23. Jamie #2
“That and we’ve watched The Parent Trap one too many times.” She smiled shamelessly. “Let’s just say there’s a reason we shut down prank wars.”
That had me losing it. “What even is your life?”
She shrugged as if it made all the sense in the world. Jack put his binoculars back up, and she waited a reasonable amount of time before using the bird call again. More shuffling. She looked completely neutral as she stared out of her binoculars. Then he closed in on us.
“Give it.” He held his hand out and waited. Other campers didn’t seem to notice, looking through their field glasses and chatting among themselves.
“You need binoculars, Jack? You can have mine, and I can share with Autumn,” I tried.
He saw the red string hanging out of her pants and yanked the thing right out of her pocket. She pursed her lips into a smile. “Just for that, you get to go to the front of the class, Miss Gardner.”
I sputtered as he yanked her arm until she stood by him about twenty feet from me. She was barely keeping down her laughter.
“Kuh-caw.” I cupped my hands around my mouth, doing a bad impersonation of a bird.
She snickered, her lips tilted into a smirk. Several people laughed. We were all twelve. I caught Jack’s eye roll. Apparently, he was above such things.
Then came the subtle sound of wood being attacked by a beak.
Jack jumped and scanned the area. “You hear that everyone? In case you haven’t heard that familiar sound, that’s a sapsucker. Can anyone find it? First to do so gets a piece of candy,” he joked.
It was enough incentive for people to move their binoculars every which direction until I found it on a lone fir out past a copse of trees. I called it out, and Jack confirmed my find after I pointed in the general direction. Everyone else followed.
“I see it.” Janna beamed. “I’ve never seen a woodpecker before.”
Everyone was genuinely excited. I could see why Jack loved his class so much.
He turned his back on me before walking away, and I realized I’d been shorted.
“Hey, what about my candy?” I sulked.
“Candy’s for good children. Pretty sure you have two strikes against you. Make it three for even associating with her.”
“I can’t help that I knew her in high school. Don’t hold this against me.”
Jack flicked his hand in dismissal. “It’s just a Snickers, man. Calm down.”
I was starting to like this dude, but withholding chocolate put him on my shit list.
We hiked and found several unique birds before our time was up.
By the time we made it down to camp, it was starting to take a toll on me.
As much fun as I was having, I was also exhausted from being up all night and doing yoga this morning.
Autumn had been up at the front of the group, but I’d lost her until a “psst” came from behind a tree nearby.
She waggled her eyebrows as I looked to see if anyone noticed our disappearance.
I rushed to the tree she was leaning against, which was large enough to hide our bodies.
I pressed my mouth to hers, knowing we didn’t have much time and making the best use of it.
Autumn whimpered into my mouth as my hands went to the small of her back, her body arching away from the rough bark without care.
“God, you feel so good.” I moved to her neck and ran my hands up her stomach.
She giggled as I found her sweet spot, a little place above her collarbone that both tickled and unlocked something in her every time.
“Oh my god, Jamie,” she moaned.
“I know, sunflower.”
Suddenly, she stiffened, her hands dropping to her sides. I knew exactly what I’d done wrong.
Shit.
“You can’t call me that,” she said quickly, looking like she instantly regretted it.
The nickname had been on the tip of my tongue the entire trip, but I’d carefully avoided letting it slip. She was easy to scare when it came to our past, and remembering what it was like back when I called her that may have been the last thing she wanted.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I just saw the tattoo this morning and it was in my head. I won’t do it again.”
She used her opposite hand to touch her shoulder, almost hugging herself.
“I got that tattoo on a stupid whim when I was getting over you. It doesn’t mean anything to me now.”
I had a feeling that was the case, but the words still hit me like a punch to the gut. It might not mean something to her, but it meant something to me.
When we were younger, she’d fill with delight at the word, as though it always surprised her.
And here I’d gone and reminded her of a time that she obviously still hurt over.
A small part of me wondered if she had just been detached, compartmentalizing our moments as kids from our time here and ignoring the memories she’d tucked into a small imaginary box.
I pulled away from her and pursed my lips. A distressing look passed over her face. It went from incensed to crestfallen, and my stomach bottomed out as tears filled her eyes.
“Autumn—”
“We have to go catch up—” She gulped. “We have to catch up to the group.”
I reached for her hand, but she pulled back from me. I looked deep into her eyes as a tear escaped, rolling down the side of her face. She quickly wiped it away.
In court, there were three possible ways to address a potentially damaging truth about your client.
Deny, distract, or defend. You could deny reality and confuse the jury into seeing as many truths as possible.
Denying was the easiest option unless the evidence was indisputable.
If that was the case, you could distract the jury by drawing their attention away from the evidence and on to something more compelling.
Or you could defend, which was the hardest option.
You could make the jury understand why your client would make a choice to break a law and why you would likely make the same choice in the same situation and how, sometimes, the line between right and wrong was a bit blurry. I knew what I had to do.
“Go ahead,” I implored. “You can ask me anything, and I’ll tell you the truth.” It was time for the truth.
I couldn’t leave here knowing she had no explanation, no understanding of my regret, even if she slept with me and acted like closure didn’t matter.
She looked into my eyes as if searching for honesty, and she must have found it because she finally asked the one thing she’d been avoiding this whole time.
“Why did you end it?” Her eyes were filled with tears, and it nearly broke me. “You can tell me if it was someone else. I… I’m more understanding as an adult than I would have been back then.”
The pain in her eyes told me otherwise, and it filled me with an overwhelming sense of anguish.
“God, Autumn,” I started, unsure how to even explain.
“You didn’t say why, Jamie, not really. And I get that you were venturing off on your own and didn’t want to be held back by your high school girlfriend—” Hearing the words I’d used took me back to the most painful conversation of my life.
I was thirty, and I still felt like I was swallowing nails every time I thought about it.
“It was so sudden. Like you didn’t even try.
Just confirm it for me, please. Put me out of my misery. ”
Autumn twisted her hands nervously. I knew what she was worried about but she was so far off base it wasn’t funny.
“All this time you thought… There was no one else. There could never be…” I shook my head angrily, ready to rip the Band-Aid off. “I did it for you, Autumn.”
The silence that followed was broken by a gust of wind wrapping itself around us and blowing a strand of her hair over her face. I almost reached out to move it, but I knew better.
“You…” Fury lined her features as she pushed it away, her voice breaking. “You did it for me ?”
“No, I… What I mean is… Goddammit, Autumn.” My lungs tightened. I’d been holding on to things for so long. It was time to own up. “I missed you so much. I know it had only been a few weeks—”
“We didn’t last a month, Jamie…”
“You were talking about driving down to see me in the second week. You were barely holding it together.” It was a harsh truth, but it had to be said.
I’d been sitting in my dorm room every night thinking of my gorgeous girlfriend and how she’d been ready to give up her weekends to see me.
During what was supposed to be one of the happiest times of her life.
“Neither were you.” Her eyes flashed defiantly.
“I know. I know that. But I saw down the line. I saw your senior year going up in smoke, and what about when we only lived six hours apart? We had years where we’d be separated. Years , Autumn.”
Our plan had been for her to go to Stanford while I was in LA, and if that didn’t work out, she was going to go to the same school as me, or one nearby. Everything was based around me. Around us.
“You didn’t know I’d get in.” Her shoulders fell.
“I knew you’d get in.” There was no mistaking my feelings on this.
I was more sure about it than anything. She’d had perfect scores on tests, extracurriculars, internships, and amazing letters of recommendation, and all of this before her senior year.
She was the smartest person I’d ever known.
Still was. “I saw it. Your life would have revolved around me. You deserved better than that.”
“And all you saw was wasted potential. What about now, Jamie?”
That hit me like a brick, knocking the wind out of me. “What do you mean?”
“I gave everything up. It’s everything you just said you were trying to avoid. To many, that’s a failure.” She blinked away tears.
Of course, she thought I judged her. It was the first thing I’d done. But seeing her comfortable in her surroundings, seeing the way she lit up when she was doing her job, I’d immediately banished the thought. “It’s not a failure to you. And definitely not to me.”
Autumn had crafted this beautiful life where the only person’s expectations she cared about were her own. It was awe-inspiring.
“I gave up Stanford. If you broke up with me like you’re saying, that’s what you wanted for me. So why would you think I made the right choice?”
I took her hands in mine and looked into her eyes.
“You’re happy. I love that you’re happy.
I see you work your ass off and still enjoy doing what you do.
No one told us that that was the dream. They said that we needed to go to good schools, to be in good professions, but that was it.
It’s like our parents have the ideals of six-year-olds.
I want my kid to be a doctor. I want my kid to be a lawyer.
I want them to go to Harvard or Stanford.
But why? They say they want the best of us, but they don’t know what’s best for us.
” I squeezed her hands. “I love the law, and I love being a lawyer. But that was all my choice, and my parents ran with it. I got lucky. I know the pressure you were under when we were kids. I can understand why the straw broke your back. There’s nothing here to be ashamed of.
In fact, I don’t think I could be prouder of you. ”
Tears were streaming down her face, and a small sob escaped. “We were talking about forever. I don’t care what my plans were, I loved you.”
And why did that slice me through the gut? I’d earned her love at one time and destroyed it. I did that.
“And that’s why I did what I did. Maybe it was the wrong choice, maybe it was unfair, but I did it, and I have to own that.
” I could have made it long distance for four years.
Or six or eight depending on what she’d ended up doing.
I’d loved her so much, I would have followed her once I graduated.
But she’d been ready to do the same, and that truly hadn’t been good for her.
I’d meant it when I said forever, but sometimes forever wasn’t good enough.
“I said all that shit because I knew it would—”
“Break my heart?”
Tears spilled over my cheeks, and I didn’t bother wiping them away.
Back then, I had broken my own heart in the process of breaking hers, but we’d needed a clean break.
I wouldn’t have been able to survive otherwise, but I hadn’t known it’d be the last time I’d see her.
Even knowing I did the right thing, it took its toll.
After five days of ignoring all phone calls and skipping every class, my mom had shown up on my doorstep.
I had only answered because I’d thought it was the pizza I’d barely managed to order. That was when I’d finally broken down.
Autumn never knew that. But my pain wasn’t what mattered.
“You may never forgive me. I understand that, okay?”
Her silence killed me. The small sobs she emitted broke me down to nothing. But her words after a few deep breaths ruined me. “I do forgive you.”
“You…” There was no way. “Really?”
She nodded. “I’ve had a long time to get over it. I don’t like that you made that choice for me, for us, but it makes sense.”
And while it made sense back then, I couldn’t help but wonder where we’d be if I hadn’t made that decision.
Teenage love didn’t typically last, but deep love, no matter what age, could sustain a relationship for decades until the end, and based on our previous moments years ago to now, our love had been profound.
But I’d screwed that up out of a sense of my own righteousness, and I couldn’t take that back.