If He Had Been with Me

  “Are you going to go back to lying in bed today?” Finny says. I shrug as he pulls into the driveway. “Well, what are you gonna to do?”

  “I dunno,” I say. He parks the car and doesn’t say anything else. I run my fingers through my hair again and again and stare straight ahead. I feel the lump coming up in my throat and I try to push it down again.

  “Hey, Finny?” I whisper.

  “What?” he says.

  “I’m scared that I’m going to call him.”

  “Why?” he says. Form the corner of my eye, I see him turn and look at me.

  “Just to yell at him.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “I know. But I’m used to being able to call him. I’m used to telling him that I’m angry or sad or whatever.” I swallow and take a breath. “It’s like I need him to help me get over him.”

  “You don’t need him,” Finny says. I don’t say anything. My vision is going blurry, and I am concentrating on not crying in front of him. “Autumn? Hey,” he says.

  “What?”

  “Why don’t you hang out in my room today? I was just going to play a video game. You can read or whatever. I won’t let you call him.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “What?”

  “Okay,” I say louder.

  “All right. Come on.” He walks around the car and opens the door for me, and I follow him.

  67

  We do that every day for the next five days. We go out for a late breakfast and then I curl up on Finny’s bed and read while he plays his video game next to me. In the evening, The Mothers have dinner with us. Afterward, we watch a movie, and then I excuse myself and go upstairs.

  When it’s finally dark out, I turn out the lights in my bedroom and spy on Finny’s window. He plays video games or surfs the Internet. At eleven o’clock every night, his cell phone rings. I think it’s Sylvie. They talk for half an hour or a little more, and after he hangs up he leaves the room. He comes back in his boxer shorts and gets into bed. He reads for a little while from the book I’ve seen on his nightstand, some bestselling thriller, then he turns out the lights.

  Watching Finny keeps me from thinking about Jamie. Somehow, I don’t think Finny would mind if he knew. If I’m wondering what he’s saying to Sylvie, then I’m not wondering what Jamie might be saying to Sasha. I watch Finny scratch his arm or yawn, and my mind isn’t anywhere but in the moment, with him; I’m safe from hurting myself.

  On the sixth morning, Finny looks nervous when he comes to the back door to get me.

  “Hi!” I say.

  “Hi,” he says. His mouth is tight and his hands are shoved in his pockets.

  I close the door behind me. Finny walks with me to the car. I wait until he has slid into the seat next to me.

  “What’s wrong?” I say. He starts the car and backs us out of the driveway.

  “Jack called last night—”

  “Oh!” I say. I had wondered who the earlier phone call had been from. Finny gives me a strange look and continues.

  “Everybody is talking about getting together today. We haven’t seen each other since graduation.”

  “Oh,” I say again, in a different way.

  “Will you be okay on your own?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I mean, I don’t want you to feel obligated to babysit me or something.”

  “I don’t,” Finny says. He glances away from the road to look at me again.

  “You should go have fun with your friends,” I say. “It’s been a week, and I feel better.”

  “You do?”

  “Not all the way better, but yeah, better.”

  “Good,” Finny says. He drives in silence for a while, and then our conversation resumes normally, like on the other mornings. We make fun of The Mothers and talk about the movie we watched last night.

  After breakfast, Finny drops me off, and I turn and wave to him from the back porch as he drives away again. The house is empty; Mom and Dad and all the lawyers are meeting downtown today. I go to my room and lay down on my bed. I look out the window and watch the wind in the trees. I nod off after a little while. When I open my eyes again, it’s early afternoon and my room is warm. The cicadas are singing, and the wind is still rustling the trees. I stretch and turn over, and my eyes fall on my laptop.

  It’s been a long time since I have written. I started something before Christmas, but it got lost in the muddle of winter and the excitement of spring, and now I can’t remember if what I wrote was any good.

  I walk across the floor, my bare feet feeling the sun-warmed wood under me, and I sit down.

  It is good, but I take out large chunks and move paragraphs. I have a new vision, a new structure for the story. I’m ready to write something honest. Soon, the only sound is the clacking of my keyboard, and then that is gone too, and all I can hear are the voices in my head.

  After Mom comes home, she orders a pizza and we eat with Aunt Angelina. Finny is still gone. As soon as we’re done eating, I leave and they do not protest; I know Mom wants to talk to Angelina about my dad.

  I write again, and I do not notice the sun moving across the floorboards, the light beginning to dim. When I come out of my trance, it is dark out, and I hear the sports car in the driveway. The lights in my room are already out. I close the laptop so that the room is fully dark, and I lay down on my bed, facing the window.

  He comes into the room and looks around as if he expected something to be there. He crosses the room and looks out the window, and for a moment I think he can see me. Then he turns away and sits down on his bed. He takes out his phone and puts it to his ear.

  My cell phone rings. I look at it vibrating on my nightstand and then out the window, at Finny stretching out on his bed.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hi.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” I say, and then, to make it believable, “just reading.”

  “How was your day?”

  “Okay. You?”

  “It was okay.”

  We’re quiet then, but it isn’t an awkward silence; it is as if we were sitting quietly together in the same room. I watch him stretch, and I hear him yawn.

  “It’s too bad we didn’t have cell phones back then,” I say. “Then we wouldn’t have needed the cups and string.”

  “Yeah,” he says, and then, “wait, are you in your room?”

  “Yeah,” I say, and then I remember I was supposed to be reading, and my window is dark. “I just came in.”

  “Can you see me?” He waves. I laugh.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’m waving back.”

  “Hi,” he says.

  “Hi,” I say.

  68

  Later that night, hours after Finny and I have hung up and gone to bed, my phone trills again. I lift my head up and look at it glowing on the nightstand. It’s a text message from Preppy Dave.

  Guinevere Angela 3:46 am 7 lbs 2 oz visiting hours tomorrow 1-6

  I smile and lay my head back down on my pillow. I imagine Angie tired, happy, and crying. Before I can fall asleep, my phones cries for me again. I see Jamie’s name and my heart drops down into my stomach.

  Angie had the baby. It’s a girl. We can visit her tomorrow after 1. Do you want a ride?

  I throw the phone across the room and hear it crash against the wall. It might be broken. I don’t care. I sleep fitfully.

  ***

  When Finny knocks on my back door, I’m sitting in the kitchen waiting for him, reading a book and eating a popsicle. When I look up, he lets himself in.

  “Hey,” he says, “you look—”

  “Furious?” I say.

  “Uh, no.” Finny looks at me warily. “I was going to say tired.”
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  “Yeah, well, I’m that too,” I say. I close my book and toss it on the table. “Jamie sent me a text last night.”

  “What did it say?”

  I sigh and lay the empty popsicle stick on the table. “Preppy Dave sent everybody a text.”

  “Who?” Finny sits down on the chair across from me.

  “Preppy Dave, Angie’s boyfri—I mean husband. It said Angie had had the baby and it’s a girl and she weighs something or other and when we can visit and all that. And then not even five minutes later, Jamie sends me one that says—” I clear my throat and try to imitate Jamie’s voice. “Angie had the baby. It’s a girl. We can visit her tomorrow. Do you need a ride?”

  “He didn’t think you’d be one of the people Preppy Dan would text?” Finny says.

  “Yes!” I say, and then, “It’s Preppy Dave, but yes! And that is so Jamie! Him thinking he’s being so generous by letting me know and offering a ride. Assuming that I need him for those things.”

  “Well,” Finny says, “to be fair, you do need a ride.”

  “No, I don’t,” I say. “I have you.” Finny smiles.

  “I like how you take it for granted that I’ll drive you”

  “You will, won’t you?” I say.

  “Of course I will. That’s not my point.” He’s still smiling. I don’t feel angry anymore.

  ***

  We get lost on the way to the hospital and don’t get there until one thirty. It’s weird being at a place like this without an adult. I remind myself that I am an adult now too, but I still think the nurses are staring at us. Finny is perfectly at ease, as if he walks down maternity wards all the time.

  When we come to the open door of Angie’s room, I know that Jamie is inside, almost as if I could smell him. I stop and look up at Finny. He gives me a look, one that because I know him I can read, but to the rest of the world would just be a soft smile. It’ll be fine.

  Angie is sitting on the bed, and the others surround her as if we were on The Steps to Nowhere again. My throat constricts.

  “Hey, you made it,” Jamie says.

  “Autumn!” Angie cries. She grins and holds out her arms to me but grimaces from the movement. I forget everything for a moment and rush to her.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say as I squeeze her. “We got lost.”

  “You brought Finn!” she says. “Hi, Finn.”

  “Hi,” he says. He stands in the doorway looking like the way I felt when we were walking down the hall.

  “Where’s your tiara?” Brooke says. I shrug.

  “I’m over tiaras, I think,” I say.

  “Really?” Sasha says.

  “Do you want to hold her?” Angie says to me.

  “Yeah,” I say. I look around the room, avoiding Jamie and Sasha sitting together in the corner, and finally see that Preppy Dave has a small bundle in his arms, so small that I didn’t notice it before. He crosses the room and holds it out to me.

  “Wow,” I say as the little weight of her is transferred to me. “Wow.”

  She is so tiny, her face is scrunched up, and her eyes are closed as if she were trying to block out the world. “Wow,” I say again. This is a person who didn’t exist before. “Finny,” I say, my voice still low, my mind still spinning. “Come look.” I feel him come stand behind me, look over my shoulder. For a moment we are quiet.

  “Her fingernails,” he says.

  “I know,” Angie says. I like holding Guinevere, I realize. I can look at her and forget that Jamie and Sasha are sitting close together as if it were right.

  “So where did you get lost?” Jamie says. I try not to grimace at the baby.

  “We just missed the exit off I-70 and got lost turning around,” Finny says.

  “Yeah, we got a little lost too,” Jamie says. “But we left early.”

  “We had lunch first,” Finny says.

  “I wish we had,” Brooke says. “I’m hungry.”

  “Let’s all go out later,” Alex says.

  “Yeah,” Jamie says.

  “What about you guys?” Sasha says. It takes me a second to realize that she is talking to Finny and me.

  “Uh, no, we have plans,” I say. What I want to say is, “Hell no,” but somehow I can’t bring myself to do it. I sit down on the bed facing away from her.

  “What are you two doing?” Angie says. She winks at me so that Jamie and Sasha cannot see. I feel my cheeks burn, and I look at Finny.

  “We’re going to a movie,” he says, even though we have never discussed it. His self-assurance has returned to him. He sits down next to me on the bed.

  “What movie?” Sasha says.

  “Finny, you hold her,” I say.

  “Oh no,” he says. I laugh at him, and he holds up his hands defensively.

  “Come on,” I say, and push her toward him. I force him to take her, and when she is in his arms, he looks at me as if I am supposed to explain to him the next step. I laugh again and lean over her. “Look at her frowny face,” I say. I realize that my head is nearly resting on his shoulder, and that I cannot bring myself to move it. Finny looks down at the baby. For a moment, it feels as if we three are the only ones in the room.

  “Is there anything sexier than a guy holding a baby?” Angie says, and even this does not bring me to my senses.

  “Nope,” I say, and I flinch. I move an inch away from Finny, and I can actually feel the loss of his body heat.

  “All right, my turn,” Brooke says. “Stop torturing the poor guy.” She walks around the room and takes the baby from Finny. I avoid looking at him.

  For the next hour, we talk about normal things and watch TV. I don’t look at Finny and I am careful to not brush against him as I shift my weight on the bed. Jamie talks the most, orchestrating the conversation so that it exhibits his charm and humor. It isn’t any different than before, but it feels different. Jamie and Sasha do not hold hands or kiss, but they sit close together.

  During the theme song of the next show, Guinevere begins to cry.

  “She’s hungry,” Angie says. She says it with a certain authority that intrigues me. She’s only known her daughter for less than half a day.

  “We should probably go,” I say. Finny and I stand up together. Angie looks at us, but her gaze is distracted.

  “Thanks for coming,” she says, and looks down at the baby again. I walk quickly toward the door.

  “Bye, everybody,” I say.

  “Good-bye,” Finny says.

  “We should get going too,” I hear Jamie say, but I do not look back or slow down. Finny and I walk side by side. The others are all behind us, Jamie, Sasha, Alex, Brooke, and Noah. They are talking about what they will do next. We walk as if we do not know each other. Finny presses the button at the elevator, and the doors open immediately. We step inside, and Finny press the first floor button as the others round the corner. I look at them, and they look at me. The doors close. Finny turns to me.

  “You okay?” he says.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “You really want to go see that movie?” he says.

  “Yeah,” I say, “and we’ll see whatever you want. Thanks for coming.”

  “No big deal,” he says. Finny grins at me, and I finally realize that I never, never felt this way about Jamie, even at the best of times.

  69

  We are on his bed. I am curled up near the headboard with my laptop on my knees; Finny is stretched out on his stomach, finishing off a boss in his video game.

  I just finished a chapter and my head feels light. I watch his character throwing bombs at the dragon. It’s just past noon, but I’m not hungry; we stay out late now and sleep past breakfast time. We spend most of the time driving around with the windows down. We go to drive-thrus after midnight and wander the aisles of twenty-four-hour grocery stores. Last n
ight we sat on the hood of his red car and ate sugary candies with neon food coloring and artificial flavors. Finny left the radio on and we leaned back against the windshield, but the streetlights were too bright to see stars.

  I close my laptop and Finny must hear the click because he says, “You done?” Another bomb explodes on the screen and his controller buzzes.

  “For now,” I say. I lay my computer next to me and stretch my arms above my head. I watch him win the fight and save his game.

  “So when do I get to read it?” Finny says.

  “Never,” I say without thinking. “Sorry,” I add.

  “Why not?” He sounds surprised. He isn’t looking at me; he’s playing his game again.

  “Because it’s private,” I say, “and it isn’t very good yet.”

  “Can I read it when it’s good?”

  I shrug even though he can’t see. “Probably not.”

  “Why are you writing it if nobody can read it?”

  “I didn’t say nobody could read it.”

  Finny looks at me over his shoulder. “So it’s me then?” he says. On the screen, his character runs in a circle and hits a tree repeatedly.

  “No,” I say. I scoot forward on the bed and stretch out on my stomach next to him. “It’s—it’s that I know you. And if you read it you might think ‘Oh, this character is that person’ or ‘she’s talking about that time here,’ but it’s not really like that.”

  “What if I promise not to read into it? No analysis at all. I swear on my mother’s grave.”

  “I’m going to tell her you said that.”

  “Come on, please?”

  I shrug and roll my eyes. “Maybe.”

  “Ha.” Finny turns away and looks back at the TV. He holds up his controller and begins pushing buttons. “That means yes.”

  “It does not!”

  “Does too.”

  “Does not!” I punch him in the shoulder and he laughs.

  “So what do you want to do now?” he says. I shrug again, but I’m smiling.

  “This,” I say.