If He Had Been with Me (9 page)

Finny and Sylvie aren’t the only casualty of Christmas break. Mike dumped Angie. The first day of the semester she cries in the bathroom during lunch. We crowd into the stall with her and hold her hands.

“He said I didn’t do anything wrong, but it just wasn’t working,” she says between sobs. “What does that mean?”

“That he is an idiot,” Sasha says. “That’s what it means.” We nod and she goes back to crying. I look at her face.

I had a boyfriend for a few months in eighth grade. His name was Josh and we held hands in the hallways and talked on the phone every night. He broke up with me suddenly one afternoon, saying he just didn’t feel the same anymore. For days, it felt like I had been punched in the stomach. It was like I couldn’t breathe, like something had been ripped from my abdomen. The feeling was so distinct; it was different from any other kind of sadness I had known before or since. Watching Angie cry reminds me of that feeling. It’s like smelling the pungent flavor of a sickening food I had once eaten. I never want to feel like that again.

We hug her for a while and head back to our table. Finny and Sylvie are still sitting at the same table with the rest of their friends, but they aren’t sitting next to each other anymore. I have an idea of how awkward things must be at the table. This morning at the bus stop they stood apart from each other and didn’t talk once. Finny hung his head and looked at the ground. Sylvie stared coolly down the road, her head held high. I upgraded my fantasy of pulling her hair to pushing her in front of the bus.

In Honors English, their group has rearranged so that Finny and Sylvie aren’t sitting next to each other anymore. I think about how complicated it would be if one of our couples broke up. It’s hard for me to imagine. Brooke and Noah still adore each other; they seem safe. Sasha and Alex are usually happy.

I try to picture Jamie and me breaking up.

My first reaction is a shocking sense of relief; if Jamie and I broke up, it would mean that he wasn’t the great love of my life; I wouldn’t have to feel guilty anymore that I sometimes think about being with someone else, wondering if it would be better, maybe even perfect with him.

I glance across the classroom. He’s looking down, doodling in his notebook and quietly talking to Jack. He’s longing for someone else too, someone who isn’t me. And love the way it’s described in books and poems isn’t real; it’s immature to long for that, and it’s silly to think that with the right person it would be that. Jamie takes care of me and he loves me; in the real world, it can’t get better than that.

My second reaction is a feeling of fear; I love Jamie and the idea that love could be so impermanent scares me.

“Who read the assigned pages over the break?” Mr. Laughegan asks, breaking my thoughts. I raise my hand. Most of the others do too. “Okay, what did you think about the secret Mr. Rochester had in the attic? Autumn?”

My hand wasn’t up anymore, but I know my answer anyway. Mr. Laughegan usually calls on me first to get discussions started.

“I knew there was something strange going on, but I didn’t expect what happened. I seriously almost dropped the book,” I say. “And then I was so upset that I couldn’t sleep. I kept waking up so mad at Mr. Rochester—”

“I was so upset I couldn’t sleep?” Alexis says behind me. Several people, including Sylvie, laugh. Mr. Laughegan gives them a look.

“I’m not sure if I
should
still want Jane to end up with Mr. Rochester anymore,” I continue, “but I do anyway.”

“Why’s that?” Mr. Laughegan says. I pause for a moment, struggling to put the feeling into words.

“Because everyone always says that you never get over your first love. She loved Mr. Rochester first, and she loved him so much. Even if she fell in love again, I think part of her would always be wishing she was still with him.”

“And what is it Mr. Rochester did that upset Autumn so much? Alexis?” he says. I look over my shoulder. Alexis flushes and stumbles over her answer.

Everyone always says you never get over your first love. I imagine myself with someone else and longing for Jamie, my first love. I take a deep breath and remind myself that that will never happen; Jamie says he’s going to marry me.

“Never leave me,” I say to Jamie as we walk out of the classroom together.

“I won’t,” he promises.

It snows for Valentine’s Day. I put on the snowflake tiara for school; it’s my new favorite, and I wear it every day that there is snow on the ground. I’ll have to retire it when spring comes, but like all winters, this one lasts forever.

At the bus stop, Todd the Junior gives roses to Katie the New Girl. They’re dating now; I like to think I helped make that happen. Because Finny and Sylvie no longer talk, the three of us listen to them every morning instead. It isn’t as bad.

Katie smiles and looks at her roses as she talks. I know that Jamie will be waiting for me at school with a similar bunch. Jamie always gives me roses, usually red. Sometimes I wish he would be more creative, but it is ridiculous to complain about roses. Lots of girls at school wish they were the ones Jamie was bringing roses to.

Jamie is taking me out to dinner tonight. His gift is at home, waiting for me to give to him. I collected for him an assortment of little things I thought he would like; a CD I burned of songs that make me think of him, the action figure of his favorite anime character’s wife, some candy, a little rubber turtle, a love letter I spent forever on.

When we hear the bus rumbling down the road, I realize that Finny isn’t here yet. I look down the sidewalk toward our houses. He isn’t running to get to the bus stop on time; he isn’t anywhere I can see. The bus begins to slow in front of us.

“Is Finn coming to school today?” Sylvie says. It takes me a second to realize she might be talking to me. I look over my shoulder. She is looking at me.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Is he sick?”

“I don’t know,” I repeat.

“Oh.”

We line up to climb onto the bus.

I slide into the seat next to Sasha. She’s wearing an army jacket that she bought at a garage sale we went to last fall. I envy the jacket. I know which tiara I would wear with it, but Jamie told me he wouldn’t like me in it. He said it works for Sasha because she’s boyish, but he likes me feminine. I think about telling Sasha that Sylvie asked me about Finny; she would be surprised that she spoke to me, but something makes me hold off.

“I know what Jamie got you for Valentine’s Day,” Sasha says. I think I probably do too.

***

In the afternoon, I get off the bus thinking of my date with Jamie. We’re going to a new Italian restaurant. I’m excited to give him my present. When I get home, I’m going to take a nap and then a shower. My outfit is already lying out. I wonder if I should wear a different tiara for dinner.

“Autumn?” Sylvie says. I stop and turn. She is standing behind me, looking directly at me. Still, if she hadn’t said my name, I would have had a hard time believing she was talking to me again.

“Yes?” I say. I wonder if she can hear the suspicion as well as the surprise in my voice. She looks nervous.

“Could you give this to Finn for me?” Sylvie says. She holds out a square, pink envelope.

“Okay,” I say. I gingerly take it from her. Our fingers do not touch.

“Thanks,” she says. I look at her to see if there will be something else. She looks at me silently. After a while, I turn and walk down the sidewalk. A second later, I hear her follow behind. I do not turn my head when she crosses the street. I’ll do as she asks, but she doesn’t need to know that I’m curious, that I care.

Finny’s car is in the driveway; his mother’s is not. Even though I could just open the back door and call his name, I go to the front door and knock; something about this transaction inclines me to formality. A moment after my knock, I see the curtains rustle, and I catch a glimpse of his hand.

“Just a sec.” His voice comes through the door too muffled for me to judge the tone. I wait on the other side. I hear him mumble something as the door creaks open. I start at the sight of him, and the part of my mind that is still thinking hopes he doesn’t notice.

Finny’s chest is bare, his arms, shoulders, and stomach all smoothly exposed to me. His skin is hairless except for a patch around his navel that trails down to the band of his boxer shorts, barely showing above his jeans. His blue eyes are sleepy, circled in gray, and his blond hair is tussled every which way. His nose is red, but it’s hard to judge against the blush that is spreading across his face. I realize I have been standing here silently staring at him.

“Um, Autumn?” he says. I can hear now how scratchy and stuffed up his voice sounds. I swallow and take a breath, my first one since he opened the door.

“Sorry,” I say. “You just look awful.” He looks beautiful.

“I feel awful,” he says. He shifts his weight to his other foot. “Are you supposed to be checking on me?”

“No—well, maybe, I don’t know.” I reach into my back pocket and hold out the pink envelope. His expression is startled, then confused. His eyes are cautious as he takes it from me. He looks at me suspiciously. “Sylvie asked me to give this to you,” I say. He is startled again.

“Sylvie?” he says. I nod. “Oh. Okay.” His voice is strangely monotone. He looks at the envelope and then at me. “Did she say anything else to you?”

“Nope,” I say. He frowns.

“Was she friendly?” he says. I frown too.

“I…guess,” I say.

“Hmm.”

We look at each other. I realize that I am tracing the lines of his shoulders and arms with my eyes. I look down and focus on his bare feet.

“Well, you’re probably cold,” I say. “And I have a date so…” I shrug.

“Oh, right,” Finny says. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Thanks,” I say. “You too, I guess…feel better.” I turn away without raising my eyes to him again. I don’t hear the door close until I’m off the porch and halfway across the lawn.

My nap is foiled by my memory of the porch. I lie on my side on the bed, facing away from the window, and try to put it out of my mind.

I know that it’s normal to still find other people attractive when you’re in love; what bothers me is the melting, dizzy feeling that overpowered me when I saw him. It wasn’t just attraction but some combination of lust and affection that had me longing to lean into his chest and smooth down his unruly hair. I could even see it: my head on his shoulder, looking up at him as my fingers reached up to caress his hair. I imagined that his skin would be hot, feverish, and I would soak up the heat as I felt every line of his body that I had admired pressing into me.

Because of course, in this fantasy, he was holding me, caressing me back.

Wanting me back.

I am horrible and ungrateful; Jamie is better than I deserve.

And even as I curse myself for my selfishness, another selfish thought is crowding my mind, that I’m wasting what happiness I could have.

I love Jamie and he wants to stay with me forever. He buys me presents and calls me his pretty girl. He’s gorgeous and smart and funny and I should be perfectly content, or even better than content.

But I’m not because this preoccupation with Finny keeps me from fully immersing myself in my love for Jamie. Keeps me from being as happy as I could be. Should be.

I want to pull Finny out of my mind like a splinter so that I can adore Jamie the way he deserves to be adored.

And even more than that, because I am a selfish, bad creature, I want to feel that adoration. I want to be free of this guilt.

***

“Do you like it?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Jamie says as if it is a stupid question. I watch him rummage through the bag and smile to myself. The restaurant is crowded and loud; I barely hear the tissue paper ripping. Jamie laughs and leans across the table to give me a kiss. “You are the best girlfriend,” he says.

“I try,” I say.

The boys are building a scary ramp out of snow. We are at Noah’s, whose backyard has the kind of hill people would drive miles to sled on if it were public property. The plan is to spend the afternoon sledding and then go to the mall. I won’t be making the second event. Aunt Angelina has decided that it’s time to introduce her new boyfriend to us; my mother is having them over for dinner and my father is even going to be home. I just told everybody I had a family thing I couldn’t get out of. I try to leave Finny out of our conversations as much as possible. It’s too weird for them to be reminded that the boy who is supposed to be one of our enemies at school is family to me at home.

The girls sled on our side while the boys argue among themselves about how to make the ramp more dangerous. The boys test the ramp then add more snow. They test it again and then add more snow. Finally, Jamie flies three feet in the air and crashes down again, and the ramp is dubbed a success.

The boys laugh when they tumble out of the sled headfirst. They laugh when they crash into each other. They laugh when they narrowly miss hitting a tree. They laugh at us for not trying out the ramp.

“Come on,” Jamie says. He scoots back in the sled to make room for me but I shake my head. He rolls his eyes and flies down again, nearly breaking his neck as he flips off the sled and onto the ground.

“That was awesome,” Alex shouts. The girls shudder.

As the afternoon passes, I persuade Jamie to go down with me a few times on what he calls “the girlie side of the hill.” He sits behind me and wraps his arms around my waist and I lean back into his chest as the sled races down the hill. I like how the thrill of fear makes me instinctively grab at him. Jamie laughs at me for squealing and kisses my cheek at the bottom of the hill. His lips feel warm against my skin.

“Come down the ramp with me, please,” he says, drawing the last word out like a small child.

“No,” I say, just as childishly. He sighs and rolls his eyes again.

Sasha is the one to betray us. Alex calls for her just once and she says, “Oh fine,” and goes over to them. I stand at the bottom of the hill and watch as they balance awkwardly on the sled together. My eyes flicker to Jamie once. He is at the top, looking at them too.

Sasha screams and Alex laughs as they hit the ramp. With two of them they aren’t thrown as far in the air but the sled flips sideways when they hit the ground, and they skid across the snow face first. The boys cheer and laugh, and Alex helps Sasha up and brushes the snow from her hair.

“That was fun!” she says. Alex beams at the rest of us.

“Yeah, my girlfriend is the cool one,” he says. Brooke huffs and rolls her eyes to Noah. Angie shrugs. Jamie and I look at each other. His eyes are pleading. I stomp up the hill toward him.

“You have to be in front,” I say. Jamie smiles and holds the sled in place with his foot. I sit down and he jumps down in front of me. He reaches for my arms and locks them around his waist, and for a moment I feel less nervous.

“Hold on to me,” he says.

Jamie shifts his weight, inches the sled forward, and we’re smoothly flying. I bury my face in Jamie’s jacket. Suddenly we are jolted. My eyes squeeze tighter when I lose my grip on Jamie and I feel my body thrown into the air. The air is like ice in my throat as I gasp. Something hard and warm strikes my face just before I hit the ground. My surprise overcomes the pain for a moment, and then I realize that I am sitting up in the snow with my hands clamped over my eye. And it hurts.

“Autumn, oh fuck,” Jamie says. I hear the crunch of snow as the others run down the hill toward us. I take in a shuddering breath through my locked teeth. I find tears over physical pain so embarrassing.

“I’m fine,” I say without unlocking my jaw. It’s a reflex, but I know I’m not dying so it must be true enough. Mittens grab at me, trying to pull my hands away from my face. Instinctively I shy away from them, trying to protect my pain. “Don’t,” I say. I open my other eye to glare at the offender. Jamie and Sasha are kneeling in front of me, their faces close to mine. The others are standing behind them.

“You have to let us see,” Sasha says. My annoyance at her suddenly shifts to Jamie for making me go down the stupid ramp with him. I have a moment of fury. I hate it when he convinces me to do things I don’t want to, and then I remember that I’ll be embarrassed later if I behave emotionally. I slowly move my hand from my face. It’s an effort to fight the instinct to hide my injury. Everyone takes in a sharp breath and stares at me.

“It’s not that bad,” I say. No one answers me.

“Uh,” Jamie says. Sasha packs a fist full of snow together and tries to press it into my eye. I flinch away again.

“Oh man, Autumn,” Alex says. “You’re gonna have a black eye from Jamie’s
head
.”

“We have ice inside,” Noah says as I try to struggle away from Sasha’s ministrations. “Stop trying to smash snow into her face.”

“We have got to put something on it,” Jamie says. “It already looks awful.”

“I’m fine,” I say. I stand up and they grab my arms on either side. I let Jamie and Sasha lead me up the hill—our friends trailing behind us like a parade—and inside, where they sit me at the kitchen table. Brooke seems to consider Noah’s kitchen her territory; she sends him to get a washcloth while she fills a plastic bag with ice. The cloth is wrapped around the bag, and I am allowed to hide the hurt from them again as I press it to my face.

Jamie makes me get up so that he can sit in the chair and pull me into his lap.

“I’m fine,” I say again.

“Okay, okay, we believe you,” he says, and I’m relieved. He kisses me and cuddles me and I enjoy that. It’s starting to get dark out the window. The other boys go to bring the sleds inside and we talk about how horrible my bruise will be tomorrow, how long it will last, if it’s worth trying to cover it with makeup. I’m able to joke now, and they stop treating me as if I had just been handicapped. By the time Jamie and I leave to drop me off at home before everyone goes to the mall, my black eye has become a humorous story instead of cause for concern. Jamie wants me to tell everyone at school that he gave it to me to see their reactions. He thinks it will be funny.

“But you did give it to me,” I say. He pulls into the gravel driveway outside my house.

“I know. That’s the best part,” he says and grins. I scowl and start to roll my eyes, but the movement makes me wince. I remove my icepack to lean over and kiss him good-bye. He kisses me gently, just as he did in the kitchen in front of the others. “Sorry I hurt you, pretty girl,” Jamie says. He tweaks my nose. I smile and climb out of the car. I wave as he drives off. It’s dark now, and I can only see his headlights by the time he reaches the road.

The house glows warmly as I trudge across the snow toward the back door. There are voices inside, and I’m glad to have the visible bruises to explain my tardiness. I take the icepack from my face as I open the door.

“Oh there she—” My mother’s voice cries, and then I am again surrounded by faces, just as I had been in the other kitchen. Aunt Angelina, Finny, and my mother are the closest. My father and a stranger are behind them, looking over their shoulders. Mom takes my chin in her hand and tilts it upward. “Autumn,” her voice trills, “what happened?”

“We were sledding. Jamie hit me—” I say.

“What?” Finny says. He doesn’t shout it. He doesn’t need to. His narrowed eyes are enough to make me stumble over my words.

“—with his head when we hit a bump and fell out.”

“Are you okay?” Mom asks.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“But how do you know for sure?” she says. Finny suddenly pushes his way closer to me.

“Are you dizzy?” he asks. “Blurred vision? Seeing spots?” I shake my head to all. “Can you follow my finger?” He drags his index finger back and forth in front of my face. I tear my eyes from his to obey his request. He nods.

“Okay,” he says, “and you’re not confused? You know who everybody is?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Well, except for him.” I motion to the stranger over his shoulder. Aunt Angelina laughs.

“This is Kevin, my boyfriend,” she says. “Kevin, this is my apparently abused goddaughter.”

“Hi,” I say. “Nice to meet you. Now seriously, can you guys stop freaking out? It happened over an hour ago. I’m clearly not going to die of a concussion or something.” Finny turns on his heel and marches out of the room. I wonder if I’ve offended him.

“Let’s get you an ice pack,” my father says. I hold up my plastic bag for him to see.

“Got one,” I say. “See? Everything is fine. I’m fine.” After another few minutes of questions and speculation, the crowd backs off and moves back to the casual positions I assume they had been in before. My mother examines my eye, sighs, and then orders me to sit down and have some guacamole with everyone while she finishes dinner. The grown-ups begin their conversation again. My mouth is full when Finny walks back into the room, so at first I cannot say anything when I see what he is carrying. He opens the freezer door. I swallow.

“Finny, is that my sock?” It’s yellow with dancing monkeys on it—it couldn’t be anyone else’s, but I still have to ask.

“Yeah,” he says. His face is hidden from me behind the freezer door. I hear the sound of ice cubes rattling against each other as he scoops them out.

“I already have ice,” I say.

“I know,” Finny says. “I saw. I’m making you a better one.”

“So, Finny,” Kevin says before I can protest. He’s leaning against the counter across the room looking at him. “How’d you know all the questions you asked Autumn?” I am guessing that he is glad to have something to talk to Finny about; he sounds pleased with himself.

“Soccer,” he says. He closes the freezer door and crosses the room to open the drawer next to Kevin. “Whenever a guy hits his head, Coach has to check for signs of a concussion.”

“Oh,” Kevin says. “I never knew soccer was a violent sport. I was a football man myself. Soccer looks tame to me.” I know that he’s hit on a sore spot for Finny, but it does not show on his face. He lets the faux pas pass and stretches my sock over the ice pack.

“It’s where I learned this too,” he says. He leans across the table and hands me the cold bundle. “That should be more comfortable,” he says to me. I gingerly hold it up to my face. He’s right—the rounded tip is far more ergonomic and holds the cold only against the places I need it. The soft sock is nice too.

“Thanks,” I say.

“You only want to leave that on for twenty minutes at a time,” he says. “Then give your skin a break for half an hour. You don’t want to damage the tissue.”

Aunt Angelina laughs.

“You sound like a doctor, Finn,” she says. “Maybe you have found your calling.”

I’m surprised when Finny shrugs. The last time Finny and I talked about careers, we were twelve and he wanted to be a professional soccer player. He’s good, but I suppose he must be considering something else by now. I’m still holding on to my black turtleneck and coffee shop vision from fourth grade. Of course, Jamie doesn’t want to move to New York, and he wants me to figure out a day job besides writing.

***

Dinner goes well enough. I don’t like Kevin as much as Craig, me and Finny’s favorite boyfriend from childhood, but he doesn’t give me a particular reason to dislike him either. I wonder what Finny thinks, but it’s impossible to tell—he’s always polite.

For the most part, the four adults talk and Finny and I listen. Kevin has messed up our normal seating arrangement, so Finny and I are sitting side by side. It’s been so long since we have eaten next to each other that we have forgotten I have to sit on his left; I’m left-handed and our elbows constantly knock into each other. It’s embarrassing and I try to ignore it, but I like feeling him so close.

After dinner, my father brings out the port, and Finny and I are excused to go watch TV. They are laughing behind us as we leave the dining room. Everyone else seems certain to like Kevin.

Finny and I settle on a sitcom and watch it in silence. Before, we would have been deciding why we hated Kevin. We disliked the boyfriends as a general rule; Craig was the only exception.

After an hour, I go into the kitchen to refill my sock with ice. As I’m filling it, I have a nagging feeling that there was something in my sock drawer that I wouldn’t want Finny to see. It’s odd knowing that he still feels comfortable enough to go into my room and take something of mine, but then I think I would do the same for him if he were hurt.

Finny looks over at me when I come back into the room.

“So, did it hurt?” he asks. I sit down next to him with four feet of space between us. I ignore the urge to sit closer. This is how Finny and I always sit now.

“Yeah,” I say. “A lot.”

“Let me guess. You didn’t cry, and you didn’t tell anyone how much it hurt?”

I shake my head. “Crying is embarrassing,” I say.

Finn smiles. “But if that greeting card commercial with the old lady comes on, you’ll tear up,” he says. I shrug and cover my face with the ice pack.

“That commercial is so sad,” I say.

“It has a happy ending,” he says. I shrug again. We fall silent. It’s Finny who speaks first again, when I take the ice off my eye twenty minutes later to not damage the tissue.

“I don’t think it’s as bad as before,” he says.

“Really?” I say. I touch my face tenderly. The swelling is down, but I don’t know how it looks.

“Yeah,” he says. “The ice is closing the capillaries, but the bruising will be worse tomorrow.”

“Maybe you should be a doctor,” I say.

Finny shrugs like he did before. “I’ve been thinking about it actually,” he says.

“Wow,” I say. “Just tonight or…” My voice trails off as I think about it. It makes sense now. Stoic, calm Finny who hates for anyone to suffer, even worms on the sidewalk.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a couple of months,” he says, “but I don’t know. I mean, not everyone discovers what they want to be during Job Week in fourth grade.” He smiles an affectionate smile and I have to look away.

“Well, I’ll have to figure out something more practical than that,” I say.