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.
“Finn,” Jack says, “look at it this way. I’m not like you. I wasn’t raised in a house where people talked about feelings and stuff. This is hard for me, and I’m doing it anyway. Again.”
Again.
It’s true.
“You’re a good friend,” I say. “And thanks. But she needs me. She’s in a weird place with her other friends.”
“She was laughing with you all night,” Jack says, like he’s trying to nail each word into my head.
“She was drunk, and besides, she’s—” I realize what I’m about to say, but it’s out of my mouth before I can hold it back. “—like Sylvie. She’s disturbingly good at hiding how much pain she’s in.”
Jack groans and rubs his face. He says something I don’t quite hear, but it ends with the word “type.” Autumn makes a noise in the tent, and we both hold our breaths and listen.
Silence.
“Since you brought up Sylvie,” he whispers. “Yeah, I complain about her, but she’s my friend too, and I—”
“I know. I’m going to—”
Autumn makes a noise.
“She’s about to wake up,” I tell him.
Jack sighs. He’s right about me when it comes to Autumn, and he knows that I know that he’s right.
Jack and I can both see what happens next. Autumn and I will go off to Springfield. We’ll make friends, probably mutual this time, but eventually, Autumn is going to meet someone she likes, someone who has whatever made her want to be with Jamie. And I am going to be more than devastated. I will be obliterated. Jack and I are close enough that it kinda makes this his problem too. But I can’t give up what I have with Autumn, and when she does meet that guy, I’m going to make sure he’s supporting her, not treating her like a troublesome but valuable acquisition. Or a sidekick. Or a punch line.
“Fin-nah,” Jack sings. He snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Hello!”
“Sorry, I—”
“Zoned out the way she does? You have been so, so… Like last week!” Jack asks, “How could you have missed that game?”
“Autumn and I were at the mall.”
“You never miss it when the Strikers are on TV,” Jack says.
And it’s true; I was annoyed with myself when I remembered that the game was on. St. Louis barely has a league, and I’m on a mission to support it. But Autumn was talking about how the mall was like a neglected garden with some patches dying more quickly than others. According to Autumn, the area around the movie theater is a sunny spot with good rainfall. We walked around and decided that kiosks were weeds, and the department stores were neglected topiaries.
My shrug has not satisfied Jack. He waits for me to explain myself.
“I’m going to break up with Sylvie when she gets home tomorrow.”
“I figured,” Jack says. Simple words, but his tone has the recrimination I deserve. “Then what?”
“Oh God!” Autumn moans as she dashes out of her cave.
“Autumn,” I say involuntarily as she heads to the half bath near the kitchen, the one recently vacated by Jack. I warned her she would be miserable if she had that fourth drink. It was her choice, but I still feel responsible. Plus, Jack made it, so unlike the previous three that I’d made her, it probably contained more alcohol. I am about to comment on Jack’s bartending skills when I see the look on his face and remember that I do not have the high ground. “I’m going to check on her,” I say.
“I figured,” Jack says again. “Then what?”
“Then we’ll hang out?” I try to make it sound flippant, as if I think he’s only asking about today, but I don’t fool either of us. We both know I’m avoiding the real question: How am I going to live the rest of my life in love with Autumn Davis with no hope of reciprocation?
two
“Go away,” Autumn says when I knock. She sounds like she’s dying.
“You okay?” I know what she’s going to say.
“Yes. Go away.”