Autumn
“Hayes, oh my God… Yes…YES…”
My roommate’s voice carried through the house, her drumming headboard keeping time. I smashed my pillow over my face and rolled onto my stomach. A peek at the clock said it was three a.m. Every weekend for the past month, Ruby and the runner from Wesleyan had played this song, whether I wanted to hear it or not.
Finally, after a screaming crescendo that showed Ruby had inherited some of her mother’s vocal prowess, quiet descended on the apartment. But the damage was done—I had to be up in two hours for my double-shift at the Panache Blanc.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. I couldn’t even be mad. What Ruby and Hayes had were #relationshipgoals as far as I was concerned. I envied her sleepy, tumbled-in-a-dryer, rumpled look the morning after. I envied even more her ability to keep things light and fun.
I’d tried my best to do the same with Connor, but the last month had been an expanded version of our first date. Our conversations never seemed to last long or delve as deep as I wanted them to. Most of the time, we waded through the shallow waters of small talk.
And yet…
I closed my eyes, remembering soft moments when Connor swept me off my feet with a look. Said something to make me laugh. Or made me feel beautiful and wanted.
And God, could the man kiss…
In the last week of September, we went with his gang to Lake Onota, to swim in the river and have a bonfire afterward. Connor and I kissed under a blanket in the sand, his hands roaming over me until I had to fight to keep my moans quiet.
He succeeded in easing the pain of my break-up, but we’d come to a standstill. I’d told him I wanted to keep it casual and maybe he was honoring that, both by not pushing me into something physical, and by keeping his more sentimental side to himself. But I wished he wouldn’t. Then I could stop fighting and let myself fall.
Or maybe it’s better to keep to solid ground and be single.
I hated single. I hated empty beds and silent mornings. I loved long talks, longer kisses and the feeling of having a partner as I navigated the world; one who would fill many chapters in the story of my life. But I couldn’t escape a nagging feeling I was trying to see something in Connor that wasn’t there; that he would only occupy a few paragraphs in my life’s story, and it made me sad.
I’d miss that smile.
At five, I got up, showered, dressed in black pants and a white blouse and pulled my hair up in a ponytail. I came out of my room just in time to catch Ruby and Hayes saying goodbye at the front door.
“Hiya, Auts,” Hayes called.
I smiled and gave a little wave. “Hiya, Hayes.”
Ruby smacked Hayes playfully on the chest. “Hope this beast didn’t keep you up last night with his X-rated shenanigans.”
“Me?” Hayes’ eyes widened with his smile. “You can’t keep your volume down at my X-rated shenanigans.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I was feeling homesick but you two brought me right back to the farm during mating season.”
“Ha ha,” Ruby said, while Hayes snickered.
He kissed Ruby a final time. “Bye, baby.”
“Ciao, bello. Until next time.”
She shut the door and leaned against it, a sleepy smile on her face. Then she joined me in the kitchen.
“Coffee?” I asked through a jaw-cracking yawn.
“Hell, no. I’m going back to bed.” She leaned elbows on the counter. “Did we keep you awake?”
“Oh gosh no, I stayed up to listen on purpose.”
“Perv,” Ruby said. “But I’m sorry we keep doing this to you.”
“I’m not even mad. A little jealous, maybe.”
“Girl, why?” she said. “You have a perfectly good man, ready and willing.”
“If I sleep with him, I know what will happen. I’ll want more.”
“More what, exactly?”
“Everything.”
“And?”
“And I don’t know that I’m ready to jump in like that again. Or if Connor’s the one I should jump with.” I toyed with the stack of coffee filters on the counter. “I talked to my counselor on Friday. She spoke to the Dean of Admissions at Harvard.”
“What’s the dealio?”
“The absolute deadline for me to apply is next October.”
Ruby snorted. “That’s an entire year away.”
“Right,” I said. “One year to plan and execute an application project and write the paper to go with it. It sounds like a lot of time but it’s not.”
“It would probably help if you picked a focus.”
“Ya don’t say?” I sighed and hit the button to start the coffee brewing. “When I think about picking an emphasis, I feel like I’m abandoning so many other causes that need attention.”
Ruby rubbed her eyes. “Honey, there’s no shortage of problems that need fixing. You have to pull one of them close to your heart. That’s how you’ll make a difference.” She cocked her head. “How’s the farm doing?”
“Struggling,” I said. “We always are, to greater or lesser degrees.”
“Maybe there’s something there.”
“Maybe,” I said, with a pang of guilt. “I should pick something in agriculture or food systems, but…”
“But it doesn’t thrill you,” Ruby said. “Guilt is a terrible way to choose a career.”
“But it feels irresponsible to my family if I don’t.”
“Speaking of counselors and careers,” Ruby said, her finger tracing a line on our counter. “Mine told me I’m one step closer to getting my year in La Spezia. The study-abroad commission liked my work and it’s down to me and a few other applicants.” She grinned sleepily. “But I have a good feeling. One year from now I’m going to be on the Italian Riviera, in a cute little village on a beach, rolling in the surf with a hot Italian.”
“I like to keep my options open,” she said and yawned over a smile. “I’m hitting the sack.” She gave my arm a squeeze. “You’ll figure out your focus for your project. Make lists. Meditate. Hell, throw a dart and see where it lands.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been doing at Yancy’s every weekend instead of working.”
“Orgasms, too,” she tossed over her shoulder, pretending not to have heard me. “Great for decision making. Helps to relax.”
I laughed as she retreated back to her room. If Ruby were any more relaxed, she’d melt. I tried to remember the last time I felt truly relaxed and not stressed over work or my family’s farm, and couldn’t.
During my morning shift at the Panache Blanc, Edmond caught me worrying my lip and staring off into space between customers. He tugged at his mustache, looking at me thoughtfully.
“Ma chère, I would say you wear the face of a girl with two roads ahead of her and she does not know which one to take.”
I started to protest, then nodded instead. “You’re right. I have some decisions to make about my grad school application and…”
“And?”
“The boy I’m dating.”
I braced myself for Edmond’s reaction and had to laugh as he gasped and clutched his heart.
“I knew it. It is a matter of love.” He burst into pieces of a Puccini aria I’d heard before, and spun me around. “The grad school…” He made a sour face. “I am no help. But when it comes to love, I tell you what I know, ma chère. There are no decisions you make here.” He tapped his forehead. “There is only to listen to what your heart tells you.”
“I really like this guy,” I admitted. “I’d like to think there was something there, but…”
“But?”
“But what if I’m wrong?”
Edmond grinned behind his thick black mustache. “Unfortunately, that is something you can never know until you give your heart. Trust. Trust and love are flour and water. They need each other to stick, non?”
“I guess.”
I’d let my heart trust Mark and he’d tossed it away. Maybe it was better to be practical with Connor. Smart. Safe.
It was Connor’s idea to visit the Emily Dickinson Museum next Saturday. Half of me struggled to envision the tall baseball player interested in Dickinson’s painful history or reading her poetry. The other half felt it might be exactly what he enjoyed doing, if only he’d share that side of himself more.
Maybe we both were holding back, but the only thing I knew was that I desperately needed a little time and perspective.
I picked up my phone and texted Connor.
Hi. I don’t think I can make the museum on Saturday.
His reply came in a few minutes later, as I was walking my bike down Pleasant Street under the falling twilight.
Bummer. Yancy’s later?
No. I don’t think so.
A pause. Then, Is everything okay?
I bit my lip. How to answer? That was exactly the source of my unease. Everything wasn’t okay but there was nothing wrong either. It was as if my heart was split right down the middle, just like Edmond had said.
I’m really behind on my Harvard project. I need to devote a solid chunk of time to it.
OK. Have you been considering Thanksgiving?
I stopped walking and leaned against a tall oak tree, my bike against my thigh. Connor hadn’t been able to stop talking about the holiday. The thought of meeting his parents felt incredibly flattering and a little bit too soon at the same time.
Not sure. I have to see what I can get done this week and let you know.
OK.
I’m sorry.
It’s fine, he wrote.
Talk to you later?
Sure.
And nothing else.
“Shit.” I started to walk again but the tight feeling in my stomach strengthened. I had to tackle this head on, not over the phone.
Connor?
A tense ten seconds later, then, Autumn?
His sweetness eased my breath a little. Are you at your place? Can I come over? To talk?
I’m here, he wrote. Come over.
Okay, see you in a few.
CU
“Hi,” Connor said, opening the door for me. He was handsomely rumpled in his pajama pants and V-neck shirt, though it was Sunday evening. He bent to kiss my cheek.
“It’s kind of a mess. Ramona comes on Tuesday.”
I’d been over to his place a handful of times in the past month, never staying for long. Weston had ceased speaking to me beyond curt hellos and goodbyes, and I never felt welcome when he was there.
Despite Connor’s warning, the large apartment was nearly spotless, thanks to the cleaning lady the Drakes paid to come once a week. The only messes were a scatter of papers on the dining area table, and a pizza box beside a few empty beer bottles on the coffee table. Madden was paused on their gigantic flat screen TV.
“Is Weston here?” I asked. “I wanted to talk alone.”
“He’s taking a run,” Connor said, and then grinned. “Should I be scared? Call him for back up?”
God, he really is adorable.
I mentally fortified myself against Connor’s inherent sexiness and charm. “Nothing to be scared of. In fact…” I sighed. “Now that I’m here, I don’t know what to say. But I know it will all come back to me the second I walk out that door.”
Connor laced his hands around my waist. “Maybe don’t walk out the door.” He bent and kissed my mouth softly but with intention behind it. Promises of more if I wanted it. “Stay,” he murmured.
“I want to,” I said. “But, Connor…”
He kissed me again, deeper, and I felt the floor tip out from under me. I clung to his strong arms, while his hands slipped up my back to tangle in my hair. His phone rang—a classical music ringtone—breaking the moment.
“Shit. My parents.” He released me and went to grab his phone from the couch. “Let me just see what they want.”
I nodded, still slightly breathless, and watched him answer. His usual smile replaced by a grimace, as if he were bracing himself.
“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
He held up a finger to me and mouthed sorry, hold on, then took the call into his room. I wandered to the kitchen for a glass of water. The kitchen was sleek—chrome and gray and masculine. It reminded me of Connor’s car. New and expensive. I supposed part of the cost of this luxury was Connor could never let his parents’ calls go to voicemail.
I poured a glass of water from the state-of-the-art filtration system on the marble counter and sat at the dining room table to drink it. My fastidious nature fixated on the sprawl of papers. They begged to be gathered up.
Stop. Don’t touch other people’s stuff.
Minutes passed and Connor didn’t come back. I sipped my water, then sat on my hands. The mess on the table was making me itchy. I pulled a few papers together, glancing at an essay on Macroeconomics, Connor’s name and date at the top. This was all his work. He wouldn’t mind if I straightened it. We were dating, after all…
Class handouts. Articles. Loose pages with handwritten lines of text, arrows to notes in the margin, a few doodles.
I sighed. What was Connor talking about with his parents?
I went on gathering papers into piles and my eye pulled a few lines off one scribbled page, half-hidden beneath another:
Without you,
The hours stretch
I glanced around the empty apartment. Connor’s muffled voice came from the other room, still sounding in the middle of a conversation, not wrapping one up.
Be patient and mind your business, I thought.
I made it all of six seconds before I slid the paper free and read what was there. A poem. The handwriting was a scratchy scrape of the pen, with sharp lines and angles. The words burned hot off the page.
Without you,
The hours stretch
into suffocating days;
gasping through nights
in sweated sheets
eyes squeezed shut
your name locked behind
my clenched teeth
grasping at relief
until you’re here
and I
can breathe again
and I
can bask again
in the shifting colors
of your gaze;
gold, green, and brown—
your namesake captured
in your eyes.
My face tingled hot, then cold, then hot again. The poem infused me, each line bending and flowing and breathing into the next, creating one fluid sensation. I didn’t see individual words. I felt the whole, like staring at a painting. But the last three lines stood out, demanded I read them again and again.
gold, green, and brown—
your namesake captured
in your eyes.
“My namesake?” I murmured.
“Hey, sorry about that.”
I jerked my head up, staring, the paper slack in my hand. Connor stopped midstride into the living area, his brows furrowed in concern for me.
“Are you okay?”
I rose to my feet. “Is this yours?” I offered him the poem.
Connor took the paper, and his eyes scanned it. “Oh this. This is…” He glanced up at me quickly and handed the poem back. “I mean, it’s nothing.”
“Did you write it? For me?”
He stared at me, a thousand thoughts behind his eyes. His chin lifted the tiniest bit, then lowered.
“You wrote this about me?”
His smile was weak and his gaze slid away, to the floor, the table, then back to me. “I never know what to say when you’re standing right in front of me. Still don’t.”
“God, Connor,” I laughed and sighed with relief at the same time. “This is exactly why I’m here. What I wanted to tell you…is that you can talk to me. Whatever you’re thinking, I want to hear it. I need to hear it. All your thoughts and ideas and dreams. They’re as important to me as being with you. I mean…” I held up the sheet of paper again. “Do you want…this?”
“I want…” He swallowed hard, his voice firming. “I want to be with you. That…” He jerked his chin at the paper in my hand. “That’s what I want. With you.”
A warmth spread through my chest, down to my stomach, washing away the tight knot there. I went to him and ringed my arms around his neck.
“I can’t be casual,” I said. “I wish I could, but I’m not built that way. And that poem…” I shook my head, the warmth heating toward something more. “It’s not casual. It’s beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful,” he said, and kissed me, holding my body to the strong wall of his. His lips trailed down my throat. “And I don’t want casual. I want you to stay.”
“I do too,” I breathed, clinging to him, my fingers sinking into his hair. “I think I just needed a little something more from you. Does that sound totally crazy?”
“No.” He kissed the hollow of my throat, and then raised his head to look at me. “I have a lot to give, Autumn. I promise.”
I stroked his cheek. “I know you do. And I wish your parents could see that too.”
Connor’s expression shifted, hardening into something fierce and full of want. His arms around me tightened and he kissed me hard, wide-mouthed and demanding. I took it in, dizzy with him and the words now burned into my brain. I kissed back just as hard, as if I could siphon off the poetry in him.
He lifted me off the ground, never breaking our kiss and carried me to his bedroom, to his king-sized bed where he laid me down. My clothes melted away under his deft hands, and I surrendered myself to his expert machinations in every way.
In sweated sheets…
We tore his bed apart, voracious, as Connor’s body on mine—so heavy and thick above me and inside me—worked me into a delirium.
Grasping at relief…
My fingernails raked down his broad back and then clutched at him hard, as that ecstatic release found me.
Again and again, through all the hours of night, and one final time when I was nearly asleep, yet starving for more. I collapsed in the strong ring of his embrace, my body warm and heavy and breathing—
can breathe again
—in perfect cadence to his.