Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between(19)
“He’s an idiot,” she says after a minute or so. “But I also sort of get it.”
Clare turns to her. “Yeah?”
“It’s not that he’s a coward. He’s just realistic, you know?”
“I know,” Clare says, because this is true. Aidan is an optimist at heart, but he’s careful about it. He would never spend the time or energy to go after something he had no interest in having. He’s much too practical for that, far too economical about his hopes and dreams. If he were going to try for something, it would be for one of two reasons: Either he was certain he could get it or he was certain it was worth it.
“But he’s still an idiot,” Riley says, giving her a shy smile, “ ’cause if he’d gone to Harvard, he could have been closer to you.”
Clare closes her eyes. It’s been a long time since she’s allowed herself this same thought: the two of them shuttling back and forth between Harvard and Dartmouth, a mere two-hour drive, spending weekends skiing in Vermont or picking apples in New Hampshire, going to museums in Boston and watching the boats slip by on the Charles.
She knows this person she’s been trying so hard to keep from imagining—the one with the winter coat and clunky snow boots, bundled up and red-cheeked during those cozy New England winters—isn’t Aidan. It’s not who he is or what he wants. But it still hurts to know that it was never even a possibility, and sitting here in the early darkness of this suburban night, it only makes her feel like it’s already here, this looming distance between them, like they’ve already been set adrift.
“I’m going to miss him,” Clare says with a suddenness that startles them both. She gives a helpless shrug, and Riley nods.
“I know,” she says. “Me too.”
Clare bumps her gently with her shoulder. “And I’ll miss you, too.”
“Yeah?” Riley asks, her face lighting up.
“Yeah. You’d better keep in touch.”
“I will,” she says. “I swear. Even if you and Aidan break up.”
Clare flinches at the words. This is the whole point of the night, of course, its inevitable end. But still, it sends a little shock through her to hear it said out loud.
Behind them, the door opens, casting a wedge of light over the front stoop, and Aidan steps outside. They both twist to look up at him, and he stands there for a long moment, his eyes distant and blank, rubbing his hands together, though it’s not very cold.
Finally, he tips his head down to face them with a smile that’s full of effort. “So much for quick and painless,” he says with a sheepish expression. “New rule for tonight. No more unscheduled stops.”
Clare nods. “Deal.”
His face softens when their eyes meet, but his words snap like firecrackers in the dark. “Hi and bye,” he says, and she has to swallow the knot in her throat before she can respond.
“Hi and bye.”
The Bowling Alley
9:17 PM
As soon as Aidan pulls into one of the many empty parking spots in front of The Incredibowl—where the only truly incredible thing is just how totally outdated the place is—Riley dashes out of the car, tossing off a hasty thank-you before the door slams shut behind her.
“I think she’s late to meet her friends,” Clare says, watching her trot off through the fog, though she suspects the truth is that Riley’s just eager to escape the strained silence of the car, something Clare half wishes she could do as well.
Instead, she remains sitting there beside Aidan, staring out the dirty windshield at the low-slung building, which is wreathed in neon lights, the entrance bookended by two giant bowling pins with chipping paint, standing guard like weary soldiers.
Aidan hasn’t said a word since they left his house, and Clare thinks this might be the longest she’s ever heard him go quiet. He’s not like so many of the other guys in their class, sullen and moody and withdrawn; if there’s one thing Aidan Gallagher can do, it’s talk. He’s got a knack for keeping up a steady chatter, and he’s never met an awkward silence he couldn’t plow through with idle musings. When they’re together, it’s never mattered whether or not Clare keeps up her end of the conversation. A lot of the time, it doesn’t even matter if she’s listening. Aidan has a habit of answering his own questions, a sort of absentminded call-and-response that requires nobody else on the other end.
“Have you ever noticed that girls always seem to fold their socks while guys always roll them?” he’d said just yesterday while watching her pack. “It’s interesting, right? I wonder which one is actually more effective. Do you think anyone’s ever done a study of that sort of thing? Maybe we should do an experiment right now. Maybe we’ll win an award for our work in the field of hyper-efficient packing techniques.…”
“Aidan,” Clare had said, looking over at him distractedly, “can you please shut up?”
“Not a chance,” he’d replied good-naturedly; then he’d turned to start emptying the contents of her sock drawer. While she packed up the rest of her things, he dutifully rolled or folded each pair of socks with a look of great concentration, providing color commentary all the while.
That’s just Aidan: a natural talker, an unconscious prattler, a cheerful banterer. Though she teases him for it, it’s always been comforting, like being armed with a parachute for any kind of potentially uncomfortable social situation. There’s simply not room for long pauses when he’s around, and Clare—who falls on the quieter end of the spectrum—has always been grateful for that.