Filed to story: If He Had Been With Me Book PDF Free
“Between what?”
“Huh?”
“The room in between what, Autumn?”
“Pretend and reality. Help me. It’s so messy.”
“Why is it messy?” I asked, but she didn’t answer me.
I went to sleep much like I am now, on my back, staring at the quilt above us. I remember stretching my arm above my head, vaguely aware of the way she was twitching and mumbling a few inches away from me, presumably cleaning the space between this world and the next. We weren’t touching, but it felt like the atoms between us were warm with my love for her.
Later on in the night, I woke up when she smacked my face. I pushed her hand away and turned my head toward her. She was close but not touching me, the covers bunched in her other fist, the hand that clocked me resting between us. I made myself look away and close my eyes, go back to sleep.
But now…
This is heaven: her forehead pressed into me, her head under my arm, and my hand on her shoulder. We found each other by instinct. Even if I was half-asleep, I would never have done this knowingly. I wouldn’t know if she was okay with it. I don’t know it now either, but I am unable to move.
My penis, based on very minimal evidence, has decided that today is going to be the greatest day of both our lives. I understand its enthusiasm, but it’s (sadly) vastly overestimating the situation.
If I move, Autumn will wake up.
If Autumn wakes up, she’ll see my body’s assumption.
This is what I get for putting myself in this position. Again.
Not that I’ve been in this exact position with Autumn. But like I said, the tales I could tell.
The toilet flushes. I hadn’t wondered where my other best friend had gone off to.
I am not going to be able to keep up the brave face with Jack. I don’t think he’ll let me this time. He’s always known that I was still in love with Autumn after all these years, in spite of my being mostly happy with Sylvie. He let it slide all through high school, but he’s not going to let me pretend anymore.
A couple of weeks ago, after we went to see that silly horror movie that made Autumn scream three times, both of them—Jack and Autumn—said they had fun. They said they could understand why I liked my other friend so much, and sure, maybe we could do it again.
Autumn had meant it. I could tell.
It wasn’t that Jack didn’t mean it. There was just a lot he wasn’t saying.
I don’t know if last night helped. I want Jack to see that Autumn isn’t a poseur who thinks she’s a princess like Alexis or Taylor make her sound.
It’s more like Autumn is a real princess but from an alien planet. She is the most confident and insecure person I’ve ever known.
Except for Sylvie, of course.
Remembering Sylvie robs my penis of the delusion that a miracle is about to occur and adds to my already bloated guilt.
Jack retches and spits. The toilet flushes again, then the sink runs. I hear Jack get a glass of water in the kitchen.
I try to remember what Sylvie said about her flight itinerary. She must be in the air now. Over the English Channel? I can’t say. I picture her in her seat, on the aisle, like she told me she prefers. Her Discman rests on her tray table, and her golden hair falls back as she tilts her head to listen.
I hope this trip was everything she needed, helped the way her therapist thought it would.
At first, I was doubtful. Sylvie in Europe on her own with no one to rein her in? Sure, she’d been to Europe before, is fluent in French, and has a cell phone. But I still couldn’t believe that her therapist insisted she get away by herself without a single friend or parent on the postgraduation trip he’d prescribed.
I see now that Dr. Giles had been onto something. Sylvie knows how to take care of herself when she’s not trying to impress other people. Sylvie gets drunk to impress people. If no one had dared her first, Sylvie would have never pulled her legendary inebriated stunts.
On her own, with her backpack and her maps, hostel listings and train schedules, Sylvie trekked across that continent. She got herself in a situation in Amsterdam when she didn’t realize some guys were trying to get with her, but she got herself safe, and it was all over by the time she called me.
I hope Sylvie sees how capable she is, how smart and resilient. I hope she can feel good about herself for her own reasons, not for how other people think of her. Sylvie could be anything she wants if she just stops caring what the wrong people think about her.
I’m one of those people, and I hope I’m not going to ruin whatever progress this summer gave her.
Jack enters the room. I close my eyes. Though my penis remains somewhat optimistic, the blankets provide cover. I should move, wake Autumn, pretend my arm was never around her, but I can’t bear to yet.
I hear the flap of the blanket tent flutter. Jack sighs. He says the same thing he told me the night I trusted Sylvie to sober drive for us and I had to drunkenly call him for a ride.
“We both should have expected this, you know,” Jack mumbles.
He drops the blanket and it sounds like he goes to the couch, but I’m paying less attention to him now.
Autumn won’t be asleep for much longer. She twitches occasionally, moving her face in reaction to things I cannot see. She makes a soft noise, the sort of noise I wish I could be responsible for while she is awake and consenting. And with that thought, I lift my arm and shift away from her. She frowns at the loss of heat, and I pause, waiting for her to stir. She whimpers and curls into a tighter ball.
I allow myself the brief luxury of gazing at her face.
It is cosmically unfair how beautiful Autumn is. It puts me at such a disadvantage. Her brilliant, goofy brain was already enough. Why must she have a perfect face too?
I never stood a chance.
Even before she grew breasts.
I need to stop this train of thought.
Might as well get this over with then.
Jack is typing on his phone at the end of the couch. He doesn’t speak until I sit down.
“Finn, man—“
“I know,” I say.
He flips his phone closed.
“No. You’re in way over your head. You have no idea.”
“I have an idea.”
He stares at me.
“I know what I’m doing,” I try.
“What are you doing? And what about her
?” Jack nods toward the tent. Even though we’re talking low, he starts to whisper. “She would have to be the stupidest person on earth to not know you’re bonkers in love with her.”
“She’s not stupid. She just doesn’t know how much I”—I can’t bear to say the word—“care about her. She thinks it’s an old crush.”
I get that stare from him again, but I don’t know what he wants me to say. Autumn doesn’t flirt with me. She doesn’t make suggestive jokes or give me any false reason to hope. Not when she’s awake.
I’m the problem. My heart gets confused when she looks at me with affection that’s only natural given our history.