I cannot look back and say when I fell in love with Autumn Rose. Something I felt for her before I even learned to read had grown and sharpened as we grew up together. If I tried to pin it down, I would guess the first time I had thought of myself as “in love with Autumn” would have been before fifth grade. I don’t know if a psychologist would believe someone that young can be in love. All I know is what happened to me.
I was in love with her, but we were only eleven, so being just friends felt natural, even if in my mind it was assuredly temporary. We always talked like we were living our whole lives together like The Mothers; surely she would realize we should get married. But I never got the sense she was preoccupied with me in the same way. She did not understand why The Mothers said we could not have sleepovers in the same bed anymore. And I did. She did not, when our hands happened to touch, try to make the moment linger. And I did.
Those early years of being in love with her were hard, but I had no idea how much harder it was going to get.
I met Jack on the first day of middle school. Autumn and I did not have a single class together—I would be less distracted, for one thing—but not
having lunch together seemed like a joke. Surely the school administrators knew we had always been together, were meant to be together. Surely, if I looked around the cafeteria, she would be there?
But she wasn’t. Autumn ate during the first lunch, where she’d meet her new friends and my future friends, though I knew none of that right then.
When I finally sat down next to Jack at a mostly empty table, he reacted as if he had been waiting for me. We had been in the morning gym class together and kicked a ball around with a few other guys after the teacher had given us free time. I didn’t sit down because I recognized Jack though; I simply sat at the first empty seat, defeated. But Jack remembered me. He asked me if I ever watched pro soccer. I said yeah, not really interested in conversation, not really listening, wondering what Autumn was doing.
And then Jack sealed our fates.
“Paolo Maldini is the reason I play defense.”
My head shot up and I looked at him for the first time, noticing his freckles, the reddish tint to his hair.
“Me too,” I said. “He’s my—” and we said “favorite” together. I don’t remember the rest of the conversation, but we were friends.
At dinner with The Mothers that night, Autumn talked about the girls she had eaten with, especially a girl named Alexis, and I was glad we had both worked out our lunches. For those first two weeks, I thought maybe everyone had been right: it would be good for us to have other friends. I could have Jack for lunch and soccer and Autumn for everything else. Autumn would have those girls for going to the mall. All those girly things were starting to be important to her, and she would still have me, like always, for everything else.
When my mom sat me down and explained that this year, after we had Autumn’s birthday dinner as a family with Uncle Tom, Autumn’s father, Autumn would be having girlfriends over for a slumber party and I couldn’t
participate, I understood. I didn’t mind. The only thing that confused me was why my mom was telling me instead of Autumn.
I decided it was a timing thing. I was in all honors classes and Autumn wasn’t, not even in honors English. She’d gotten a B-minus in English the year before. She’d read all the assigned books back in fourth grade, so she used her in-class reading time to secretly read Stephen King. Then she wrote her book reports based on what she could remember from two years earlier. I thought it was impressive that she’d gotten a B-minus under those circumstances.
Because we weren’t in the same classes, our homework was different. There wasn’t much purpose in doing our work together unless she needed my help with math. So we were spending less time together in the evenings. I told myself Autumn meant to tell me herself but didn’t have time.
I had been talking to Jack all month about Autumn. How fun she was, how cool, how funny, how she always remembered to say “Paolo” and not “Pablo.” (Not that she talked about soccer. It was more that she cared enough to remember when I talked about Paolo Maldini.)
For my birthday, one week before Autumn’s, Jack came out to dinner with Mom, Aunt Claire, and Autumn. (Tom didn’t appear for my events, and I wouldn’t have wanted him. My own father sent a notice that he’d taken out another savings bond in my name.) I was excited for Jack and Autumn to meet.
Autumn smiled at him, and his eyes popped. He shook himself like he was getting out of a pool. I had talked about my friend Autumn, but I had not told Jack about her face or the new shape of her body. He said, “Hi,” and the evening had seemed fine and normal, like every other birthday celebration with The Mothers and Autumn, except Jack was there too. It was only later that I realized how much time Autumn spent looking at her new phone, how distantly polite she was with Jack.
The Mothers had said we could not have cell phones until we were thirteen, but Autumn had received hers at the beginning of the month because her dad had messed up the contract’s start date. Tom had given it to her anyway, as my mother put it, “without checking with Claire, as is custom in his kingdom.” That night, when I received my first cell phone, I told Autumn we could text instead of using the cup and string strung between our windows. She’d smiled at that, but it hadn’t seemed like she was planning to text me the way she had been texting her new girlfriends all week.
At the end of the night, when we were dropping Jack back at his house, he looked at me with pity before getting out of the car. I don’t think he meant to, but I could see it on his face. He didn’t believe that Autumn was
—or ever had been—my friend. The daughter of my mom’s best friend, who was around a lot? Sure. But he thought I had deluded myself into believing this hot girl was my friend.
I made it my mission to prove that Autumn was my friend. For the next two months, Jack was flooded with invitations to my home, where pictures of Autumn and I, arms slung around each other, covered the walls and where my mom could tell him story after story of all the adventures Autumn and I had together.
I succeeded in proving to him that Autumn and I had been friends, but I failed to prove to him (or honestly, me) that she and I were still friends. On the last day of school before winter break, Jack finally said something. I cannot remember what I had been telling him, only that it had been about Autumn.
“Finn. Dude. I mean, I get it. I’d eat broken glass for seven minutes in heaven with her. But does she even talk to you anymore?”
“We aren’t guys who get invited to parties where they play spin the bottle or whatever,” I said.
“And that’s why she doesn’t speak to you anymore,” Jack said.
I didn’t bother telling him that she did speak to me occasionally. “We’ll probably hang out over break,” I said and shrugged.
Jack, always generous with me, did not tell me I was dreaming. And as it turned out, it wasn’t a dream. It happened.
Autumn had come out of her trance, and it was as if she could see me again. The relief was so deep that it hit me on a physical level. I slept better in those two weeks than I had in months.
I was back in the game. Our relationship still wasn’t where I wanted it to be, but I was holding the line again. I could make my move.
The locker room conversations hadn’t reached the level of smut that they would in high school, but I’d heard an eighth grader bragging about following a group of hot seventh graders at the mall. I recognized Autumn and her friends in his description—he called Alexis by name—and I was shocked how he said they smiled and winked at him, then walked into the fancy underwear store when they knew he was following them.
For the first time, I questioned if I knew Autumn as well as I thought and then made assumptions about her life without me that were wrong. It wasn’t the last time. I later assumed that Autumn was drinking and having s*x freshman year based on a combination of hearsay and envy.
But back in seventh grade, I thought I’d figured out the kind of guy Autumn was into. I needed to be more masculine, like the older jocks. I was already good at sports, but I’d get better. I didn’t have a real dad in my life to emulate, but I could learn more about dudes. I thought it would be months, though surely not years, before I would have my chance to impress Autumn.
Then the miracle happened. Autumn came back to me that Christmas. We were friends again. Every day, we were together, talking and laughing like old times. I wasn’t going to miss my chance to show her that I could be who she wanted.
We watched When Harry Met Sally with The Mothers over the break. Obviously, I’d loved the friends-to-lovers rom-com, and when Autumn told my Mom, “It was romantic at the end,” I made my plan.
I would kiss her at midnight on New Year’s Eve. I would show her that I could be bold, that I could be manly. My plan was, after we’d run outside and banged our kitchen pots to greet the new year, I’d throw them down, grab her romantically, and kiss her. I assumed that I would know how to do something like that instinctively.
I was so exuberant at midnight that I’d almost exhausted myself whooping and yelling, the way Mom’s boyfriends had in other years. When I realized that I was about to miss my chance and everyone was going to go back inside, I’d reached out and grabbed her arm.
“Wait,” I said. Talking hadn’t been part of the plan, but it was already a couple of minutes past midnight.
“What?”
I had meant to take her in my arms and hold her, but I’d caught her above her elbow, and it would have to do. I leaned in, and her eyes widened.
Her lips were as soft as I had imagined. Again, I had assumed my romantic instinct would take over, telling me how to kiss her like people do in the movies. But I pecked at her, like I had kissed so many cheeks before, mostly The Mothers.
Still though, I was kissing her. My body was full of wonder and hope. I watched her face as I pulled back, waiting to see her reaction.
She was stunned, and then she said, “What are you doing?”
My fantasy came crashing down. This hadn’t been my chance. This had been my test, and I had failed it. She’d let me back in, and I’d tried to make out with her like I was her equal. I should have waited. I should have worked out more. I should have been her friend when she had time for me over winter and summer breaks, and then, when I was cooler and taller and
her friends liked me, maybe, maybe then I would have had a chance to be her boyfriend.
But I had ruined everything.
She was disgusted with me. It was clear on her face.
I wanted to hold on to her, to keep us together. It was only after she tugged her arm away that I noticed my hand ached from holding on to her.
I did not mean to hurt her. My mother called for us.
Autumn pulled away and ran, ran away from me like she never had before. She never looked back, never waved for me to follow her.
Inside, the four of us had cake. It was dry in my mouth. My mother asked why we were so quiet and we both said, “I’m tired,” at the same time. We startled and looked at each other and away again. I did not protest when she left for next door soon after.
It was not until New Year’s Day brunch at her parents’ house when I saw the light bruises on her arm that I recognized how terrible my big move had been. I’d assaulted her. I could see myself in her eyes, desperate and grasping, pathetic without being pitiable. It was all I could do to not bolt off the couch and give her the space she must have so desperately wanted from me.
At school, Jack asked about my break. He’d called twice over the holidays wanting to hang out. I’d told him both times that I was with Autumn, that we had plans the next day too. When he asked, there had been curiosity, even hope in his eyes, like I would have good news about Autumn.
I started to tear up. It wasn’t an all-the-way cry, because I was fighting it, but it was close. It was one of the worst moments of my life.
We were in the locker room, right before second period. Jack looked around, panic in his eyes. I expected him to abandon me. Instead, he
laughed loudly, punched my arm, said, “Oh yeah? Let’s take this outside,” and hurried me out.
There was a quiet place that he knew about behind the dumpsters. Other kids seemed to too. There were a couple of cigarette butts and lots of candy wrappers on the ground. He listened to me talk for the whole period. I laid it all bare, and afterward I felt marginally better.
We sat shoulder to shoulder, huddled together against the cold. I said, “I don’t know what to do. She was my best friend.” Jack shrugged. “I don’t have a best friend either.”
After that, I left Autumn alone. Until Valentine’s Day.
There was this fundraiser. For two dollars, a red or white carnation would be delivered with a card to the person of your choosing. The banner said, “White Carnations Are for Your Friends!” leaving us to figure out for ourselves what red ones meant. I sent Autumn two carnations, one white and one red, one with my name and the other signed “Your Secret Admirer.” I overheard The Mothers saying that Autumn had received a total of four red carnations signed exactly that way. No one sent me anything.
At the end of February, Mom came and sat on my bed.
“Heeeeeey, kiddo!” For her sensitive talks, Mom always tried to catch me at the end of reading in bed, right before I turned out the light.
“What is it?”
She sighed and put her hand on my foot.
“You know Claire and I always hoped that you and Autumn would be friends, but we wouldn’t force it on you.”
I had no idea where she was going with this.
“If you and Autumn have grown apart, we understand, but I wanted to know if you’re okay with your friendship with Autumn. You’ve seemed down lately.”
I thought it was painfully obvious how I longed for Autumn. The idea that anyone could not see it stunned me.
Perhaps that’s why I snapped, “What friendship, Mom?” and returned to my book.
She must have been surprised, because I’d read a few sentences before she spoke again. “Sometimes brothers and sisters go through phases when they aren’t friends, but they still love—”
I dropped my book and stared at her in horror. Her face went through a series of emotions like they were projector slides: surprise, amusement, joy, and then sadness. Deep sadness.
“And sometimes,” she continued, “really good friends go through periods when they aren’t that close, and that’s okay. They still care about each other. Later, maybe they become close again, or maybe they become something more than friends. Maybe.”
I tilted my head to show her that I was listening.
She said, “The thing to do is focus on what makes you feel good about yourself, like school and soccer. You have your new friend Jack. You can remind yourself, ‘Autumn is where she wants to be right now, and that’s okay. I’m still great, and I’ll be around if she needs me.’ Hmm?” She squeezed my foot again.
“Okay,” I said. “A bit after-school special, but thanks.” I shrugged and let her hug me.
After she left, I turned out my light and thought about her advice.
It made sense, because it wasn’t that different from what I had thought before, though I had overshot the goal. I needed to get cooler. Soccer was the best path forward to looking more manly. I’d show Autumn that I wasn’t a loser without friends; Jack and I would make more friends somehow.
I’d met my father twice before at that point, and he was very tall. The pediatrician said that I would be tall too, that it was only a matter of time.
Time was what I needed to become a better version of myself. While Autumn ignored me, I’d transform myself.
So though it hurt whenever I was near her, I ignored that and stared at her out of the corner of my eyes like an addict desperate for a fix. But I gave Autumn time, and I gave Autumn space, and I worked on myself.
The next Valentine’s Day, I sent one anonymous red carnation to Autumn, and I sent one white carnation to Jack signed, “Paola.”
He whacked me with it at lunch as he sat down beside me.
“Thanks,” he said, “but don’t think this means I’m going to put out.” “I just felt sorry for you,” I said.
By the end of lunch, the table was littered with white petals from hitting each other with it. The other guys we hung out with, more for numbers than their conversation, were annoyed with us, but it was probably the most fun I ever had for two dollars.
