by Laura Nowlin
***
Aunt Angelina hugs and kisses me. Mom hugs Finny and Dad shakes his hand around the last batch of presents he is carrying. Finny is wearing a button-up shirt and khakis. Our eyes flicker to each other but we don’t say anything.
By tradition, we open our presents one at a time, and we all comment and exclaim over each item. Finny is quieter than usual, but I don’t think much of it. I wonder if he’s still mad at me for saying his friends would spread a rumor about me.
The gift marked as from Aunt Angelina and Phineas contains a tiara made of silver snowflakes. I bound across the room to hug Aunt Angelina. My mother has accepted but never encouraged the tiaras. Sometimes I wonder if having an illegitimate child and a string of lovers has kept Aunt Angelina young. Perhaps it has. Or maybe marriage has just aged my mother.
“Thank you,” I say. Aunt Angelina squeezes me back.
“Phineas picked it out,” she says.
“Thanks, Finny,” I say as I sit back down on the floor. He only nods, but then he smiles softly when I put the tiara on my head along with the first one.
By the time we are finished with the presents, it is after noon. The Mothers go into the kitchen to get lunch together. I go to my favorite chair by the window to start one of the books I got. I have a nice pile I am looking forward to working through in the next week we still have off. Dad and Finny watch some sports thing on the couch. I barely register it when Dad gets up and leaves the room. He often has to take important calls from The Office, even on holidays.
“Hey, Autumn?” Finny says. His voice is suddenly so close and low that I start in my chair. I look up. Finny is standing by the arm of the chair looking down at me. His hands are stuffed in his pockets.
“Yeah?” I say.
“I don’t think the favor you asked me is going to be a problem.”
“Thanks,” I say. I smile, but he doesn’t.
“What are you two whispering about?” Aunt Angelina says from the doorway.
“Nothing,” we both say. She cocks her head to the side and smiles at us.
“Lunch is ready,” she says.
***
“So how is Finny holding up?” my mother asks as we cross the yard back over to our house. It is evening now and I rub my arms against the cold, glad the walk isn’t far.
“What are you talking about?” I say.
“The breakup,” she says. I catch myself before I stop in my tracks from surprise.
“Finny and Sylvie broke up?” I say.
“I thought you would know that,” my mother says. She opens the door and we take off our coats in the entryway.
“Mom, why in the world would I know that?” I say.
“Angelina said he was pretty broken up about it the night it happened, but I thought he seemed okay today,” she says, ignoring my exasperation. She goes into the kitchen with a plate of leftovers for the fridge. “Of course,” she calls from the kitchen, “it’s always hard to tell with Finny.” I follow her and stand in the doorway. I doubt that Finny would dump Sylvie because she told someone that I was pregnant, but the thought has crossed my mind anyway.
“Why did he break up with her?” I ask.
“She broke up with him,” Mom says.
“Seriously?”
“You’re surprised too?” she asks.
“It just always seemed like she was so into him,” I say.
“That’s what I said,” Mom says. “And of course I’m biased, but he’s such a handsome and sweet boy, I don’t know why she wouldn’t be.”
“I hope he’s okay,” I say. Thinking of Finny with a broken heart hurts me. I want to ask Sylvie what she could possibly be thinking. Whatever her reply would be, it wouldn’t matter; I’d still want to pull her ponytail for hurting him.
“Why don’t you call and ask him?” my mother says. “Or go back over there?” I roll my eyes.
“Mother,” I say. She sighs and shakes her head.
I go upstairs with my books. Finny’s light is on, but his curtains are closed. Aunt Angelina said he seemed pretty broken up the night it happened. For someone as quiet and stoic as Phineas Smith, that says a lot. I remember the couple of times I saw Finny cry when we were kids. My throat tightens.
“Fuck you, Sylvie,” I say.
24
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.
25
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.
26
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.