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also by laura nowlin
If He Had Been with Me
This Song Is (Not) for You
Copyright © 2024 by Laura Nowlin
Cover and internal design © 2024 by Sourcebooks
Cover design by Elsie Lyons
Cover image © Juan Moyano/Getty Images
Internal design by Tara Jaggers/Sourcebooks

Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic
or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in
writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any
similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the
author.

Published by Sourcebooks Fire, an imprint of Sourcebooks

P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567–4410
(630) 961-3900
sourcebooks.com

Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.

 contents

Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Author’s Note
Content Warning

Finn
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
 Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen

Jack
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen

Autumn
 One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Excerpt from If He Had Been With Me
One

Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
 This book is dedicated to the memory of

Aliksir Drago Jaan

And in honor of all parents whose children live on in their hearts.
 author’s note

In the winter of 2009, my husband found me crying over my

secondhand IBM ThinkPad. He kneeled in front of me in my “office”
(a deep window ledge in our tiny studio apartment that I’d claimed
as a desk), and I sobbed to him,
“I have to let Finny die inside my brain now!”
As I first drafted Autumn’s narrative in If He Had Been with Me, I
crafted Finn’s side of the story within me, and I could feel all his
thoughts and passion. I had even written a page and a half of Finn’s
story. When my husband found me crying, it was because I had
realized that I needed to delete those pages. I had no agent, no
literary prospects; I couldn’t write a whole new novel from his
perspective when my energy would be better spent revising the
novel that I’d already written from Autumn’s point of view. So I dried
my tears and focused on making sure Autumn’s story was the best it
could be. I let Finny’s voice fade. I let him die again within me.
Over the years, so many readers have asked for a Finny POV, and
I’ve always said, “I’m sorry, he’s dead; I can’t bring him back.” And it
was true. I didn’t have that power. But Gina Rogers had that power.
I hadn’t planned to listen to the audiobook. The idea of my words
in someone else’s mouth terrified me. But then Gina sent me a
message asking that if I ever listened, I provide feedback—even if it
was negative—because she too was an artist striving for an ideal. I
was so touched by her sentiment and dedication to her craft that I
decided to give it a listen.
The moment I heard Gina as Finny say “Hey” to Autumn at the
bus stop, I felt him stir within me. Before I was done listening, he
was alive and, dear reader, Finny was mad at me. Not for killing him
—he understood I had to make If He Had Been with Me the best
story that I could—but he had a few things that he wanted to say,
some things he needed to clarify. Given his miraculous resurrection,
his request seemed reasonable, and I was compelled to let him
finally have his say.
So forgive me if I ever swore to you that this book would never
exist. At the time, I believed it with my whole artist’s heart.
But life is like that sometimes, and that’s a good thing.
 content warning

This novel includes depictions of death, depression, suicide, and

pregnancy.
If you or someone you know is experiencing mental-health
distress or crisis, please reach out for help.
Suicide and Crisis Lifeline:
Call or text 988 or chat at 988lifeline.org.
finn
 one

Autumn is a terror to sleep beside. She talks, kicks, steals the

covers, uses you as a pillow. The stories I could tell if I had anyone
to tell them to. Autumn is uncharacteristically embarrassed about
her nocturnal chaos though, and it’s one of her eccentricities for
which she will not tolerate a bit of teasing. Our mothers—“The
Mothers” as Autumn started calling them when we were young—
have their own tales of Autumn’s nighttime calamities, and the look
that she gives them has been enough to stop me from sharing my
childhood memories of her violent, restless sleepovers.
This summer, I discovered just how much she hasn’t changed.
The other day, she fell asleep watching me play video games. I had
finally, finally, made a specific timed jump when she flung her arm
onto my lap, causing my guy to fall to his death. I gently lifted her
hand off me and scooted over a few inches, but not too far. I didn’t
tell her about it when she woke up; she would say something about
going back home when she starts to feel tired, and I’d rather give
away all my games than lose a minute of whatever has been
happening between us since Jamie broke up with her.
I made sure to insert myself between Autumn and Jack last night
for this very reason. It was clear that we were crashing at my house,
and I felt it was my duty to be the one to take the blows.
I have to admit: I’d hoped for something like this.
It was her fingers twitching against my ribs that first woke me.
Aunt Claire is right. Autumn snores now. She didn’t when we
were children. I’d believed Autumn when, again and again, she
insisted that her mother was only joking.
But here we are, in this blanket tent I made for her, her head
under the crook of my arm. She’s on her side, curled in a tight ball,
snoring, though not loudly. Her breath comes in hot, short puffs.
After Jack fell asleep last night, she and I stayed up talking for a
while. Autumn was drifting, but I hadn’t wanted to give her up yet,
so I kept her talking until she said, “Hush, Finny. I need to focus on
sweeping.”
I turned my face and, in the darkness, saw her closed eyes, her
gentle breathing.
“You’re sleeping?”
She frowned.
“No. Can’t you see me with the broom? It’s so messy in here.”
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Oh, you know…in the room…in between…”
“Between what?”
“Huh?”
“The room in between what, Autumn?”
“Pretend and reality. Help me. It’s so messy.”
“Why is it messy?” I asked, but she didn’t answer me.
I went to sleep much like I am now, on my back, staring at the
quilt above us. I remember stretching my arm above my head,
vaguely aware of the way she was twitching and mumbling a few
inches away from me, presumably cleaning the space between this
world and the next. We weren’t touching, but it felt like the atoms
between us were warm with my love for her.
Later on in the night, I woke up when she smacked my face. I
pushed her hand away and turned my head toward her. She was
close but not touching me, the covers bunched in her other fist, the
hand that clocked me resting between us. I made myself look away
and close my eyes, go back to sleep.
But now…
This is heaven: her forehead pressed into me, her head under my
arm, and my hand on her shoulder. We found each other by instinct.
Even if I was half-asleep, I would never have done this knowingly. I
wouldn’t know if she was okay with it. I don’t know it now either, but
I am unable to move.
My penis, based on very minimal evidence, has decided that
today is going to be the greatest day of both our lives. I understand
its enthusiasm, but it’s (sadly) vastly overestimating the situation.
If I move, Autumn will wake up.
If Autumn wakes up, she’ll see my body’s assumption.
This is what I get for putting myself in this position. Again.
Not that I’ve been in this exact position with Autumn. But like I
said, the tales I could tell.
The toilet flushes. I hadn’t wondered where my other best friend
had gone off to.
I am not going to be able to keep up the brave face with Jack. I
don’t think he’ll let me this time. He’s always known that I was still
in love with Autumn after all these years, in spite of my being mostly
happy with Sylvie. He let it slide all through high school, but he’s not
going to let me pretend anymore.
A couple of weeks ago, after we went to see that silly horror movie
that made Autumn scream three times, both of them—Jack and
Autumn—said they had fun. They said they could understand why I
liked my other friend so much, and sure, maybe we could do it
again.
Autumn had meant it. I could tell.
It wasn’t that Jack didn’t mean it. There was just a lot he wasn’t
saying.
I don’t know if last night helped. I want Jack to see that Autumn
isn’t a poseur who thinks she’s a princess like Alexis or Taylor make
her sound.
It’s more like Autumn is a real princess but from an alien planet.
She is the most confident and insecure person I’ve ever known.
Except for Sylvie, of course.
Remembering Sylvie robs my penis of the delusion that a miracle
is about to occur and adds to my already bloated guilt.
Jack retches and spits. The toilet flushes again, then the sink
runs. I hear Jack get a glass of water in the kitchen.
I try to remember what Sylvie said about her flight itinerary. She
must be in the air now. Over the English Channel? I can’t say. I
picture her in her seat, on the aisle, like she told me she prefers. Her
Discman rests on her tray table, and her golden hair falls back as
she tilts her head to listen.
I hope this trip was everything she needed, helped the way her
therapist thought it would.
At first, I was doubtful. Sylvie in Europe on her own with no one
to rein her in? Sure, she’d been to Europe before, is fluent in French,
and has a cell phone. But I still couldn’t believe that her therapist
insisted she get away by herself without a single friend or parent on
the postgraduation trip he’d prescribed.
 I see now that Dr. Giles had been onto something. Sylvie knows
how to take care of herself when she’s not trying to impress other
people. Sylvie gets drunk to impress people. If no one had dared her
first, Sylvie would have never pulled her legendary inebriated stunts.
On her own, with her backpack and her maps, hostel listings and
train schedules, Sylvie trekked across that continent. She got herself
in a situation in Amsterdam when she didn’t realize some guys were
trying to get with her, but she got herself safe, and it was all over by
the time she called me.
I hope Sylvie sees how capable she is, how smart and resilient. I
hope she can feel good about herself for her own reasons, not for
how other people think of her. Sylvie could be anything she wants if
she just stops caring what the wrong people think about her.
I’m one of those people, and I hope I’m not going to ruin
whatever progress this summer gave her.

Jack enters the room. I close my eyes. Though my penis remains

somewhat optimistic, the blankets provide cover. I should move,
wake Autumn, pretend my arm was never around her, but I can’t
bear to yet.
I hear the flap of the blanket tent flutter. Jack sighs. He says the
same thing he told me the night I trusted Sylvie to sober drive for us
and I had to drunkenly call him for a ride.
“We both should have expected this, you know,” Jack mumbles.
He drops the blanket and it sounds like he goes to the couch, but
I’m paying less attention to him now.
Autumn won’t be asleep for much longer. She twitches
occasionally, moving her face in reaction to things I cannot see. She
makes a soft noise, the sort of noise I wish I could be responsible
 three

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.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 A BREAD PUDDING.

Sweeten a pint of new milk with three ounces of fine sugar, throw
in a few grains of salt, and pour it boiling on half a pound of fine and
lightly-grated bread-crumbs; add an ounce of fresh butter, and cover
them with a plate; let them remain for half an hour or more, and then
stir to them four large well-whisked eggs, and a flavouring of nutmeg
or of lemon-rind; pour the mixture into a thickly-buttered mould or
basin, which holds a pint and a half, and which ought to be quite full;
tie a paper and a cloth tightly over, and boil the pudding for exactly
an hour and ten minutes. This is quite a plain receipt, but by omitting
two ounces of the bread, and adding more butter, one egg, a small
glass of brandy, the grated rind of a lemon, and as much sugar as
will sweeten the whole richly, a very excellent pudding will be
obtained; candied orange-peel also has a good effect when sliced
thinly into it; and half a pound of currants is generally considered a
further improvement.
New milk, 1 pint; sugar, 3 oz.; salt, few grains; bread-crumbs, 1/2
lb.; eggs, 4 (5, if very small); nutmeg or lemon-rind at pleasure: 1
hour and 10 minutes.
Or: milk, 1 pint; bread-crumbs, 6 oz.; butter, 2 to 3 oz.; sugar, 4
oz.; eggs, 5; brandy, small glassful; rind, 1 lemon. Further additions
at choice: candied peel, 1-1/2 oz.; currants, 1/2 lb.
 A BROWN BREAD PUDDING.

To half a pound of stale brown bread, finely and lightly grated, add
an equal weight of suet chopped small, and of currants cleaned and
dried, with half a saltspoonful of salt, three ounces of sugar, the third
of a small nutmeg grated, two ounces of candied peel, five well-
beaten eggs, and a glass of brandy. Mix these ingredients
thoroughly, and boil the pudding in a cloth for three hours and a half.
Send port wine sauce to table with it. The grated rind of a large
lemon may be added to this pudding with good effect.
Brown bread, suet, and currants, each 8 oz.; sugar, 3 oz.; candied
peel, 2 oz.; salt, 1/2 saltspoonful; 1/3 of small nutmeg; eggs, 5;
brandy, 1 wineglassful: 3-1/2 hours.
 A GOOD BOILED RICE PUDDING.

Swell gradually,[148] and boil until quite soft and thick, four
ounces and a half of whole rice in a pint and a half of new milk;
sweeten them with from three to four ounces of sugar, broken small,
and stir to them while they are still quite hot, the grated rind of half a
large lemon, four or five bitter almonds, pounded to a paste, and four
large well-whisked eggs; let the mixture cool, and then pour it into a
thickly-buttered basin, or mould, which should be quite full; tie a
buttered paper and a floured cloth over it, and boil the pudding
exactly an hour; let it stand for two or three minutes before it is
turned out, and serve it with sweet sauce, fruit syrup, or a compôte
of fresh fruit. An ounce and a half of candied orange-rind will improve
it much, and a couple of ounces of butter may be added to enrich it,
when the receipt without is considered too simple. It is excellent
when made with milk highly flavoured with cocoa-nut, or with vanilla.
148. That is to say, put the rice into the milk while cold, heat it slowly, and let it
only simmer until it is done.

Whole rice, 4-1/2 oz.; new milk (or cocoa-nut-flavoured milk), 1-1/2
pint; sugar, 3 to 4 oz.; salt, a few grains; bitter almonds, 4 to 6; rind
of 1/2 lemon; eggs, 4: boiled 1 hour.
 CHEAP RICE PUDDING.

Wash six ounces of rice, mix it with three quarters of a pound of

raisins, tie them in a well-floured cloth, giving them plenty of room to
swell; boil them exactly an hour and three quarters, and serve the
pudding with very sweet sauce: this is a nice dish for the nursery. A
pound of apples pared, cored, and quartered, will also make a very
wholesome pudding, mixed with the rice, and boiled from an hour
and a quarter to an hour and a half; and sultana raisins and rice will
give another good variety of this simple pudding.
Rice, 6 oz.; raisins, 1/2 lb.: 2 hours. Or, rice, 6 oz.; apples, 1 lb.: 1-
1/4 to 1-1/2 hour.
 RICE AND GOOSEBERRY PUDDING.

Spread six ounces of rice equally over a moist and well-floured

pudding-cloth, and place on it a pint of green gooseberries,
measured after the heads and stalks have been taken off. Gather the
cloth up carefully round the fruit, give room for the rice to swell, and
boil the pudding for an hour and a quarter. Very sweet sauce, or
plenty of sugar, should be eaten with it.
Rice, 6 oz.; green gooseberries, 1 pint: 1-1/2 hour.
 FASHIONABLE APPLE DUMPLINGS.

These are boiled in small knitted or closely-netted cloths (the

former have, we think, the prettiest effect), which give quite an
ornamental appearance to an otherwise homely dish. Take out the
cores without dividing the apples, which should be large, and of a
good boiling kind, and fill the cavities with orange or lemon
marmalade; enclose them in a good crust rolled thin, draw the cloths
round them, tie them closely, and boil them for three quarters of an
hour. Lemon dumplings may be boiled in the same way.
3/4 to 1 hour, if the apples be not of the best boiling kind.
 ORANGE SNOW-BALLS.

Take out the unhusked grains, and wash well half a pound of rice;
put it into plenty of water, and boil it rather quickly for ten minutes;
drain and let it cool. Pare four large, or five small oranges, and clear
from them entirely the thick white inner skin; spread the rice, in as
many equal portions as there are oranges, upon some pudding or
dumpling cloths; tie the fruit separately in these, and boil the snow-
balls for an hour and a half; turn them carefully on to a dish, and
strew plenty of sifted sugar over them. The oranges carefully pared
may be enclosed in a thin paste and boiled for the same time. Rice,
8 oz.; China oranges, 5: 1-1/2 hour.
 APPLE SNOW-BALLS.

Pare and core some large pudding-apples, without dividing them,

prepare the rice as in the foregoing receipt, enclose them in it, and
boil them for one hour: ten minutes less will be sufficient should the
fruit be but of moderate size. An agreeable addition to them is a slice
of fresh butter, mixed with as much sugar as can be smoothly
blended with it, and a flavouring of powdered cinnamon, or of
nutmeg: this must be sent to table apart from them, not in the dish.
 LIGHT CURRANT DUMPLINGS.

For each dumpling take three tablespoonsful of flour, two of finely-

minced suet, and three of currants, a slight pinch of salt, and as
much milk or water as will make a very thick batter of the ingredients.
Tie the dumplings in well-floured cloths, and boil them for a full hour:
they may be served with very sweet wine sauce.
 LEMON DUMPLINGS. (LIGHT AND GOOD.)

Mix, with ten ounces of fine bread-crumbs, half a pound of beef

suet, chopped extremely small, one large tablespoonful of flour, the
grated rinds of two small lemons, or of a very large one, four ounces
of pounded sugar, three large or four small eggs beaten and
strained, and last of all, the juice of the lemons, or part of it, also
strained. Divide these into four equal portions, tie them in well-
floured cloths, and boil them an hour. The dumplings will be
extremely light and delicate: if wished very sweet, more sugar must
be added to them. The syrup of preserved ginger would be both a
wholesome and appropriate sauce for them.
 SUFFOLK, OR HARD DUMPLINGS.

Mix a little salt with some flour, and make it into a smooth and
rather lithe paste, with cold water or skimmed milk; form it into
dumplings, and throw them into boiling water: in half an hour they will
be ready to serve. A better kind of dumpling is made by adding
sufficient milk to the flour to form a thick batter, and then tying the
dumplings in small well-floured cloths. In Suffolk farmhouses, they
are served with the dripping-pan gravy of roast meat, and they are
sometimes made very small indeed, and boiled with stewed shin of
beef.
 NORFOLK DUMPLINGS.

Take a pound of dough from a baking of very light white bread,

and divide it into six equal parts; mould these into dumplings, drop
them into a pan of fast boiling water, and boil them quickly from
twelve to fifteen minutes. Send them to table the instant they are
dished, with wine sauce or raspberry vinegar. In some counties they
are eaten with melted butter, well sweetened, and mixed with a little
vinegar. They must never be cut, but should be torn apart with a
couple of forks.
 SWEET BOILED PATTIES. (GOOD.)

Mix into a very smooth paste, three ounces of finely-minced suet

with eight of flour, and a light pinch of salt; divide it into fourteen balls
of equal size, roll them out quite thin and round, moisten the edges,
put a little preserve into each, close the patties very securely to
prevent its escape, throw them into a pan of boiling water, and in
from ten to twelve minutes lift them out, and serve them instantly.
Butter-crust may be used for them instead of suet but it will not be so
light.
Flour, 8 oz.; suet, 3 oz.; little salt; divided into fourteen portions:
boiled 10 to 12 minutes.
 BOILED RICE TO BE SERVED WITH STEWED FRUITS,
PRESERVES, OR RASPBERRY VINEGAR.

Take out the discoloured grains from half a pound of good rice;
and wash it in several waters; tie it very loosely in a pudding cloth,
put it into cold water; heat it slowly, and boil it for quite an hour, it will
then be quite solid and resemble a pudding in appearance. Sufficient
room must be given to allow the grain to swell to its full size, or it will
be hard; but too much space will render the whole watery. With a
little experience, the cook will easily ascertain the exact degree to be
allowed for it. Four ounces of rice will require quite three quarters of
an hour’s boiling; a little more or less of time will sometimes be
needed, from the difference of quality in the grain. It should be put
into an abundant quantity of water, which should be cold and then
very slowly heated.
Carolina rice, 1/2 lb.: boiled 1 hour. 4 oz.: 3/4 hour.
CHAPTER XXI.

Baked Puddings.

Pudding garnished with

Preserves.
 INTRODUCTORY REMARKS.

We have little to add here to the remarks

which will be found at the commencement
of the preceding Chapter, as they will apply
equally to the preparation of these and of
boiled puddings.
All of the custard kind, whether made of
eggs and milk only, or of sago, arrow-root,
rice, ground or in grain, vermicelli, &c., Baked Pudding
require a very gentle oven, and are spoiled Mould.
by fast-baking. Those made of batter on the
contrary, should be put into one sufficiently
brisk to raise them quickly but without scorching them. Such as
contain suet and raisins must have a well-heated but not a fierce
oven; for as they must remain long in it to be thoroughly done,
unless carefully managed they will either be much too highly
coloured or too dry.
By whisking to a solid froth the whites of the eggs used for any
pudding, and stirring them softly into it at the instant of placing it in
the oven it will be rendered exceedingly light, and will rise very high
in the dish; but as it will partake then of the nature of a soufflé, it
must be despatched with great expedition to table from the oven, or
it will become flat before it is served.
When a pudding is sufficiently browned on the surface (that is to
say, of a fine equal amber-colour) before it is baked through, a sheet
of writing paper should be laid over it, but not before it is set: when
quite firm in the centre it will be done.
Potato, batter, plum, and every other kind of pudding indeed which
is sufficiently solid to allow of it, should be turned on to a clean hot
dish from the one in which it is baked, and strewed with sifted sugar
before it is sent to table.
 Minute directions for the preparation and management of each
particular variety of pudding will be found in the receipt for it.
 A BAKED PLUM PUDDING EN MOULE, OR MOULDED.

Mingle thoroughly in a large pan or bowl half a pound of the nicest

beef-kidney suet minced very small, half a pound of carefully stoned
raisins, as many currants, four ounces of pounded sugar, half a
pound of flour, two ounces of candied citron and lemon or orange
rind, four large well whisked eggs, a small cup of milk, a glass of
brandy, a tiny pinch of salt, and some nutmeg or powdered ginger.
Beat the whole up lightly, pour it into a well-buttered mould or cake-
tin and bake it in a moderate oven from an hour and a half to two
hours. Turn it from the mould and send it quickly to table with
Devonshire cream, or melted apricot marmalade for sauce.
 THE PRINTER’S PUDDING.

Grate very lightly six ounces of the crumb of a stale loaf, and put it
into a deep dish. Dissolve in a quart of cold new milk four ounces of
good Lisbon sugar; add it to five large, well-whisked eggs, strain,
and mix them with the bread-crumbs; stir in two ounces of a fresh
finely-grated cocoa-nut; add a flavouring of nutmeg or of lemon-rind,
and the slightest pinch of salt; let the pudding stand for a couple of
hours to soak the bread; and bake it in a gentle oven for three-
quarters of an hour: it will be excellent if carefully made, and not too
quickly baked. When the cocoa-nut is not at hand, an ounce of butter
just dissolved, should be poured over the dish before the crumbs are
put into it; and the rind of an entire lemon may be used to give it
flavour; but the cocoa-nut imparts a peculiar richness when it is good
and fresh.
Bread-crumbs, 6 oz.; new milk, 1 quart; sugar, 4 oz.; eggs, 5;
cocoa-nut, 2 oz. (or rind, 1 large lemon, and 1 oz. butter); slightest
pinch of salt: to stand 2 hours. Baked in gentle oven full 3/4 hour.
Obs.—When a very sweet pudding is liked, the proportion of sugar
may be increased.