Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between

“Not really,” he says, just as a group of middle-aged men in blue bowling shirts, their names stitched above the pockets, come lumbering out the door, causing Aidan and Clare to take a step back and away from each other.

When they’re gone, he turns back to her with glassy eyes.

“So?” he asks, and she shakes her head, exhausted.

“Forget it,” she says, pulling open the door and walking inside without him, happy to let the noise and lights of the place wash over her: the bright sound of the balls striking the pins, the clinking of glasses, and the confusion of voices, all of it a hazy, welcome distraction.

Aidan stalks off toward the snack bar, but Clare stops near the shoe-rental booth, scanning the lanes to see if she recognizes anyone other than Riley, who is wedged on a bench with a couple of her friends, bent forward as she laces up her shoes.

“Hey,” says a familiar voice behind her, and Clare turns to find Stella balancing two plastic cups and a bag of popcorn under one arm. “I didn’t realize you guys were coming here.”

“Riley needed a lift,” Clare says, rescuing the popcorn, which is spilling onto the ugly patterned carpet one kernel at a time.

Stella scans the room. “Where’s Aidan?”

“No clue,” Clare says shortly.

“O-kay. Well, we’re over there with Mike and Noah and Kip. They’ve been here for ages, and they’re completely—” She’s using one of the cups to point in the direction of the far lanes, but when she notices Aidan is already over there, she lowers her hand and turns back to Clare with a sheepish look. “Guess we found Aidan.”

“Guess so,” Clare says, aware of the edge to her voice.

“Everything okay? You seem a little…”

“Annoyed?”

“I was gonna say pissed, but sure, annoyed.”

“Aidan’s…” She hesitates, not sure how to finish that sentence. “An idiot.”

“Is that all?” Stella asks, laughing. “He’s always been an idiot. You can’t break up with him because of that. It’s a preexisting condition.”

“We haven’t broken up,” Clare says quickly, surprised at the way her heart picks up speed at the thought. “We’re still just…”

“Talking,” Stella says.

“Talking,” she agrees.

“Were you at your house?”

“His,” she says. “And we stopped by the beach, too.”

“Don’t suppose you managed to save poor Rusty?”

Clare manages a small smile. “No. I think he’s just gonna have to survive on his own till we all get back at Thanksgiving.”

“So is Scotty,” Stella says, her expression turning serious. “And I’m not sure he’s handling it so well.”

“He’ll be fine. He’s Scotty. He’s always fine.”

“I guess,” Stella says, though she doesn’t sound quite convinced. Her eyes drift back to where the boys are all gathered around the scoring machine at the very last lane, and Clare watches her carefully.

“Why are you so worried about Scotty?” she says, and Stella looks back at her, surprised.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I’m not.”

“You hate Scotty,” Clare reminds her. “You guys aren’t even really friends.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You and me,” she says, feeling suddenly annoyed, “we’ve been friends our whole lives.”

“I know.”

“And we’re both leaving tomorrow.”

Stella looks unsure about where this might be headed. “Yeah…”

“So why don’t you try caring about that for a minute?” Clare asks with a frown, and in the quiet that follows, they stare at each other, both a little stunned by the words, which sounded harsher than intended. But it’s a thought that’s been stuck in the back of Clare’s throat for a while now; it was only a matter of time before it came tumbling out.

“I do,” Stella says in an appeasing tone.

“Not really. You haven’t been around for weeks. And until tonight, you’ve barely even bothered to ask about the whole Aidan thing.”

“That’s because we’ve been talking about it for months.”

“Yeah, but that was all just hypothetical. Now it’s actually happening. Now is when I actually need you.”