Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between(26)

Clare had rolled her eyes. “That’s different. He’s a dog.”

“So what, I just need to beg more?” he’d joked, starting to get down on his knees, right there on her kitchen floor. She’d caught him by the elbow and pulled him up again, kissing him instead.

“No begging,” she’d said, in the same firm tone she always used to scold the dog.

But now it’s been like this for so long—a careful joke, a fragile understanding—that she’s completely caught off guard by his reaction tonight.

She swivels to face him more fully, but he still refuses to meet her eye. “I might not say it, but I obviously show you how I feel,” she says. “Why do the words have to be so important?”

“They just are,” he says, standing up and brushing off the back of his jeans. “Not because you’re saying them, but because you’re not.”

When he starts to walk away, she stands up, too. “I don’t get why you’re so upset about this now,” she says, jogging after him. “I didn’t think you cared before—”

He stops abruptly. “God, Clare. Of course I cared. How many times do you think someone can say I love you without hearing it back?”

Her heart falls at this, because all his anger is stripped away now, and what’s left is just pure hurt.

“I’m sorry,” she says, reaching for his hand, but he pulls it back, then turns to the car, fumbling for his keys.

“I used to think it was just another one of your stupid rules,” he says with his back to her. The shoulders of his shirt are damp from the rain, and his hair glistens with it. “But now I’m not so sure.”

Clare blinks at him, feeling leaden straight down to her toes. However prepared she thought she’d been to break up with him tonight, she realizes now that she hadn’t really expected it to happen. At least not like this. Not in the way that most couples break up: fighting and scrabbling, dredging up long-dormant arguments and lobbing them at each other like grenades. If it had to end, she’d imagined it would be poignant and inevitable: a single tear, a sorrowful hug, a brave goodbye.

But Aidan is already in the car, the engine humming to life, and there’s nothing for her to do but hurry around to the other side and get in, too, worried that he might actually leave without her. When she does, he lurches out of the spot without a word, his hands tight on the wheel, his mouth set in a straight line.

It isn’t until they’re nearly back to the main part of town that he clears his throat, a rattling noise that makes Clare jump a little.

“Where to?” he asks, and she lifts a shoulder.

“Wherever you want.”

“What about the list?”

She glances over at him. “It feels kind of silly now,” she says quietly, and he doesn’t disagree.

When the light changes, he takes a left. “I need to get gas.”

“Okay,” she says with way too much enthusiasm. It’s just a relief to have a next step. She takes a deep breath, then tries again. “That sounds good.”

The gas station is on the edge of town, a small patch of uneven asphalt with six rusted pumps. Behind them, there’s a darkened car wash and a mini-mart where, through the window, they can see a bored-looking attendant flipping through a magazine at the counter.

Aidan hops out without a word, crossing in front of the car to reach the fuel tank, which is on Clare’s side. While he adjusts the hose, she pulls out her phone, giving the inside of the car a faint glow. It’s just after ten o’clock, and what had before seemed like it would be the shortest night of her life—marked by too many things to say and too many places to go—now looms ahead of her, endless and full of uncertainty.

As he waits for the tank to fill up, Aidan leans against her window, the back of his blue plaid shirt pressed flat against the glass. Normally, she’d do something like roll the window down to startle him, and then he’d do something like whip around and surprise her by wielding a squeegee, threatening to drip it on her until she got out to help him, and then they’d spend the time until the pump clicked soaping up the windows of his perpetually dirty car.

But not tonight.

Tonight, she just sits there, quietly waiting.

She’s deep enough inside her own head that when someone knocks on the driver’s-side window, she makes a startled noise. When she looks over to find a police officer peering in, her stomach lurches and, reflexively, her face goes hot with a guilty flush.

But the man is smiling at her expectantly, and after a beat, Clare realizes that she actually knows him: It’s her friend Allie’s dad. It’s been a while since she’s seen him, and she’s surprised that he even recognized her. The last thing she feels like right now is small talk, but she leans across the car to roll down the window anyway.

“Hi, Officer Lerner,” she says with a little wave. She and Allie were best friends in elementary school, and though they’ve since grown apart, pulled into different social circles somewhere around the start of junior high, they’ve always remained friendly in the way you do with anyone who’s witnessed such a significant slice of your past.

“Hey, Clare,” he says, leaning his forearms on the window. “Getting ready to head off soon?”

“Tomorrow morning, actually.”

“How’re your parents taking it?”