“So,” Sylvie continued, and for the first time in nearly an hour, she looked over at me. “I see this therapist once a month, and the point of me telling you all this is because you were right.”
My brow furrowed in confusion, and I blinked at her.
“About the Ferris wheel. I told Dr. Giles about our fight, and I talked with him about why I did it. It’s just—”
“Sylvie, it doesn’t matter.”
“No,” she said. “It does matter. I need you to understand this. Wilbur was awful to me, but his approval was like getting high. He had me so desperate for his validation that it was such a rush when it came. I don’t know. Dr. Giles says sometimes I miss that feeling. I”—she rolled her eyes here—“‘act out,’ but maybe he has a point.”
“I think I understand,” I said. It was all I had to offer her. I’d hurt her to protect my old wound with Autumn, never wondering if she had her own. I was appalled at myself and amazed by her strength and dignity.
“The thing I’m trying to work out with Dr. Giles,” Sylvie said, no longer looking at me, “is when I’m being me and when I’m being the way Mr. Wilbur made me think about myself. The Ferris wheel thing…I am working on it, okay?”
“Sylvie—” I started.
She held up a hand like before, and I fell silent.
“Wilbur tried to steal my high school years from me. No friends, no parties, just him and some community college classes as he fooled my parents into thinking he was preparing me for Harvard. I switched schools, and I’m doing all the high school things: cheerleading, student council, dance committees. I want to have fun, wild times and make normal teenage mistakes.”
“I’m sorry you went through that. I’m sorry I said—”
“Let me finish, Finn. My ambition? That was always me, not Mr. Wilbur, though he exploited it. So when I say that I want to do all the high school stuff, I mean it. That’s the plan, and that’s really me.”
She glanced at me, and I nodded. I could see that.
She continued, “And part of that is, you know, having a high school boyfriend. But Dr. Giles says that I can’t be with someone who makes me feel insecure.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to—”
“What I need to hear, Finn,” Sylvie said, “is that you want to be with me. That I’m not the convenient choice for you because you can’t be with the person you actually want.”
She looked at me, calm and measured, ready for my response, whatever it would be.
“You are so strong,” I said, because it was true. I was trying to unscramble what I could say that was honest. It was convenient to be with her. Autumn didn’t love me. But I genuinely wanted to be with Sylvie. I told her, “I want to be with you. And everything you’ve told me just makes me respect you more. I love you, Sylvie.” I’d never used the L word around her before, and I felt a moment of panic, but she smiled softly.
“And?” Sylvie said.
“I don’t know what more you want me to say,” I lied.
“That you don’t want to be with anyone else. That you only want to be with me,” Sylvie said.
I put my arm around her. I didn’t do public displays of affection much, especially that first year. She leaned in.
“Sylvie, you are one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen in my entire life. And the smartest. You’re so driven. Before meeting you, I’d never realized how attractive ambition is to me.” I kissed her forehead before continuing, “I want to do all the high school stuff with you, Sylvie—all the dances, events, and traditions that you want. We’ll go to parties and make stupid mistakes that turn into hilarious stories.” I went on like that for a while, making promises about all the stuff we would do together over the next three years as I held her close. I ended by saying, “I love you, Sylvie,” again and kissed her until we were breathless.
At the time, I thought that she hadn’t noticed what I had not said, but I was wrong.
Autumn stirs in her sleep. For my own protection, I shift her head off my shoulder and onto a pillow. I glance at the clock. It’s seven in the morning. Today I must tell Sylvie that I’m choosing Autumn over her, like she’s always feared.
I lie on my side and let myself stare at Autumn’s face until finally sleep comes.
She pummels me awake several times, and perhaps the noises I make as the blows land wake her too. Each time I’m falling back asleep, I reach for her, her face, her hands. I try to whisper, though I’m not sure the words ever leave my mouth, “I love you.”