Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between

“Wow,” he says, running a hand across the soft fabric. His face is tipped down, so his expression is hard to read. “This is… so great.”


“You don’t have to use it or anything,” she says, balling up the wrapping paper. “I told my parents it might be weird to parade around the communal bathrooms with your initials on display. But they thought it’d be handy, you know, for when we have roommates and stuff. And they’re obviously big fans of monogramming.”

She sweeps an arm around, indicating the vases, picture frames, tote bags, and various other items all emblazoned with her parents’ initials. The first time he came over, Aidan had stared at all the floating letters in the room, the giant R for Rafferty that hangs above the kitchen sink, the printed dishtowels, even the pens on the counter, and when they were finally alone, he couldn’t help himself.

“Remind me of your last name again…” he’d said, and her cheeks had blazed with heat. But then he’d hooked a finger into the pocket of her jeans, pulling her forward, and kissed her, right there in the kitchen, with her parents in the next room, and she’d forgotten the question entirely.

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.