If He Had Been with Me

by Laura Nowlin

They were arguing. No one ever says what they were arguing about. It is, in other people’s opinions, not important to the story.

If he had been with me, everything would have been different.

Stay. I whisper to him. Stay in the car.

But, of course, he never does.

Phineas Smith is Aunt Angelina’s son. Aunt Angelina is not my aunt; she is my mother’s best friend from girlhood, her best friend still—and next-door neighbor.

Childhood best friends- bonded by family

Phineas was born first on the twenty-first of September. A week later, likely missing the one who had been kicking me, I came along.

Phineas understood my name before I did.

I did not have any friends besides Finny.

He was sweet and shy and everyone liked him. The girls had crushes on him. The boys picked him first in gym. The teachers called on him for the right answer.

In third grade, I announced that I was a feminist.

but in childhood my prettiness gave more pleasure to the adults than it did me.

In my memory of childhood, it is always summer first.

Finny and I hide under bushes or in trees. Autumn is our birthdays and walking to school together

Finny rescues me when other kids throw snowballs at me.

All the time that became known in my mind as Before.

If someone had asked me why Finny and I weren’t friends anymore, I would have said that it was an accident.

Somehow we weren’t friends anymore. It wasn’t a choice. Not really.

I am still feeling the pang of rejection when I see that she is sitting down next to Finny. By the end of the month, they will be going out, and my mother will tell me that Finny met Sylvie Whitehouse on campus while he was at soccer practice and she was there for cheerleading.

Sometimes I am disappointed with love. I thought that when you were in love, it would always be right there, staring you in the face, reminding you every moment that you love this person. It seems that it isn’t always like that.

That night we fight on the phone. Even though I cry, he still does not forgive me until I tell him Brooke’s secret. He is instantly sweet again, and we don’t talk about the fight.

I love him in a way I cannot define, as if my love were an organ within my body that I could not live without yet could not pick out of an anatomy book.

“Come on, Sylvie, take the jacket,” he says, holding it out to me. “Autumn,” I say. “Huh?” He frowns. “My name is Autumn. You just called me Sylvie,” I say. His frown deepens.

Autumn Rose Davis.

I’ve known that he wasn’t my Finny anymore, but now he is on the other shore, separated from me by an ocean I am afraid to cross, and I can feel it.

I can feel the printed words seeping through my skin and into my veins, rushing to my heart and marking it forever. I want to savor this wonder, this happening of loving a book and reading it for the first time, because the first time is always the best, and I will never read this book for the first time ever again.

“Try to marry your first love. For the rest of your life, no one will ever treat you as well.”

I’ve loved him my whole life, and somewhere along the way, that love didn’t change but grew. It grew to fill the parts of me that I did not have when I was a child. It grew with every new longing in my body and desire in my heart until there was not a piece of me that did not love him. And when I look at him, there is no other feeling in me.

My love for Finny is buried like a stillborn child; it is just as cherished and just as real, but nothing will ever come of it. I imagine it wrapped up in lace, tucked away in a quiet corner of my heart. It will stay there for the rest of my life, and when I die, it will die with me.

And I know that winter is supposed to end, but things are not always the way they are supposed to be.

“You think you deserve to be sad,” he says. There is a moment of silence as we look at each other. “You think it is okay for you to be sad every day. But it is not okay. And you do not deserve it.”

“It is not shameful,” he says. “It is okay.”

This is friendship, and it is love, but I already know what they have not learned yet; how dangerous friendship is, how damaging love can be.

“Love is complex,” she says. I nod again. And then I lay my head on my knees and I do not cry.

Perhaps he would ask me what books mean to me. I would tell him that it means living another life;

“Let’s build a tree house this summer.” “Okay,” I said. “Can I paint it?” “Sure.” “Any color I want?” “Yeah.” “Even if it’s pink?” “If that’s what you want.”

“Wait,” Finny said. I stopped and looked at him. He swallowed and stared at me. “What?”

I saw him lean in, but I thought I must be confused. He couldn’t be about to kiss me.

his nose brushed along my cheek, and Finny’s lips were on mine. Warm. His lips moved gently against mine once; there was only enough time for my eyelids to i...

Finny, my Finny, kissed me. It was horrible. It was strange and wonderful. It felt like I was watching a meteor shower and did not know if it meant the stars were falling and the sky was breaking apart.

There were four round bruises on my arm where his hand had clasped me. He had never hurt me before. And we weren’t friends anymore.

“You don’t need to worry about me, Phineas,” I say. “Okay?”

“No. I mean I’m going to miss hanging out with you.”

We should hang out sometime when we don’t have to. Go see a movie or something.”

I want to say “Sure.” I want it too much. “I’m not sure, Finny,” I say.

“But I thought Jamie and Sasha hung out all the time?” “Yeah, they do,” I say. “But they’re friends—” I flinch,

“Jamie, my parents are getting a divorce.”

“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,”

“Wait! Jamie?” “What?” “Will you ever leave me?” “Nope.” “Promise?” “Yup.” “Okay. Bye.”

None of us, except Sasha and Jamie, are going to the same school.

I look up at him.