Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between

From the front porch of Andy Kimball’s house, the music comes thumping through the windows with a force that makes the floorboards vibrate. Clare winces at the sound of it, already weary at the thought of what will greet them on the other side of the green door. She’d been tempted to go home after her talk with Aidan. But when she checked her phone on their way back to the car, there was a text from Stella, letting her know about the party—the last big bash thrown by someone from their class before everyone scattered to the wind—and it seemed to Clare a kind of a peace offering, one that she hadn’t had the heart to refuse.

“I didn’t realize so many people were still around,” Aidan says, rising onto his toes to look through a window.

Watching him, Clare can’t help thinking about all the other times they’ve stood here, on the threshold of so many parties just like this one. Ever since Andy’s parents came into some money from her grandfather a few years ago and started traveling constantly, she could always be relied upon to throw a party. Especially when there was nothing else going on in this town, which was most of the time.

Clare can’t imagine being fearless enough to give her house over to the masses so often, but she admires Andy for her creativity in explaining away a thousand broken vases over the years, wriggling out of countless warnings from the cops, and dodging blame for the many empty bottles in her parents’ liquor cabinet.

“I think it’s a lot of underclassmen,” Clare says as Aidan steps back from the window with a frown.

“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.”