Aidan wipes them. “You’re crying?”
I sniffle. “You’re the one who said that nice stuff." A few more tears escape.
Aidan laughs. “Come here,” he says, pulling me into his chest.
I snuggle in, the tears absorbed by his shirt.
“Best?”
“Hmm?” My voice is muffled.
“You’re gonna make it.”
Aidan might be talking about writing. He might be talking about life in general. Whichever one it is, it doesn’t matter. His words are enough. Between his warm voice and sheer presence, Aidan has given me the same thing he has been giving me since that day in the recording studio: a safe place to be myself.
8
Aidan
“Mom, hi.”Cradling the phone between my shoulder and my ear, I dig my thermos of coffee from my bag. With a day full of teenagers ahead of me, I need to bathe in the liquid crack. At least it’s Friday. Sweet Jesus, I’m ready for the weekend. And my date with Allison.
“Hello, darling.” My mother’s familiar voice fills my ear. She has always called me darling, but neverdah-ling. Despite being richer than sin, she’s not thedah-lingtype.
“How’s everything?” I ask, after taking a drink.
“Your father and I are good. How are you?”
“Status quo,” I answer, fitting my thermos back into the little cupholder on the side of my bag. “Livin’ the dream, yada yada.”
The sound of my mother’s clucking tongue fills my head with the image of her making the motion. It’s what she does when she dislikes something I’ve said. “Life doesn’t have to be status quo for you, Aidan.”
Oh but it does, Mother.
“Uh huh,” I say out loud. Agreeing with her is the easiest thing to do.
“You can find a nice girl any day now. You can…” She continues but I tune her out. I’ve heard this spiel a hundred times in the last few years. I think her grandma gene kicked in when she hit sixty. When she pauses to take a breath, I interject.
“Thanksgiving at four this year?” It’s her favorite holiday, even more than Christmas. It’s the best subject to use when I need to interrupt her.
“I can’t believe it’s only two weeks away.” Excitement makes her voice tremble. “We’re switching it up this year. Have to change things around to keep our lives fresh these days. Getting old sucks,” she laughs. Automatically I begin to argue with her assessment of her age, but she continues right on as if I hadn’t begun to speak. “We’ve decided to have Thanksgiving at the other house.”
“Why aren’t you having it at the apartment this year?” I ask, coming to a stop with a group of people on the corner as we wait for the light to turn. My parents’ place on the Upper West Side is a little over the top, in my opinion, but they love it. The idea of staying at our place in Pound Ridge has me excited. I’ve always loved it there because it feels more like a home. When it was just the three of us there, I felt normal. My mom and dad cuddled in front of the fire and I’d pretend there were no secrets to keep.
“You dad mentioned it might be nice to get out of the city for a few days, and I agreed. Oh, make sure you invite Natalie. Won’t she be in the area at her mom or dad’s place?
“I’ll invite her.”
“Good. How is she?”
“It’s official,” I tell her, my jaw tightening when I say it. I’d like to find Henry and punch him in the jaw.
“How is she handling it?”
The light turns green and I start walking. “As best as she can. She’s more upset that her life isn’t where she thought it would be.”
“At least she didn’t stay married to the wrong person.”
“Yep,” I say, my tone curt.
