Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between(36)

“Oh,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Clare swallows hard. “I know.”

“But I am.”

“What?”

“Sorry we didn’t make it.”

“Me too,” she says, and then they begin to walk again, a little bit closer this time.

“So where were we supposed to be right now?”

At first, it seems to Clare that this, too, might be some larger question with a deeper meaning.

They’re supposed to be on a deserted island.

They’re supposed to be at the same college.

They’re supposed to be together.

But then she realizes he’s talking about the list.

“I don’t know. The dance, I think. But we already ruled that one out.”

Aidan stops walking and turns to face her. “Am I allowed to be romantic now?”

“Now that we’ve broken up?”

He laughs. “Yeah.”

Without waiting for an answer, he steps forward, circling his arms around her waist, pulling her close, and she automatically clasps her hands at the back of his neck and leans into him, as she’s done so many times before.

They don’t move—not really. It’s more of a hug than a dance, the two of them standing there in the dark, locked together like they’re afraid to let go. She can smell the antiseptic that Stella used on his cut, a clean, tangy scent, and beneath that, the peppermint shampoo his mother bought for him. She traces a finger along his back, just between his shoulder blades, and she feels him shiver beneath her touch. When he bends to kiss her temple, it makes her feel like crying.

“Remember that night?” she asks, and she’s surprised to hear her voice tremble a little bit. “You kept spilling punch all over yourself.”

He bows his head, laughing softly into her ear. “I was nervous.”

“You were a mess.”

“But a charming mess.”

“You were holding your cup while you danced,” she says, pressing her cheek against his chest. “It was sloshing all over the place. But you refused to put it down.”

“I needed something to do with my hands,” he admits. “I was afraid you’d see what a terrible dancer I am. I needed a diversion.”

“So you sacrificed your suit.”

“It was for a very worthy cause.”

They hadn’t been anything official yet, that night: just two people who liked each other, on the brink of something more. But already, she was beginning to see what it might be like, being with Aidan. Around them, everything else felt plodding and predictable, their classmates all going through the motions, carrying out the overly dramatic business of every school dance: the girls crying in the bathroom, the couples making out in the corners, the two groups of guys on the cusp of a fight, the upperclassmen practicing their most withering stares.

But Aidan—Aidan was fun. All night, he’d danced around her: moonwalking and then break-dancing, marching them around in a stiff-armed tango and then reeling her back for a comically formal waltz, spinning and swinging her so quickly she could hardly see straight. He was nervous and jittery, but also whirling and unpredictable, with flashing eyes and a dazzling smile that was only for her. She was laughing so hard she could barely keep up, and she kept having to stop and catch her breath.

“I’ve got two left feet,” he’d shouted to her over the music, his face flushed in the heat of the gym, “but I know how to use them.”

There was just something about him. He made the room feel brighter and the hours move faster. All that night, they were flying, and it was like magic, giddy and joyful and dizzying.

But even so, there was a part of her that wished he might slow down. Just for a little while, just long enough for her to walk into his arms and fit herself against him, to stand there while the minutes ticked by, just holding him in place, this one bright spot in the midst of so much gray.

And now, two years later, they’re finally here: folded together like this, with the night thrumming all around them and the sound of his heartbeat loud in her ears.

And yet, he’s no longer hers.

All this, and the only thing it means is goodbye.

They stand there like that for a long time, so long she starts to think she can feel each minute slipping away as the night hurtles unrelentingly toward morning. But then Aidan goes abruptly tense, and he loosens his grip, letting her go and taking a step back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and she can see the change in his eyes, the abrupt recollection of what they are to each other now—or rather, what they’re not. “I guess I just don’t know how to do this yet.”

Clare feels a little unsteady. “Do what?”

“Not be together.”

“Oh,” she says. “Yeah. I know.” Her phone makes a whirring noise from her bag, and she glances down at it, then back up at Aidan. “It’ll probably be a lot easier when we’re apart.”

There’s a wounded expression on his bruised face.

“Sorry,” she says as her phone goes off again. She fumbles through her bag until she finds it. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just think it’ll get better when we’re not together.” She groans, then shakes her head. “Sorry. That didn’t come out right, either.”