Autumn’s eyes drift closed as I stroke her temples and her hair. She looks so happy. How is it possible that I’m making her smile like that with just the tips of my fingers? There isn’t anything else I can blame the smile on: no music, no other sensations.
There must be a catch.
After four years of saying no to Jamie, why did she say yes to me?
I almost laugh because I realize she didn’t say yes to me. She proposed it. I gave in to her request, despite the reasons it was a bad idea.
Autumn trembles under my touch, like the feel of my fingertips is more than she can handle.
“Do you regret it?” I ask, because surely something will go wrong.
Her eyes open. “No,” she says. Before relief can hit me, she continues, “But I wish it had been your first time too.”
Autumn looks away from me, and I freeze.
Without betraying Sylvie, I need to explain to Autumn how significant last night was for me.
I let my hand fall away and concentrate on my words.
“The first time, we were both so drunk neither of us can remember it. And then it turned out that she couldn’t do it unless she was drunk. And if she was drunk, it felt wrong to me. It didn’t happen often or even go very well when it did. So, I mean, in a lot of ways, it was a first for me.”
I hope I don’t have to say more, but Autumn says, “What do you mean ‘she couldn’t do it unless she was drunk’？”
“Someone hurt her once,” I say. It’s true that Sylvie was hurt, but it’s not true to say that she was hurt only once.
“Oh,” Autumn says.
It’s a bit of a bummer to not really remember the first time I had sex, but that isn’t why last night felt like a first time for me. With Sylvie, most nights ended with me telling her she was too drunk for me to keep going. There were nights she was sober enough to consent, but we had to stop in the middle. Success was rare, and I lived in fear of hurting Sylvie.
Autumn lays her hand over mine, and suddenly, I remember all the things that I still need to tell her. I twine my fingers with hers.
“I wanted something better for you,” I told her. “That’s why I made you promise not to do it when you were drinking, but really, the idea of you ever doing it with anybody made me mad.” I need to warn her about the effect she has on me. “Do you remember how you told me that you were going to do it after graduation? And then the day after, you were sitting on the porch, and you said you were waiting for Jamie?”
“Yeah?”
“I came up here and punched the wall,” I admit. “I’d never done that before. It hurt.”
“You thought…”
“Yeah.” Also, I need to warn her how selfish she makes me. “Then, after I found out you guys had broken up, it was hard to see you miserable over him when I was so happy. I wanted to pick you up and spin you around.” Like I’d watched Jamie do so many times.
Rather than responding to my hypocrisy, Autumn says, “You were sad that time Sylvie broke up with you. I was so angry at her for hurting you that I thought about pushing her in front of the school bus.”
I almost laugh at Autumn’s hyperbole.
“I was sad,” I agree, “but it was my own fault. I told everybody that I didn’t like it when they made comments about you, and Sylvie got jealous. She asked me if I had feelings for you.” She asked directly that time. “And I told her to drop it and kept trying to change the subject. She could tell.”
I’d tried what had worked before, saying true things in a way that hid what I didn’t want to say. Again and again, I tried to get Sylvie to pretend that I’d told her what she wanted to hear, but that time, she wouldn’t play along. Sylvie dumped me, as I deserved. She was cool and brisk.
Sylvie said, “Finn, even if you weren’t being purposefully obtuse, that would still be a problem. I’m tired of the charade.” That had hurt because I hadn’t thought of my relationship with Sylvie as a farce.
Part of me wishes I could tell Autumn how much I missed Sylvie those weeks. I missed talking with her about politics. I missed going on runs with her when no one else would go with me because it was too cold. I missed calling her to say good night. I missed our evenings at the library together, working side by side, not talking.
Finally, I lied to Sylvie. I lied again and again. Sure, I’d told her I had a crush on Autumn. But I said losing her had made me realize that I hadn’t really been in love with Autumn at all. I told Sylvie that she was the only one I wanted to be with, and after that, she seemed to believe me again.