving?”

“Around four or so… You’ll be at the airport, right?”

That hadn’t even occurred to me. Of course she expects that. But I can’t hug and kiss her in front of her parents, then break her heart in private.

What can I say? “Probably. I’ll let you know.”

“You don’t know?” There is suspicion and hurt in her voice. At times, it seems like she’s putting the pieces together. I don’t know if it’s cruel or not, to let her suspect. Is it better for her that way? I don’t know how to do the cruelest thing the kindest way.

“Sorry, I—”

“What did you do last night?” Sylvie asks, cheerful again.

“Oh, Jack spent the night.”

“Sounds fun!” She tells me about her plan for the ten-hour layover in London, including taking a minicab to a nearby picturesque village, sitting alone and drinking a pint in a pub, then walking along the Thames before catching another cab back to Heathrow. Sylvie has done that her whole trip: every hour accounted for so that she can experience as much as possible. It’s one of the things I love about her. She never does anything by halves; she never lets an opportunity pass her by.

Autumn would like that about Sylvie too. She appreciates passion. If they weren’t both so convinced that the other hated them, they’d be a good influence on each other. The moment Autumn stepped outside the airport, she would lose her sense of direction and her passport, both, perhaps, never to be seen again.

Early on, before I realized how the summer would go, I told Sylvie that Jamie dumped Autumn. We were sitting on her porch before Sylvie left for the airport. I was in the habit of occasionally updating her with public information one might pass on about a mutual acquaintance. It helped to keep up the story of my platonic feelings for Autumn. My lie. Because if I never talked about the other girl whose life so constantly collided with mine, Sylvie, rightfully, found that suspicious too.

Sylvie had a lot of questions about the breakup. As I sat next to her and her bags, I told her all I knew was that Aunt Claire said Jamie had broken up with Autumn. Sylvie was surprised, much like everyone else seemed to be. She asked twice if I was sure about that part. I mean, we’d all heard Jamie brag about how he and Autumn would be together forever.

At the time, I’d suspected Jamie of taking Autumn’s virginity and then dumping her, but I didn’t say so or act too worried about Autumn. I wasn’t about to reignite Sylvie’s jealousy over nothing.

But then, it wasn’t nothing. Autumn was so depressed about Jamie that The Mothers asked me to try to talk to her. Suddenly, Autumn and I were hanging out every day.

At first, I told myself it wouldn’t last, so it wasn’t worth mentioning to Sylvie. Then after about a week, I let it slip that I’d missed her call because I was watching a movie with Autumn. Hanging out with Autumn again had felt so normal, even after all these years, and her name had just slipped out.