She’s taken a lot from our childhood. That’s obvious. That must be why she’s worried. It isn’t like she took us as kids and wrote it all down though; sometimes the character of Izzy seems like Autumn, but then I see flashes of me in her and pieces of Autumn in Aden. They do the things we did, like using our fingers to draw on each other’s backs at night, and the things we didn’t do but wanted to, like building a tree house.
I glance at Autumn, curled up with a book in the far corner of the couch. I want to tell her that I’m honored to have glimpses of our lives in her book, but I know she’d want me to keep reading.
Izzy has a great, present dad and a runaway mom. Aden’s parents love him but are troubled and emotionally distant, hence his spending so much time next door. Between Izzy’s dad’s constant presence and the occasional support of Aden’s, the two of them have enough parenting to get by. It’s true, and it’s not true.
Autumn isn’t good at drawing, but Izzy is, and she makes Aden comic books of her stories. In reality, I did the drawings for Autumn’s stories, and we made them for ourselves. True and not true again.
It’s like time traveling but to a parallel world. Like a kaleidoscope, the story shifts in my vision. It’s us. It’s not us. It’s us. It’s not us.
And then comes the part that is not us, cannot be us, because Aden is kissing Izzy, and she is kissing him back. I feel my mouth pinch, but I don’t frown. Distantly, I’m aware that Autumn has switched from reading to watching a movie, and my brain, ever ready to multitask when it comes to Autumn, takes note of her occasional glances at me.
My main focus, though, is on Autumn’s novel. Of course she is worried that I will misunderstand this part. As Izzy and Aden’s romantic relationship begins, I start to see Jamie in Aden: the random gag gifts, the way he stakes his claim over Izzy so publicly. But I still see me. There’re the obvious details, like Aden plays soccer and has blond hair. But it’s more than that, much more.
It’s the way Aden sees through Izzy’s insecurities and appreciates her strengths.
It’s the way Aden grins at Izzy when he says, “I like how you take it for granted that I’ll teach you to drive.”
I get up for a glass of water.
I take a swig of rum from the bottle.
I return to the living room and sit down.
It’s like she’s taken slivers and slices from her life and the lives of people she knows, put them in a blender, and then very heavily seasoned it all with fiction.
There’s a big soccer game where Aden blocks a last-second goal from the other team, preventing overtime, and Izzy runs out on the field and jumps on him even though he’s covered in mud. Sylvie jumped on me after I blocked a pass like that a couple of years ago. Autumn wasn’t there, but I guess she heard about it. Sylvie got in trouble with the cheer captain for muddying her uniform and losing poise or something.
But in the novel, Izzy isn’t wearing a uniform, because Autumn was never a cheerleader. Izzy is and isn’t Autumn. I see flashes of her friends Brooke and Sasha in Izzy too.
Izzy and Aden hang out in the rafters above the stage in their school’s auditorium, which is entirely the sort of thing that Autumn would wish she could do.
Aden isn’t only me. He’s also Autumn, and he’s also Jamie and maybe other friends that I don’t know well.
But the way that Aden loves Izzy? That is me.
The way he asks her if she’s okay with a look and understands her silent replies? That’s me.
The way Aden tells Izzy to ignore the teachers telling her to consider an education major because she’s too good a writer not to try is me. That’s always been me.
Autumn stands and stretches, but I keep reading. That’s how good the story is. I don’t think most people’s first drafts are this good, are they? She’s a great writer, and she’s only going to make it better.
I stand up and realize Autumn is gone, and I head to the kitchen, get the rum, and settle back on the couch.
I’m finishing this tonight.
nine
I sip the rum as I go, reading faster now that my brain isn’t keeping track of Autumn’s movements in the background. As the story is narrowing to its finale, it’s easier to rush.
The ending surprises me. I’d predicted a coldhearted end to their tale. Autumn has shown that it’s easy for her to drop friends, and I expected the same from Izzy and Aden.
I close the laptop and set it on the coffee table. Her novel is even better than I expected, but I can’t focus on the story.
Writers write what they know. I knew that.
But if Autumn has depicted my love in such perfect nuance, then it means she knows. It means she’s always known, always understood how I feel about her.
All these years, I had convinced myself that I’d fooled Autumn into thinking my feelings were puppy love at worst or teenage hormones at best. But she knew the truth. She observed my love and served it up to me, fictionally requited.
Jack said, “I’m leaning toward she knows you love her, and she’s fucking with you to make herself feel better.”
She knew. All summer, she knew.
All these years, she knew. Since middle school.
She could have told me my feelings were obvious and it made her uncomfortable or that she needed space. That would’ve been enough. I would have understood. She wouldn’t have had to spell out why.
Instead, she vanished on me.
I was dumb for kissing her that New Year’s Eve, but I didn’t deserve the ice that took years to thaw so that she’d simply smile at me again—especially not if she knew I was in love with her and missing her all semester. If she knew that I loved her, then she must have known how it would twist me when she magically came back to me that Christmas only to abandon me again.
The rum is gone; the book is done. Why am I still sitting here?
This new knowledge sits like a boulder on my chest. I make myself get off the couch with great effort.
I drink a glass of water before I go to find Autumn. I want to be clearheaded when I confront her.
I check my mother’s room first, but of course she went to my bed. Because she’s always known, and she’s using me to make herself feel better.
As I turn the doorknob, my brain freezes. I don’t know what I’m going to say to her.
The light from the hall falls across her face, and she winces.
“Autumn.” I’m so angry at her, yet her loveliness hits my body like a punch.
She makes a noise and blinks at the light. I push the door so it’s mostly closed and the light isn’t directly in her face.
“Autumn,” I say again.
“What?” She sits up, pushes the hair from her face, and looks at me, bleary eyed and beautiful.
“Why did you have to leave me like that?” is what comes out.
“I was tired. You were reading.”
“No.” I’m not going to hold back. I say it. “After we turned thirteen. Why did you have to leave me like that?”
Autumn goes still. I can tell that she is fully awake and understands.
She has no answer.
I know that now.
Finally, she says, “I didn’t leave.” We both know she is lying. “We just grew apart.”
I’m not going to let her do this to me anymore.
“We did not just grow apart, Autumn.”
“I didn’t mean to,” she says. “I’m sorry.” Tears shine in her eyes. She looks sorry.
But that’s not enough. Not enough by far.
“I already know why you did it.” She doesn’t have to explain that part. I know she’s never wanted me like that. I don’t need to hear her say it. “I just want to know why you had to be so cruel about it.” It’s time to face what Jack has been telling me all these years.
She stiffens. This time, I’m not going to shrug it off.
“Okay, I was stupid and selfish that fall. And I’m sorry. But everything would have gone back to normal if you hadn’t kissed me out of nowhere without even asking. Do you have any idea how much you scared me that night?”