If He Had Been with Me (19 page)

Jamie answers on the last ring, just before his funny and clever voice mail message would have played. His voice is blurry with sleep. It’s eight o’clock in the morning, the first Saturday since we started school again. It’s the year we graduate now, the year we’re supposed to be grown up.

“Jamie?”

“What? I was sleeping.”

“Jamie, my parents are getting a divorce.” There is a silence. I imagine him sitting up, rubbing his face with one hand.

“God, pretty girl, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not even sure why I’m upset,” I say. I’m in my room curled in my desk chair. It’s raining outside, dark and cold. I have a quilt over my shoulders and my cheek resting on my knee. “Hardly anything is going to change. Apparently Dad moved into an apartment downtown a week ago and I didn’t even notice.”

“When did you find out?”

“They told me last night, over dinner. And they said all that bullshit about how it wasn’t my fault and they both still loved me etc., etc., like I was six or something.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I did. You didn’t answer.”

“Oh shit. I remember. I was at the movie with Sasha—”

“I know. It’s fine.”

“I meant to call you back.”

“It’s fine,” I say. My words sound harsh in my ears but Jamie does not say anything about it. I swallow. “Do you think you could come over?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says. “Just let me shower first—hey, want me to take you out to breakfast?”

“I don’t think I can eat.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” I say. I pull the quilt tighter around me. “Just come over and hold me.”

“Will do, pretty girl. I’ll see you in a minute.”

“Wait! Jamie?”

“What?”

“Will you ever leave me?”

“Nope.”

“Promise?”

“Yup.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye. Love you.”

“I love you too, Jamie.”

I lay my phone on the desk and watch the rain outside my window.

At school, Angie lets me feel her stomach. It’s still not very big, but it’s taut like a drum. Everyone at school knows about her now, and all my friends know about my parents. At lunch one day, Alex asks if it means that my mother and Aunt Angelina are finally getting together. Sasha punches his shoulder and calls him an idiot.

“Seriously, dude?” Jamie says, “Did you really just say that?”

“You were all wondering it too!” Alex says. He rubs the shoulder Sasha punched with one hand.

“Yeah, but we weren’t going to ask,” Noah says.

“Noah!” Brooke hisses.

“Look, everybody, I knew you were thinking it. I don’t care. And no, they’re not.”

“Autumn, you want to feel my belly again?” Angie says. She knows it cheers me up.

“Sure,” I say.

There isn’t much else to cheer me up. I hate winter. Dr. Singh raises the dosage on my medicine. Last semester, I told Mr. Laughegan that I was starting a novel. I don’t feel like working much and I don’t want to disappoint him.

“Maybe you should get one of those sun lamps to sit under,” Jamie says. He’s driving me home from school. It’s snowing but not sticking, melting against the windshield and running off in thin streams of water.

“This isn’t just about the weather, Jamie. My parents are getting divorced.”

“Yeah, but you’re also depressed every winter, so maybe—”

“Are you sick of taking care of me?” I turn sideways in my seat to face him.

“No. Jeez, Autumn, I was just saying maybe it would help.”

“Sorry. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He turns on the windshield wipers and we don’t talk the rest of the way home.

***

Angie and Preppy Dave show us their apartment in his parents’ basement. They have a bed and a kitchen table. We aren’t allowed to stay for very long. Dave’s parents say they are giving them a place to live, not a place to hang out. At school, the other kids alternate between thinking it’s cool she’s married and looking at her with contempt. Angie seems oblivious to both, and every time her hand is on her stomach, she is smiling.

***

At the end of March, Sasha breaks up with Alex. She says it’s for good this time, and I believe her. They agree to go to prom together in April anyway, for old time’s sake. And then Brooke and Noah tell us, casually, that they don’t plan to stay together when they leave for college. They aren’t going to the same university, and they say they don’t want to ruin what they have by trying to make it work. None of us, except Sasha and Jamie, are going to the same school.

Sometimes when we’re all together, we talk about how high school is almost over. And how we will always be friends.

***

We’re eating dinner with Aunt Angelina and Finny nearly every night now. Afterward, my mother stays late over there and doesn’t come home until I’ve gone to bed. I hate being in the house by myself, so sometimes I bring my homework over and work at their kitchen table. Finny joins me and we do our homework together like we used to, except we don’t talk as much. Every evening, Sylvie calls him and he takes his phone into the other room for half an hour, then comes back and shoves it in his pocket before sitting back down. I heard at school that she isn’t going to college in the fall. She’s going to go to Europe for the summer, then take a year off to find herself or something like that. I want to ask Finny if they are planning on staying together, but I can’t.

I’m supposed to spend one evening a week with my dad, but it doesn’t always work out. When it does, he takes me out to restaurants in the city and asks me about school and Jamie. He’s always liked Jamie. His apartment overlooks the river and the Arch. It has a second bedroom that he says I can use anytime I want. I’m not sure what I would use it for.

A few green shoots begin to appear in the beginning of April. It’s still cold out, but things are getting a little better.

But only a little.

“Are you going to vote for Finn?” Sasha asks.

“For what?” I say. We’re at Goodwill, looking through a rack of old wedding dresses. It’s Sasha’s idea for her prom dress. Mom is making me buy a dress from a department store; she says that, right now, she needs something like buying me a real prom dress. I didn’t put up as much of a fight as I might have in the past. Brooke bought a dress from a department store too. She says that there are a lot of sequined nightmares at the mall, but it won’t be as hard as I think to find something cool.

Angie is making her dress out of blue crepe. It’s hard for her to find clothes now. Her mother-in-law buys her maternity shirts that look like something Sylvie would wear if she ever got fat. Mostly Angie wears giant T-shirts from bands that broke up in the nineties.

Angie holds up a mock Victorian dress with a high collar for me to see.

“If you want to tell Alex to keep his hands to himself, that will do it,” I say. I go back to searching the rack.

“Well, since I’m about to be the last virgin of our friends, I might as well look the part,” she says. I look up again. Sasha has the dress flung over one arm.

“Jamie told you about that?” I say.

She nods. “Yeah, why didn’t you?”

I shrug. “I dunno,” I say, and I honestly don’t. “It doesn’t seem real, I guess.”

“Well, you’ve got two months and one week until it will be all the way real.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I say. I finger the yellowed lace on the nearest dress. “What were you saying about Finny?”

“Oh, are you going to vote for him for Prom King?” I feel my face scrunch into a grimace.

“He’s going to run for Prom King?” I say.

“He and Sylvie together. I thought you would know.” I’m not surprised that I didn’t know though. When Finny and I do talk, he never mentions Sylvie. Ever since Christmas, he usually only asks how I’m doing and I say fine and then we watch TV or go finish our homework. Sometimes we talk about school or the weather.

“I guess that was Sylvie’s idea,” I say. “No wait, I know it was. He hates being the center of attention.”

“But he’s so popular,” Sasha says. I shrug.

“That’s not his fault,” I say. “He’s likable.”

“I guess,” Sasha says. “And he is so hot.” I shrug again. She looks down at the dress in her hands. “I’m going to look so cool,” she says.

***

My mother and I go shopping on the first day that it actually feels like spring. Mom’s face is thinner and there are always circles under her eyes, but today she is excited.

“Now,” she says, as we glide up the escalator toward evening apparel, “is all pink entirely banned?”

“Not if it’s like a sassy pink,” I say. “But if it’s a sweet, girly pink, yes. Maybe some shade of sarcastic pink if it isn’t too abrasive.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says.

***

I try on all kinds of pink, for her. I wear blues and greens because Dad is leaving her, and we consider oranges and reds because the whole world is open to us now. In the mirror, I see the girl I could have been if I’d tried out for cheerleading. I see what I would have looked like if I was the sort of girl who could turn a cartwheel and have more friends than favorite books. Every dress is another girl who is not me.

And then there is one. Beige satin, nearly the color of my skin, with one, just one, layer of black tulle over the skirt and bodice. A corset top and a black ribbon for my mother to tie in the back. We watch me in the mirror.

“Okay,” my mother says. “So.”

“Please,” I say.

“Oh yes,” she says. I smile and then I laugh. I try to hold my hair with my hands but it falls between my fingers.

“What’s with Sasha’s dress?” Jamie whispers in my ear. I glance to the side where she and Alex are posing for a picture. The girls all got ready at my house, and all the parents came to take photos of them picking us up. The parents are misty-eyed; we’re excited and trying to be cynical. It isn’t cool to think prom is a big deal.

“It’s an old wedding dress,” I tell him. The dress, while a cool idea in theory, is not as great as we thought it would be. She looks pretty, but also like she is going to a Halloween party. Sasha thinks she looks terrific, and I haven’t told her otherwise. Angie looks amazing, and we’ve all told her so, in a sort of awe. With her supple pregnancy encased in blue and her blond hair curled in to soft ringlets, she looks like a Renaissance painting of the Madonna. Dave has not taken his eyes or his hands off her.

“I like your dress,” Jamie says.

“Do I look pretty?”

“Of course you do.”

“Smile!” my mother says. We grin and press cheek to cheek.

“Can we go yet?” Brooke calls out. She’s wearing the sarcastic pink that I had tried to explain to my mother, with a flared short skirt and black lace gloves. Her hair is in a bun like a ballerina. Noah is wearing a matching pink tux with a black shirt and tie.

In his tuxedo, Jamie is handsome like a playboy from the 1950s; he looks suave and sharp, and if I had just met him, I wouldn’t trust him not to break my heart.

“One more picture with everybody together,” Sasha’s mother says. We press together and wrap our arms around each other’s waists.

“Ow,” Brooke says. “You stepped on my toe.”

“Smile!” my mother says.

***

We don’t have a limo. Kids who rent limos are pretentious and are taking prom way too seriously. I ride in the passenger seat of Jamie’s car with Sasha and Alex in the back. We park in the back of the hotel and weave between limos and girls with dresses big enough to house families until we meet up with the others by the doors.

“Hey,” Noah says, “I think there’s food inside.”

“Of course there’s food,” Sasha says.

“What kind of food?” Alex says.

“It said in the invitations there would be a buffet,” I say.

“I am so hungry,” Angie says.

“Of course you are,” Dave says.

“Oh, be quiet.” He kisses her with his hands on her hips and I look away.

“Where’s your tiara?” Sylvie says. We all turn and look at her. She and Finny are standing by us. In the distance, I see Alexis and Victoria getting out of a limo.

“Tiaras are for every day,” I say. “This is a special night.”

“Oh,” she says. The boys snicker. Finny glances at them and tugs on her hand.

“Let’s go in,” he says.

“See you inside,” I say. Finny nods and they stroll away.

“Well, since this is a special night, we should go eat some of that special food,” Alex says.

“There’s magic in the air. I can feel it,” Jamie says.

“Shut up, guys,” I say. “She thought you were laughing at her.”

“That’s not our problem,” Sasha says.

“For the record, we were definitely laughing at you,” Noah says.

“Even I thought it was funny,” Preppy Dave says. Everyone laughs and we follow the crowd inside. There are silver stars hanging from the ceiling, and blue and white glitter on the tables.

We eat cheese cubes and make fun of most of the music. The boys take off their jackets and throw them over their chairs. We slow dance and change partners. I dance with Noah and Alex; Dave will not leave Angie’s side.

I see Finny twice, once as Jamie and I sway to a love song, and again when he and Sylvie are crowned King and Queen. His face is as red as an apple, and I laugh as I clap for him, and our eyes meet briefly. Then he is gone again, and the night moves on.

At the last slow song, I am hot and tired, and Jamie and I move together with our hips and cheeks pressed together. I lean my weight against him, just a little, and he holds me.

“I love you,” I say, and in that moment, it feels like a revelation. I wish I could explain to him that I really mean it right now. His fingers press into my back.

“I will never hurt you,” he says, and he lets me press closer.

It was one of our best moments.

Jamie is driving me home from school when I bring it up. It’s a gorgeous day; the sky is clear and the wind is blowing in the trees. I want to roll my window down, but Jamie doesn’t like it when I do that, and I would have to beg. My book bag is on the floor, and my knees are drawn up to my chest. We pull out of the school’s parking lot.

“I was thinking we should talk about it,” I say.

“About what?”

“About—” It hadn’t occurred to me that he wouldn’t know exactly what I meant, and now I find myself unable to say it. “About what we agreed would happen after graduation.”

“Oh,” he says. He drives in silence. He stares straight ahead. He offers me nothing.

“I’m still not on the pill,” I say. “I could get on it.”

“No,” he says, “you don’t need to do that.”

“Well, you’ll need to buy condoms then, and maybe, practice—”

“Autumn, I can’t even think about that right now. I’m so stressed out about finals and—and everything else. Let’s just not talk about it right now.”

“Okay,” I say. I’m proud that unlike other boys, he isn’t so focused on sex that he can’t think of other things.

“I love you,” I say as I kiss him and get out of the car.

“Me too,” he says.