Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between(31)

“Where’s Andy going again?”

“Michigan, maybe?”

He nods. “Right.”

Though the porch isn’t very big, they’re standing a good three feet apart, and there’s something odd about being so far away from him. They’ve never been the kind of couple who are all over each other, holding hands and making out in public; they’re more private than that, more contained. But at this point, they’ve been together so long that being near him is a kind of habit; in some ways, Aidan feels more like an extension of herself than a whole other person.

Which is why neither of them ever really notices when Clare rests a hand on his arm while he’s talking, or when Aidan hooks a foot around hers when they’re sitting in a booth. Stella’s always teasing them for the way they walk, so close together they tend to bounce off each other like a couple of bumper cars. And they’re rarely more than a few feet away from each other at parties, as if held fast by some magnetic force.

But this is the type of closeness you don’t notice until it’s gone, until you’re standing on opposite ends of a dimly lit porch less than an hour after deciding to break up, and all that’s left between you is a vast and painfully polite distance.

“So,” Aidan says, his face carefully neutral, “are we telling people?”

Clare looks up at him with alarm. She hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.

“Sorry,” he says, seeming a bit unnerved himself. “I just assumed…”

She shakes her head. “No, you’re right. We probably should.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, attempting a smile. “It’s just kind of weird to be doing this.”

He shifts as if to take a step toward her, then changes his mind and stays put. “I know,” he says. “I wish we didn’t…”

“Yeah,” she says, once he trails off. “Me too.”

They don’t even bother knocking. There’s no way anyone would hear it. Instead, Aidan pushes open the door, and the music blasts out into the quiet front yard, all rhythm and bass. When they step inside, they’re met by a wall of heat and bodies, the foyer crowded with people holding red cups above their heads, some of them dancing, others talking, most just trying to get through.

“Why is it so crowded?” Aidan yells back to Clare, making a face. “I think I’m too old for this kind of thing.”

“Good luck at college,” she says, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“I’m gonna go get a drink. You want one?”

“Yeah, and if you see Stella…”

“Yeah?”

Clare hesitates, then shakes her head. “Never mind.”

As he walks away, the top of his reddish hair visible above the crowd, Clare is struck by a completely illogical fear of losing sight of him. She watches as he pauses in the doorway between the foyer and the kitchen, bending a little as some girl, a junior on the girls’ lacrosse team, leans close to say something to him. Clare’s surprised by the stab of jealousy she feels at the sight, and she realizes this is how it will be from now on: next week and next month and next year.

Out in California, Aidan will soon be offering to get someone else a drink. Most likely someone tall and blond and impossibly beautiful, the kind of girl who gets asked whether she’s a model even when she’s doing something decidedly un-model-like, like eating chili fries or blowing her nose. Not long from now, it’ll be someone else’s hand he takes as they walk through a crowd, someone else he’ll be cracking jokes with, telling stories to, huddling with in a corner at a thousand different parties.

Because he’s no longer Clare’s. And she’s no longer his.

The thought wrenches at something inside her, makes her knees go a little wobbly as she leans back against the blue wallpaper in the foyer.

She tries to force her mind in a different direction, far from California, all the way over to New Hampshire, where in spite of everything she’s feeling at the moment, and in spite of how difficult it is to imagine from where she’s standing right now, it’s possible that there could be someone else waiting for her, too.

It might even be someone better—at least in theory—someone more suited to her than Aidan: the kind of guy who keeps a list of all the books he can’t wait to read, who likes to watch something other than sports, who thinks a color-coded calendar system is kind of brilliant.

After all, it’s not like she and Aidan have ever been perfect. They’ve never even been all that logical, in some ways. There are almost certainly better matches for both of them out there somewhere. So maybe this is just the way their story is supposed to go. Maybe, like her parents, this was all just a mistake they needed to make on their way to finding the one.

Maybe.

But that doesn’t make it any easier.

A new song comes on over the speakers, and Clare pushes off from the wall, rising onto her tiptoes and looking toward the kitchen. She’s debating whether to go find Aidan—who has yet to return with her drink, whether because he’s still talking to that girl or because he forgot about it entirely; she isn’t sure she wants to know—when someone puts a hand on her elbow. She turns to find one of their classmates, Anjali, smiling up at her.

“Hey,” she says, holding up her cup for a toast, but she lowers it again when she realizes Clare doesn’t have one. “When do you take off?”