Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between(46)

Now he folds the towel carefully back into the box. “It’s great,” he says again, but there’s something off about his tone, and Clare realizes a moment too late that his own parents must not have given him anything to mark the occasion.

“I’m sorry,” she says, putting a hand on his arm.

“For what?”

Clare shifts from one foot to the other. “Well, your parents…”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, brushing this off. “They definitely didn’t get me anything. Can you imagine my dad buying something like this? Or buying me anything at all?” He shakes his head. “No, I was just thinking about your parents, actually. How good they’ve been to me.”

Clare shrugs. “They’re obsessed with you,” she says, because it’s true. Her parents adore Aidan, who has been around the house constantly over the past couple years, fixing the cable box, showing them how to save old e-mails, helping her mom slice vegetables before dinner, and taking Bingo for a walk without anyone asking.

“Yeah, but only because you’re obsessed with me,” he says, and before she can even roll her eyes, he corrects himself: “Or were, anyway.”

“For the record, I was never obsessed with you,” she says. “You were obsessed with me.”

“Okay,” he says, holding up his hands. “Let’s just agree that nobody was obsessed with anyone. I only meant that your parents think of me as part of the family, but only because I was your boyfriend. And now I’m not.” He lifts his shoulders. “It sort of feels like I’m breaking up with them, too.”

Clare isn’t sure what to say. It’s just one more thing she hadn’t considered, and as the idea of it settles over her, she realizes again how entwined their lives are. They’re like two trees whose branches have grown together. Even if you pull them out by the trunks, they’re still going to be twisted and tangled and nearly impossible to separate at the roots.

Just last night at dinner, her dad had asked for the millionth time exactly when Aidan was leaving, and her mom had immediately gotten teary-eyed.

“It’s just that it feels like we’re losing two members of the family,” she said, and Clare had reached out to give her hand a little squeeze.

She can tell they’re hoping she and Aidan will stay together, in spite of their own failed attempts to make high school relationships last. But they’d never say it. They’re trying to give her enough space to figure this out on her own.

Still, she can almost feel them, eager as a couple of puppies, anxiously waiting to hear whether they’ll be able to send Aidan cookies at his new address or wear the UCLA lacrosse shirts he got them or e-mail him when the dishwasher inevitably breaks again.

The dog trots into the dining room with a squeaky toy in his mouth. It used to be a duck, but the head has long since been chewed off, and there’s only one wing still dangling by its side.

“And this guy,” Aidan says, bending to give him a pat. “I’m going to miss him like crazy.”

“I’m starting to get a complex,” Clare says. “I think you might actually like Bingo more than me.”

“I like you both,” he says. “But you I can always call.”

“You can call Bingo, too. My mom leaves him messages on our answering machine all the time. Or you can just wait for Thanksgiving.”

Aidan straightens again, fixing her with a solemn look. “So I can still come visit at Thanksgiving?”

“Of course,” Clare says, about to reach out for him, but then she remembers the state of things, and decides instead on a friendly punch to the shoulder, which is far more awkward than the hug would have been. “My parents would be really sad if you didn’t. So would Bingo.”

“And you?”

“And me,” she says. “Obviously.”

He leans against the table, his arms folded. “Yeah, but what if you have a new boyfriend? What if there’s some nerdy kid with glasses and loafers who reads Shakespeare in his spare time sitting in my spot?”

“It would be nice to have someone who could recite Shakespeare before dinner,” she says, tapping her chin thoughtfully, but Aidan is still watching her with a worried expression.

“Seriously,” he says, and Clare falls back against the table beside him, so that they’re shoulder to shoulder.

“Seriously? I guess it’s possible. You could have a new girlfriend by then, too. I don’t know if you realize this, but you’re kind of a catch.”

“Even though you’re throwing me back,” he says with a half smile. “Like a guppy.”

“I’d say you’re more of a clown fish,” Clare says. “And I’m not throwing you back. I’m setting you free.”

Aidan doesn’t seem satisfied with this. “But it could happen,” he insists. “You and Will Shakespeare. Sitting right here at this table. Eating turkey with your parents. Talking about… I don’t know. The plague?”

“I can’t think of a single thing I’d rather discuss over dinner,” she jokes, but Aidan doesn’t smile, and so she shrugs. “Fine. Yeah, I guess it could happen. For you, too. I mean, it’s California. Every girl out there is supposed to be blond and tan and ridiculously cool, right? You’ll probably meet some model-slash-surfer who plays beach volleyball in her spare time.”