Autumn stands and stretches, but I keep reading. That’s how good the story is. I don’t think most people’s first drafts are this good, are they? She’s a great writer, and she’s only going to make it better.
I stand up and realize Autumn is gone, and I head to the kitchen, get the rum, and settle back on the couch.
I’m finishing this tonight.
nine
I sip the rum as I go, reading faster now that my brain isn’t keeping track of Autumn’s movements in the background. As the story is narrowing to its finale, it’s easier to rush.
The ending surprises me. I’d predicted a coldhearted end to their tale. Autumn has shown that it’s easy for her to drop friends, and I expected the same from Izzy and Aden.
I close the laptop and set it on the coffee table. Her novel is even better than I expected, but I can’t focus on the story.
Writers write what they know. I knew that.
But if Autumn has depicted my love in such perfect nuance, then it means she knows. It means she’s always known, always understood how I feel about her.
All these years, I had convinced myself that I’d fooled Autumn into thinking my feelings were puppy love at worst or teenage hormones at best. But she knew the truth. She observed my love and served it up to me, fictionally requited.
Jack said, “I’m leaning toward she knows you love her, and she’s fucking with you to make herself feel better.”
She knew. All summer, she knew.
All these years, she knew. Since middle school.
She could have told me my feelings were obvious and it made her uncomfortable or that she needed space. That would’ve been enough. I would have understood. She wouldn’t have had to spell out why.
Instead, she vanished on me.
I was dumb for kissing her that New Year’s Eve, but I didn’t deserve the ice that took years to thaw so that she’d simply smile at me again—especially not if she knew I was in love with her and missing her all semester. If she knew that I loved her, then she must have known how it would twist me when she magically came back to me that Christmas only to abandon me again.
The rum is gone; the book is done. Why am I still sitting here?
This new knowledge sits like a boulder on my chest. I make myself get off the couch with great effort.
I drink a glass of water before I go to find Autumn. I want to be clearheaded when I confront her.
I check my mother’s room first, but of course she went to my bed. Because she’s always known, and she’s using me to make herself feel better.
As I turn the doorknob, my brain freezes. I don’t know what I’m going to say to her.
The light from the hall falls across her face, and she winces.
“Autumn.” I’m so angry at her, yet her loveliness hits my body like a punch.
She makes a noise and blinks at the light. I push the door so it’s mostly closed and the light isn’t directly in her face.
“Autumn,” I say again.
“What?” She sits up, pushes the hair from her face, and looks at me, bleary eyed and beautiful.
“Why did you have to leave me like that?” is what comes out.
“I was tired. You were reading.”
“No.” I’m not going to hold back. I say it. “After we turned thirteen. Why did you have to leave me like that?”
Autumn goes still. I can tell that she is fully awake and understands.
She has no answer.
I know that now.
Finally, she says, “I didn’t leave.” We both know she is lying. “We just grew apart.”
I’m not going to let her do this to me anymore.
“We did not just grow apart, Autumn.”
“I didn’t mean to,” she says. “I’m sorry.” Tears shine in her eyes. She looks sorry.
But that’s not enough. Not enough by far.
“I already know why you did it.” She doesn’t have to explain that part. I know she’s never wanted me like that. I don’t need to hear her say it. “I just want to know why you had to be so cruel about it.” It’s time to face what Jack has been telling me all these years.
She stiffens. This time, I’m not going to shrug it off.
“Okay, I was stupid and selfish that fall. And I’m sorry. But everything would have gone back to normal if you hadn’t kissed me out of nowhere without even asking. Do you have any idea how much you scared me that night?”
Scared? A vision of her face as she pulled away from me floats before my eyes. She was disgusted. No, she— “I scared you?”