Good On Paper

by Jennifer Millikin

  “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?”

  “Jagger ate off the floor. That was pretty much the high point of the evening.”

  Aidan barks a laugh.

  “I can't figure out my dad and Allegra.”

  “Maybe you aren't meant to.”

  My lips twist as I mull his comment over. Maybe Aidan is right. Maybe I am not meant to understand my dad and Allegra. Maybe what it is, just…is.

  “Want to take bets on how deep my mom is by the time we arrive?”

  Aidan rubs a hand over the stubble on his left cheek. “Hmm. I'm going to say just one. He glances at the clock on the dash. “It's still early in the day, and she's probably excited that we’re coming. I don't think she'll be sloshed yet.”

  Perhaps Aidan needs reminding of who it is we're talking about. My mother can drink a sailor on leave under the table. Among other things, it's a skill she has acquired since she and my dad divorced.

  I decide to skip the reminder, mostly because Aidan doesn't need one. “I’m going to say she'll be two drinks in by the time we arrive. At least,” I add, just to make sure Aidan knows I don't agree with his guesstimation.

  And guess what? I’m right. I know it within five seconds of my mother opening her door. One drink would've definitely gotten a smile. But two drinks? Two drinks gets us an I'm so happy to see you. My mother is never so happy to do anything. She basically hates life until given alcohol. At least she is a happy drunk. It could be worse.

  She hugs me first, then Aidan.

  I can feel her muscles underneath her blouse. Besides drinking, there’s another thing my mother picked up: weights. More specifically, going to the gym for two hours every day.

  “Aidan, what is that cologne? It smells delightful.” My mother pulls away from Aidan, running an appraising look over him.

  We've only just gotten here and already I want to sink down into the ground.

  “Thanks, Annette. Eau de Aidan,” he jokes.

  My mother turns, leaving the door wide open and walking to the rest of the house. We follow and I hear her say, “Natalie I don't know why you haven't snapped him up yet.” She holds her hands out to the side and makes snapping sounds. I glance at Aidan and roll my eyes. He shrugs and gives me a look of as if to say well what are you gonna do? We follow her to the kitchen at the back of the house. A bottle of red wine sits on the counter, and it’s half gone. Surreptitiously I point at it. Aidan’s eyes follow to where I'm pointing, and he looks back at me. I hold up two fingers, mouthing the words “I win,” and do a tiny jig behind my mom’s back.

  Mom reaches into the cabinet and pulls out two more glasses. She divides the contents of the bottle into those two glasses and hands them to us. I hadn't planned on drinking this early, and I still don't, but I take it from her anyway. It's easier to take it and dump it slowly over the course of my time here than it is to argue with her about why I'm not drinking.

  “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes,” my mother announces after she clinks glasses with ours. I look over at the oven and it's not on. Neither is the microwave. Or the toaster oven. I turn confused eyes to my mother.

  She brings a cupped hand to her mouth and giggles. “I ordered take-out!” She looks so proud of herself that I offer her a high-five. She slaps my hand and says, “Did you know there is an app where you can order from almost any restaurant you want, and somebody will deliver it to you?”

  I smile at her exuberance. “Yep. What did you order for today?”

  “Lasagna!” Mom claps her hands together. “I thought it would be a fun departure from the typical turkey and mashed potatoes.”

  “It sure is,” I tell her, smiling. Last night I ate dinner in China. Today, I’ll have lunch in Italy. At least I know that tonight I will be firmly in America.

  “Come on.” Mom motions with her hands. She pushes off from the counter and walks away, and we follow her to the living room. “Let's sit here and enjoy our wine while we wait for our food.”

  Mom settles into a floral upholstered chair, and Aidan and I are on the small sofa across from her. This is my mother’s home, but it's basically foreign to me. She moved here after the divorce. I was already in college, so I never lived here. My sister lived here for one year before she fled for the nation’s capital, but something tells me even she would say this home is foreign to her. Our childhood home is seven miles from here, and I haven't been back since the day I moved out. My mother boxed up everything I left behind when I went to college and brought them here. I spent eight hours one Saturday going
through everything, and what I chose to keep now sits in her office closet. One day when I’m finally settled somewhere, I'll take it all with me. I just don't know when that day will be.

  I'm focusing on an oil painting of flowers that hangs on the wall when Mom says, “So, Aidan, how’s work? You’re a math teacher, right? Bet you have all those high school girls batting their eyelashes at you.” She tries to sound nonchalant, but something in her tone makes me feel uncomfortable. And if I'm uncomfortable, then Aidan must be too.

  His nervous chuckle tells me my assumption is correct. Rubbing his palms on his jean-covered thighs, he says, “Well, not too much. I do my best to politely ignore them. Even accidental encouragement, no matter how small, can get out of hand. Teenage hormones, you know?”

  Mom makes a sound like a laugh, but the sound stays stuck in her throat, so it sounds more like mmmm. “I remember those hormones. Don't you?” She looks at me with her eyebrows raised.

  “I suppose.” Why are we talking about this? “Are you dating anybody, Mom?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize how stupid they are. Last I checked, my mom hates men. The marks left on her by my father's hand have stayed long after they've healed.

  Mom blinks and looks away. “No. Nobody has managed to catch my eye yet.” She's gazing out the front window. I turn wide eyes to Aidan and mouth the word help.

  “Annette, my mom still has a lot of contacts in this town. Would you mind if I asked her if she knows of any eligible bachelors?”

  Mom shifts her gaze back to Aidan. Her eyes are guarded now. Gone is her light and airy flirtatiousness. Bad memories have slipped in and taken the reins.

  She gives Aidan a small smile. “That's sweet of you Aidan, but I’ll have to decline your offer. Nobody wants someone with this much baggage.” Both hands reach down and grasp the air, as though she is picking up two suitcases. She lifts the pretend suitcases a few inches into the air and drops them.

  “Mom—” I start, but she interrupts me.

  “Natalie, it's okay. I’m okay.” She peers past me, out the front window again, but this time she stands. “The food is here.”

  Aidan stands also and follows my mom to the front door. He takes the food from the delivery man, and my mom frets over the fact that the deliveryman is working on Thanksgiving. “You should come in and eat with us,” she says.

  I walk over and join Aidan and my mom at the front door.

  “It's fine, really.” The guy backs up a few feet. With his acne dotted skin and hair that hangs unevenly over his ears, he's really more of a teenage boy than a man. “I get paid double time on holidays.”

  This appeases my mother, and she lets the delivery boy go. Closing the door, she shrugs and says, “I tried.”

  Despite my irritation at my mother, a surge of love for her flows over me. Wrapping one arm around her shoulders, I squeeze her and tell her, “You can't take care of everybody.”

  We go to the kitchen, where Aidan and I open containers while my mother removes plates from the cabinet above the toaster oven.

  I suck in a quick shocked breath when I see the plates she has set out. “Mom, are you sure?”

  Mom nods once, slowly. “I don't know why I kept them.” She traces the design on her wedding china with a fingertip. “Seems silly, doesn't it?”

  “No, Mom. No, it doesn’t.”

  Mom reaches over and pulls a serving spoon from a drawer. She hands it to Aidan, and he takes care of portioning out the lasagna.

  Mom opens a new bottle of wine and pours herself a glass. She takes one look at my nearly full glass but doesn't say anything. Instead she says, “Did you keep anything from Henry?”

  “Honestly, I'm not sure. I packed pretty quickly. I'm sure there are some things of his in my boxes. I haven't been through them all yet.” I had unpacked all the things I thought I would need. There were three boxes left over, and those were pushed to the bottom of my closet. It only makes sense that there are relics of Henry buried somewhere in there.

  Aidan, who has been quiet this whole time, speaks up. “His letterman jacket.” Aidan brings his gaze to mine, the serving spoon dangling from his right hand. “I packed Henry's letterman jacket. I didn't even realize it until right now.” Aidan shakes his head. “He's probably going to want that back.”

  “Don't worry about it,” I assure him. He looks annoyed with himself. “It's not like I can avoid him forever.”

  “You had a better chance of it before I packed something of his in your box.” He sighs and picks up two plates, holding them out to me and my mom.

  I set my plate down on the counter and step closer to Aidan. “I’m not upset. You shouldn't be either.” My hand goes to his upper arm and I give it a squeeze. Aidan looks down at me.

  Those eyes, the ones that have always brought me such safety and security, look troubled. “It upsets you to see him.”

  I can't deny his words, because they’re true. But I’m surprised to see Aidan reacting this way. It's out of character for him.

  Stepping back, I grab our plates from the countertop and turn, motioning with my head to the small table in the dining room. “Let's eat while it's still hot.”

  We eat in silence, and neither Aidan or I touch our wine. My mom finishes her third glass and pours a fourth. I could ask her to stop, but what the fuck is the point? If I was in her position, I might want four glasses of wine too.

  After we finish, Aidan steps out to call his mom while I wash our three dinner plates and mine and Aidan's wine glasses. Mom leans on the countertop beside me.

  “Have you seen your father?”

  “Last night,” I respond without looking at her. Running water pours over my finger as I wait for it to be hot enough. When it is, I grab the dish soap and pour it onto a scrub brush.

  “How is he?” she asks.

  Does she really want to know? Am I supposed to tell her that he seems really fucking happy with his new family? Happy Thanksgiving, Mom, I came here to eat lasagna and hurt your feelings.

  “His kid ate food off the floor of a Chinese restaurant that I'm certain wouldn't pass health inspection.” I look up from my scrubbing and catch her laughing.

  “I shouldn't laugh at that,” she says, pulling away the hand she’d used to cover her laughter.

  “Yes, you should. It's funny.” I hand her a washed and rinsed plate and she picks up a towel to dry it.

  “And his wife?” That last word holds so much pain for her. Wife. A figurative slap in the face.

  “She seems happy. I don't know for sure, but I think he's getting help. Or has already gotten it. I don't know.” The way Allegra soothed my dad last night after my comment made me think maybe he has sought help.

  Mom takes the next plate I have held out but doesn't meet my eyes. I look harder and see the shiny tears she is holding back.

  “Good,” she says after a few moments. Her voice is shaky but strong. “I don't know Allegra, but she doesn't deserve that. No woman does.”

  “Of course not,” I murmur, pressing down a little harder with a scrub brush on the last plate. If my mom wasn't on her fourth glass of wine, would she be so sanguine about this? She met a man and fell in love, she had his children and experienced pain from his hand, and now someone else will get the best of him. If that isn't fucked up, then I don't know what it is. Nobody ever said life has to be easy, but does it have to be so damn hard?

  “Do you miss Henry?” My mother takes the final plate from me and dries it off. I wish I had something to do with my hands, but there are no more dishes. Gathering my long hair, I pull it over one shoulder and divide it into three sections to make a braid.

  “No,” I say slowly, thinking about my answer. Perhaps I should miss him more, but I don't. Maybe it's because we weren't married for very long. Maybe it's because I’d fallen out of love with him long before I signed the divorce papers. Or maybe it's because I've always had Aidan for companionship, love, and understanding.

  “Do you think that's bec
ause you have Aidan?”

  For a moment I wonder whether I just spoke my thoughts aloud. Knowing that I did not, I open my mouth to answer my mom’s question.

  “Probably. Having Aidan as my best friend gives me everything I would have in a partner. Minus the sex, obviously.” This is a good reminder that I should never say anything like I did that night in the bathtub. I need Aidan too much to risk him. Any thoughts like that should stay on the inside of my head.

  “I wonder if you and Aidan could ever be more.” Mom tips up her glass and drinks but keeps her eyes on me.

  I shake my head. “No, Mom. We know better. There is a line and we do not cross it.”

  My mother eyes me. “You never know. I wonder how you’d feel if push ever comes to shove.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “One day you'll meet someone. Or one day, he'll meet someone. And then what?”

  Aidan's blonde, fairylike date springs to mind. We haven't spoken of her since the night I saw them together.

  “We've already been through that once, remember? Everything worked out fine.”

  “Did it though? Have you ever asked him how he felt watching you get married?”

  “I’ve never had a reason to.” Now her question has me mentally sifting through my memories of that time period. Closer to the beginning of my relationship with Henry, Aidan came to me and told me his doubts. I didn't listen. I was in love and overwhelmed by Henry. It's not lost on me that the parts of his personality that I fell in love with were the same traits that slowly suffocated me. I met Henry not long after my parents’ divorce was finalized, and I needed what he had to offer. I needed to be led by someone who seemed like they knew what they were doing. Grasping for proof that not all men were like my father, I'd latched on to Henry. He was confident and secure, and just so capable. Able to accomplish anything. Able to talk anybody into anything. I’d grown up waiting for the day when I would fall in love, and then I watched my parents and was hit with the stark reality of what love can turn into. I was ripe for love that didn't hurt, and Henry was right there to give it.