by Scott, Emma
I tore the earbuds out and paced a small circle, anger burning a hole in my chest.
“It’s me,” I said to the night. “It’s fucking me. Not him.”
I sucked in a deep breath. I had to tell Connor I had a connection with Autumn I couldn’t explain and if I didn’t admit it out loud, it’d burn me up from the inside.
I started to jog back to town, then ran. Hard. Another race, only this one meant more than anything I’d done on the track last weekend. I raced to Connor, to tell him the truth, and maybe he’d understand.
Or maybe he’d tell me I was too late…
I was too late.
From across the street, I saw them sitting at a tiny table at Claire’s Café, leaning into each other. Connor reached out and cupped Autumn’s cheek, drawing her closer so he could kiss her.
He kissed her.
They kissed.
Their first kiss, and I had a front row seat. Because I’d helped make it happen.
A cold lump settled into my gut and my skin shivered under the sweat of my run.
You made your bed, Turner. Now they’re going to lie in it.
Autumn
“Do we call this our second date?” Connor Drake’s grin was charmingly sheepish. “Or is it my second chance at our first date?”
I smiled. “How about, First Date, part two?”
He turned his grin all the way up to eleven. “That works.”
God, he really is beautiful. And more sensitive than he lets on.
I waited for him to prove that in person and talk to me like he said he wanted to in his texts. Instead, a short silence fell. I glanced around the café, with wood furnishings and caramel lighting. Under the table, my foot tapped the backpack of anthro texts I’d brought just in case.
“I like this coffee shop,” I said, finally. “Just don’t tell my boss at the Panache.”
Connor made an X over his chest. “Cross my heart.”
The silence threatened again, and we broke it at the same time.
“Connor, I—”
“I wanted to—”
The tension cracked a little, but there was a tightness in my stomach instead of butterflies.
“Go ahead,” I said.
“No, ladies first.”
I wrapped both hands around my mug. “Okay, well… I read our text exchange on the way over here a dozen times. What you wrote…about Mark being blind?” I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “After what happened…my sense of self really took a hit, you know? I thought I was the blind one for missing the signs, so what you said…it was really nice to hear.”
“I’m glad,” Connor said. He shifted in his chair, leaning a little over our table. “I’ll be honest too; I don’t always know what to say in the moment. You know how you can think of the perfect clap-back at someone ten minutes after you needed it?”
“I totally do.”
“I’m like that when it comes to finding the right things to say when someone—a girl like you, for instance—needs to hear them.”
“A girl like me?”
He nodded. “You’re different than anyone I’ve ever gone out with, Autumn. But in a good way.”
In a good way. Not exactly poetry, but then his voice softened as did his gaze as his eyes held mine, unwavering.
“And I want you to know that what your ex did…he was an idiot. I don’t want you to feel like you’re going to get screwed over again. Not with me. Whatever pain he left you with, I don’t want to add to it.”
That tenseness in my stomach loosened, and I let out a sigh.
“Thank you for saying that,” I said softly. “I’d begun to think it was too soon to be dating again. Maybe it still is?”
Connor shook his head. “I hope not. What you said about my sports bar idea…that meant a lot to me. More than you can know.”
“I’m so glad, Connor. And I know this is only our first date, but I think it’ll be better for both of us if we take things slowly.”
“Whatever you want,” he said. “I’m just glad to be sitting here right now.”
My cheeks warmed. “Me too.”
The soft moments piled and that zingy feeling filled the space between us. It intensified, building a thickness in the air, until Connor laughed and raked a hand through his hair.
“Okay, I can’t take it anymore.” He reached across the small table to cup my cheek. “We can go as slow as you want, Autumn, but if I don’t kiss you right now, I’m going to hate myself in the morning.”
I was already leaning in, as if the emerald prisms of his eyes were tractor beams, drawing me to him—to his kiss and everything that came after.
A pleasant shiver slid over my skin at the first touch of his lips, and then he did it again. A brush of his mouth over mine. I was infused with his scent, the nearness of him, his warmth. He pressed in softly and then more deeply. His tongue swept into my mouth and the shiver slipped down my spine at the pure expertise of his kiss.
He broke away before it became too much, and slowly released my cheek, letting a lock of my hair slide through his fingers at the same time.
“That’s better,” he said, looking at me intently. “Isn’t it?”
I nodded. No more tightness in my stomach. Only butterflies.
Weston
I sat at the dining room table, paging through my notes and scribbles, stanza after unfinished stanza of the poem for Professor Ondiwuje’s assignment. Autumn. There could be no other subject. I was dragging the poem out, because once it was done, I had no other relief but running, and I couldn’t run all day, every day.
Connor shuffled into the living room, still in his flannel pants and undershirt, though it was three in the afternoon on a Sunday. “I’m screwed.”
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I told Mom and Dad all about Autumn, and now they want to invite her to Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Oh, yeah?” I asked as my stomach dropped. Thanksgiving was Drake inner-circle only. That they were already inviting Autumn meant either Connor had told them he was getting serious about her…
Or he’s actually getting serious about her.
Connor went to the fridge and grabbed the black and neon-green can of a Monster energy drink.
“Yeah.” He shut the door with a bitter smile. “We were on speakerphone just now, and they were fucking falling all over themselves. My dad actually said the words, ‘There’s hope for you, yet.’”
My lip curled. I respected Alan Drake and was grateful for all the help he’d given my mother over the years, but he took the same cut-throat, win-at-any-cost mentality that had earned him billions and applied it to parenting as well.
“Why do they put so much stake in her?”
“The same reason they love you so much. Because she’s on scholarship and working hard at making a difference in the world. They think she’d be a good influence on me.”
“Isn’t that the precise reason you started dating her in the first place?”
“It’s not the only reason,” Connor said. “And that’s why I’m screwed.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged, sipped his drink. “I don’t know if we’ll make it to Thanksgiving. I think she’s drifting away from me.”
I swallowed hard. “You do?”
Connor sighed, contemplated the M on the side of the can. “Feels like she’s on the verge of calling it quits.”
I sat up straighter, hating and loving the hope that expanded in my chest. “I told you a month ago, she needs romance and you keep taking her to Yancy’s for booze and pool.”
“She’s good at pool. She likes the booze,” Connor said. “Dude, she keeps telling me she wants to keep things casual, so that’s what I’m doing. I only see her on weekends because of her work, but Christ, for how long? It’s been a month and she won’t even sleep with me.”
“Which is why I haven’t transferred out of state,” I muttered under my breath.
“What’d you say?”
It was easy to hang back and stay out of Connor and Autumn’s way on group outings to Yancy’s. I kept to myself as much as I could, attempted to talk to other girls, and generally ignored Autumn. But the overnight trip a bunch of us took to Lake Onota was an exercise in torture. Through the flames of the campfire, I watched Connor and Autumn slip under his blanket. They may not have screwed then, but my imagination had zero problems conjuring what they were doing or where his hands were.
“Hello? Wes?”
I glanced up. “What, sorry?”
Connor frowned. “I said, I feel like I can’t win with her.”
“Win?” I asked, swiveling in my chair. “It’s bottom of the ninth and you’re about to strike out?”
“No, but…”
“Forget what she said about keeping things casual for a sec. What do you want? Do you want to get serious with her? Do you want to convince her to take the plunge? Because if so, you’re going to have to put some effort into it.”
“I’m taking her to that Dickinson museum, like you suggested. That’s something, right?”
“It’s a start. But man, just talk to her.”
“I do but then I feel all this pressure to say something smart or meaningful, instead of just…going with the flow.” Connor shot me a look. “She loved those texts—”
“Forget it.”
He sighed. “You’ve completely abandoned me.”
For my sanity, yes.
“Figure it out,” I said. “You have a lot to offer, man. Can’t you dig a little and find something deeper to talk about?”
“I do. All the time. I tell her she’s pretty, she’s smart. When she starts talking about her goals, I tell her how ambitious she is—”
“She knows that already,” I said. “She doesn’t need compliments, she needs authenticity.”
He shrugged and sipped his Monster drink. “I don’t know. I guess I’m used to things being easier with girls.”
“Do you want to date girls that are easier for you or do you want to date Autumn? What do you want?”
Connor’s fingers tapped the side of the drink can. “I’ve never had a real relationship, you know? She’s my first shot at something serious and I think that’s what I want.” He shot me a grin. “And I want to sleep with her.”
I clenched my teeth, then quickly schooled my face to neutral, but not quick enough.
“Whoa, what was that? You looked like you were about to murder me.” Connor laughed and nudged my shoulder. “What’s with you, anyway? You’ve been even more…you lately, with your trademark Turner charm. And none of your usual parade of girls has passed through this way. What gives?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m busy. Doing your homework, by the way.”
I held up a printed page of the Macro-Econ essay I wrote for him. My words. His name at the top. Just like old times.
“Point taken,” Connor said with a laugh. He pushed off the counter and headed for the couch. “Anyway. We’re going to that Emily Dickinson museum like you suggested. That should count for something.”
I rolled my eyes. Counting, winning, keeping score… Connor belonged on the baseball field, not in a poet’s ancestral home. But I was done holding his hand with Autumn.
Or so I kept telling myself.
I refused to write any more texts for him, but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut with advice. The bitch of it all was I wanted both of them to be happy. I wasn’t counseling Connor just for his sake, but for Autumn’s too.
“Don’t be hard on yourself,” I said. “She needs someone like you to make her laugh and feel good.”
Connor sniffed from the couch. “She also needs the poetry and deep conversations, and saying the right thing at the right time. All that shit I’m not good at. I’m telling you, Wes, if you and I merged into one person, we’d be Autumn’s perfect guy.”
I stared as the truth of it slammed me in the chest. How often had I wished I had Connor’s easy-going humor? His open, friendly demeanor that drew people in, instead of my repellant brand of derision and snark.
But repelling was better than losing. That was my sad truth, constructed around me like an exoskeleton of armor I couldn’t take off.
“I’m going for a run,” I said.
“Cool.” Connor yawned, stretched, and reached for his Xbox controller. “I’ll order pizza later.”
I went out without another word, to run my stupid infatuation with Autumn out of me. But like the words on the page, there was always more.
Autumn
“Hayes, oh my God… Yes…YES…”
My roommate’s voice carried through the house, her drumming headboard keeping time. I smashed my pillow over my face and rolled onto my stomach. A peek at the clock said it was three a.m. Every weekend for the past month, Ruby and the runner from Wesleyan had played this song, whether I wanted to hear it or not.
Finally, after a screaming crescendo that showed Ruby had inherited some of her mother’s vocal prowess, quiet descended on the apartment. But the damage was done—I had to be up in two hours for my double-shift at the Panache Blanc.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. I couldn’t even be mad. What Ruby and Hayes had were #relationshipgoals as far as I was concerned. I envied her sleepy, tumbled-in-a-dryer, rumpled look the morning after. I envied even more her ability to keep things light and fun.
I’d tried my best to do the same with Connor, but the last month had been an expanded version of our first date. Our conversations never seemed to last long or delve as deep as I wanted them to. Most of the time, we waded through the shallow waters of small talk.
And yet…
I closed my eyes, remembering soft moments when Connor swept me off my feet with a look. Said something to make me laugh. Or made me feel beautiful and wanted.
And God, could the man kiss…
In the last week of September, we went with his gang to Lake Onota, to swim in the river and have a bonfire afterward. Connor and I kissed under a blanket in the sand, his hands roaming over me until I had to fight to keep my moans quiet.
He succeeded in easing the pain of my break-up, but we’d come to a standstill. I’d told him I wanted to keep it casual and maybe he was honoring that, both by not pushing me into something physical, and by keeping his more sentimental side to himself. But I wished he wouldn’t. Then I could stop fighting and let myself fall.
Or maybe it’s better to keep to solid ground and be single.
I hated single. I hated empty beds and silent mornings. I loved long talks, longer kisses and the feeling of having a partner as I navigated the world; one who would fill many chapters in the story of my life. But I couldn’t escape a nagging feeling I was trying to see something in Connor that wasn’t there; that he would only occupy a few paragraphs in my life’s story, and it made me sad.
I’d miss that smile.
At five, I got up, showered, dressed in black pants and a white blouse and pulled my hair up in a ponytail. I came out of my room just in time to catch Ruby and Hayes saying goodbye at the front door.
“Hiya, Auts,” Hayes called.
I smiled and gave a little wave. “Hiya, Hayes.”
Ruby smacked Hayes playfully on the chest. “Hope this beast didn’t keep you up last night with his X-rated shenanigans.”
“Me?” Hayes’ eyes widened with his smile. “You can’t keep your volume down at my X-rated shenanigans.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I was feeling homesick but you two brought me right back to the farm during mating season.”
“Ha ha,” Ruby said, while Hayes snickered.
He kissed Ruby a final time. “Bye, baby.”
“Ciao, bello. Until next time.”
She shut the door and leaned against it, a sleepy smile on her face. Then she joined me in the kitchen.
“Coffee?” I asked through a jaw-cracking yawn.
“Hell, no. I’m going back to bed.” She leaned elbows on the
counter. “Did we keep you awake?”
“Oh gosh no, I stayed up to listen on purpose.”
“Perv,” Ruby said. “But I’m sorry we keep doing this to you.”
“I’m not even mad. A little jealous, maybe.”
“Girl, why?” she said. “You have a perfectly good man, ready and willing.”
“If I sleep with him, I know what will happen. I’ll want more.”
“More what, exactly?”
“Everything.”
“And?”
“And I don’t know that I’m ready to jump in like that again. Or if Connor’s the one I should jump with.” I toyed with the stack of coffee filters on the counter. “I talked to my counselor on Friday. She spoke to the Dean of Admissions at Harvard.”
“What’s the dealio?”
“The absolute deadline for me to apply is next October.”
Ruby snorted. “That’s an entire year away.”
“Right,” I said. “One year to plan and execute an application project and write the paper to go with it. It sounds like a lot of time but it’s not.”
“It would probably help if you picked a focus.”
“Ya don’t say?” I sighed and hit the button to start the coffee brewing. “When I think about picking an emphasis, I feel like I’m abandoning so many other causes that need attention.”
Ruby rubbed her eyes. “Honey, there’s no shortage of problems that need fixing. You have to pull one of them close to your heart. That’s how you’ll make a difference.” She cocked her head. “How’s the farm doing?”
“Struggling,” I said. “We always are, to greater or lesser degrees.”
“Maybe there’s something there.”
“Maybe,” I said, with a pang of guilt. “I should pick something in agriculture or food systems, but…”
“But it doesn’t thrill you,” Ruby said. “Guilt is a terrible way to choose a career.”
“But it feels irresponsible to my family if I don’t.”
“Speaking of counselors and careers,” Ruby said, her finger tracing a line on our counter. “Mine told me I’m one step closer to getting my year in La Spezia. The study-abroad commission liked my work and it’s down to me and a few other applicants.” She grinned sleepily. “But I have a good feeling. One year from now I’m going to be on the Italian Riviera, in a cute little village on a beach, rolling in the surf with a hot Italian.”