He holds up one hand and mouths the word ‘fine.’
We settle into the drive as Aidan moves farther out of the city. The streets are quieter than I thought they would be for a holiday. Probably because people usually travel the day before, not on the actual holiday. I change stations again and find Christmas music, and then I leave it there. Some people don't believe in Christmas music till after Thanksgiving, but I am firmly not one of those people. I've even been known to listen to Christmas music in July.
I'm humming along to my fifth Christmas song when Aidan does it. The dreaded nose pick. We're just about to get on the I-95 and are waiting at a red light. He removed his gloves a few minutes ago, probably because they were getting hot, and now his fingers are free to roam.
“Are you finding anything good in there?” I can't help myself. Not pointing it out might kill me.
Aidan withdraws his finger from his nose and gives me a dirty look. “I had to do something with my hands to keep them from reaching over and quieting your humming.” For clarification, he places a cupped hand over his own mouth.
In the past, his comment wouldn’t have bothered me. But for some reason right now, sitting in this car, trying as hard as we can not to think about what I said and let it affect us, his comment sets a flush to my cheeks. Something has shifted between us and I feel vulnerable.
“I’m sorry, I didn't realize my humming was so annoying.” My hands go between my knees and I press them together.
“Hey,” Aidan says softly. I look up at him. His eyes are crinkled in concern.
“I don't care if you hum. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.” He has to look away from me to drive, but because I don't have to move my eyes anywhere, I keep them on his profile. There's an uneasy feeling in my stomach, and I don't like it. When did this happen to us? Are we really so weak that just a few words could put us in this place, dancing this awkward dance? Were we really only as strong as our resolve to not let this become something else?
Aidan stares ahead, keeping his eyes on the traffic as he joins the other cars on the I-95. I've looked at his face a thousand times before, but suddenly I'm seeing him through a different lens. Inside me is a yearning, almost an ache. I want to reach out and run my fingertips over his stubble, push his hair back from his eyes. His posture is relaxed, but the hand that's not on the steering wheel drums a beat with his fingers on his knee. I want to reach out and steady his hand, ask him what he's thinking. Is he feeling what I'm feeling? Impending doom? Anticipating loss?
Suddenly Aidan's eyes are on mine, and because I was so lost in my feelings, I didn't look away quickly enough. There is trepidation in those brown eyes. Behind the caramel flecks, I see his worry. He feels it too, this tight rope we’re balancing on.
I haven't been paying attention to the music, but apparently Aidan has. He looks away from me and touches a button on the steering wheel. The beginning of “Baby It's Cold Outside” fills the small car.
“But baby it's cold outside,” Aidan sings softly, glancing at me with upraised eyebrows.
I watch him for a moment. He tilts his head forward, encouraging me to pick up the female’s lines.
A smile curves my lips despite the sick feeling still sitting in my stomach. “This evening has been,” I sing.
“Been hoping that you drop in.” Aidan makes his voice even deeper on purpose.
The longer we sing, the more the feeling in the pit of my stomach melts away.
I point my finger at him and sing, “I ought to say no, no, no sir.”
“Mind if I move in closer?” Aidan leans his forearm on the center console and pushes his shoulder against mine.
It's only a stupid song lyric, but I can't help the way my heart beats double time.
Aidan’s face is just inches from mine. Our eyes meet, and he straightens up. The next few lines of the song go unsung. Aidan uses that same button on the steering wheel to turn down the volume.
“You can hum the rest of the drive, Natalie. I promise I don't care.”
“You can pick your nose, if you want to. I mean, you don't do egregiously. It's just, like, the tip of your finger is in there. Like this.” I demonstrate it for him, and he laughs. “Like maybe you just have an itch or something.”
Aidan waves his hand. “Okay, enough talking about me doing something reserved for grandpas sitting in recliners all day.”
“Don't be embarrassed, Aidan. Everybody picks their nose.”
“Even you?” Aidan raises one eyebrow at me and smirks.
“Yep.” I grin at him. This feels normal. This feels like the old Aidan and Natalie before I adopted an alcohol-soluble filter.
“How did it go seeing your dad last night?”
I can't help but make a face. “How do you think it went?”
“Not great, I’m assuming?”
