Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between

“Nah,” she says, pushing back so that her chair beats a low, thumping rhythm on the hollow slats of the porch. It’s fully light now, but the sun is hidden behind the clouds, which are low and heavy, a scrim of gray across the horizon. “They told me that, starting tomorrow, I’m free to stay out all night every night without them knowing, so it’s just as well I got a head start.”


Aidan laughs. “I had that exact same argument all ready for my parents. I guess yours are a step ahead of even me.”

Above them, a bird lands on the roof, making little scratching noises as it hops across the shingles, and Bingo goes stiff at the sound, letting out a single warning bark before burying himself in the crook of Aidan’s elbow again. The rain has returned, or is about to; the air is heavy with the scent of it, and in the distance, there’s a long rumble of thunder. It almost feels to Clare like the world is holding its breath.

“Remember that time we watched the storm out here?” she asks, and Aidan’s hand goes still over the dog’s soft coat, his eyes creasing at the corners as he calls up the memory.

“That lightning was crazy,” he says. “It lit up the entire block.”

“And the whole house was shaking from the thunder.”

“And you wanted to go inside.…”

“No, I didn’t,” she says, but when he arches an eyebrow, she gives in. “Okay, maybe. But only because we were getting soaked.” She leans her head back against the wooden chair and stares up at the eaves of the porch. “I’m really gonna miss this.”

“The rain?” Aidan says. “I’m pretty sure they’ll have some at Dartmouth.”

“Not the rain,” she says, sitting up again. “All the rest of it. Of this.”

“I know,” he says. “Me too.”

“I’ve been thinking.…” she says, curling her fingers around the arms of the chair, trying to work up the resolve to say what needs to be said. “I wonder if this would all be easier if we didn’t talk for a little while.”

She braves a glance in Aidan’s direction in time to see his eyes flash with surprise. “Really? That’s what you want?”

“I wouldn’t say I want it,” Clare says. “But this is gonna be hard enough as it is. And if we’re really trying to move on, which we probably should, then maybe there’s something to be said for all or nothing.”

She glances down to where she’s been chipping at a cracked piece of paint on the chair without even realizing it, picking it clean off like a scab. When she looks up again, Aidan is watching her, and she has to steel herself before continuing, her voice cracking a little on the words. “I mean… how am I ever supposed to stop missing you if you’re only a phone call away?”

He nods, absently patting the dog, who is nearly asleep on his lap now. “I guess that makes sense,” he says with a frown. “But it just seems so… final.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be forever—”

“I hope not,” he interrupts her, looking stricken.

“—but maybe just for a little while. Until we get used to this.”

He lets out a humorless laugh. “I feel like you just took away my security blanket or something. This whole thing was a lot easier to get my head around when I thought I could still call you tonight.”

“Yeah, but see? That’s the problem. We’ll never move on if we’re still talking all the time.”

He rubs at his forehead. “I know. You’re right. But still.”

“It won’t be so bad,” she says, though she feels nervous even at the thought of it. “We’ll just have to quit each other cold turkey.”

“Is that code for ‘until Thanksgiving’?” he asks with a weak smile.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe. It actually kind of makes sense, since it’ll be the next time we see each other in person. And it’ll give us enough time to really try at school, you know? To make a real effort to live our own lives without depending on each other all the time.”

“Yeah,” Aidan says, “but it’s about a million years away.”

Clare smiles. “It’s three months.”

“That’s a long time.”

“It’ll go fast,” she promises, but he only shakes his head.