Good On Paper

by Jennifer Millikin

  Aidan was by my side through all of that. One time he tried to intervene. My response had ensured it would be the only time. I didn't want to hear the truth, and after Aidan offered it up, he stepped back and stayed tight-lipped. He hugged me after I got engaged, and stood with me at the altar. Did I ever ask how it made him feel to see me get married? No. I did not ask him for his thoughts, and he did not share his opinions. If I had put down the wedding planning magazine, if I had closed Pinterest and looked at Aidan, would I have seen an objection that wanted to come out? Maybe the objection hung there in the air, like a child with his hand raised in a classroom full of students, just waiting to be called upon. Maybe I didn't look too hard, because I didn't want to see it. I thought Henry was my chance at the perfect love my parents did not have. And I thought wrong. I could call myself silly and young, naïve. But at the bottom of it all, it's plain and simple. I was wrong. And Aidan knew it.

  I open my mouth, planning on telling my mom that she can get rid of any romantic notions about me and Aidan, but the back door opens and Aidan walks in. His cheeks are red from the cold, and he sniffs, running the back of his hand under his nose.

  “Why aren't you wearing your jacket?” I ask.

  “I left everything in the car.”

  “Is your mom okay?”

  “She's upset. She dropped the pumpkin pie on the ground.” Aidan chuckles. “Apparently my dad came up from behind and tickled her while she was carrying it.”

  Swoon. I look at my mom. The dreamy look on her face tells me she's thinking the same thing.

  “Diego and Diana are relationship goals,” my mom says. I can't help my laugh. My mom should take a break from social media.

  I nod. “Seriously.”

  Aidan's mouth draws into a hard line. He doesn't say anything about his parents, and the air around him grows tense. He does this sometimes, and I can't figure out why. I've asked, and he's given me a bullshit answer about how his parents’ great love story gets old sometimes. I've never pushed to know the real reason, but I’m still curious.

  “I told her we'd pick up a pie on the way over.” He looks apologetically at my mother. “We should probably get going. I called a grocery store that's on the way and they are closing in thirty minutes.”

  “Of course, of course. I understand.” Mom reaches out with her free hand and sets it on Aidan's shoulder. “Thanks for bringing my girl out to see me.”

  “We wouldn't miss it, Annette.” Aidan brushes a quick kiss on her cheek.

  Mom pats the spot where he kissed. “You're going to make this old lady blush.”

  Oh Lord.

  “Well, we’d better go,” I say, kicking into gear and grabbing my bag from the counter. I wind it over my arm and hug my mom.

  “Thank you for today, Mom. It was good to see you.” She winds her arms around me, and guilt hits me right in the stomach as I inhale her familiar scent. From now on, I'm going to make more of an effort to come up here and visit her. And I’m going to force Sydney to come too.

  We leave, the door swinging closed behind us. Aidan rubs his palms together and then blows into them.

  “Brrr,” he says, shaking his shoulders to emphasize the word.

  “What happened back there?” We climb into the rental car and quickly close the doors. It's at least forty degrees outside.

  “What are you talking about?” Aidan starts the car and puts it into drive.

  “You. Getting tense about my mom and I swooning over your dad’s awesomeness. Do you really hate relationships that much that you can't handle us swooning over your parents?”

  “No, Natalie. I do not hate relationships.”

  “Could've fooled me,” I grumble, my upper lip lifting on one side.

  “Are you snarling?” Aidan looks at me with tight lips, like he's trying not to laugh.

  My own lips rearrange into a smile. “Not on purpose.”

  Aidan reaches over and lightly tugs my bottom lip. “Maybe I should call you raccoon. Some kind of small fierce animal.” He takes his finger away from my lip and snaps his fingers. “Honey badger! That's what you are.”

  “I prefer if you just call me Best.”

  “Boring,” Aidan draws out the word as he says it. “Honey badger is definitely better.”

  “If you ever call me honey badger, I will bludgeon you.”

  For the rest of the drive to the grocery store, we argue about his new nickname for me. I know what he is doing, and I also know that I'm letting him do it. He doesn't want to talk about whatever it is that upset him, and I don't have the heart to force him. For right now, in this moment, we are just us again.

  13

  Aidan

  I feel like an ass.

  I stood there in the kitchen, both women overcome with the idea of my dad’s romantic gesture, and I couldn't keep it together. I don't hate love. What I hate are lies.

  The store has plenty of pumpkin pie, but my mom will still be upset. It wasn't just a pumpkin pie. It was her special maple pumpkin pie with cinnamon graham cracker crust. I don't remember a Thanksgiving that didn't have that pie. I also don't remember Thanksgiving where I didn't get up in the middle of the night and sneak downstairs to have a slice. Grabbing a basic pumpkin pie off the top of the stack, I make my way to the cashier and then out to the car where Natalie sits, waiting for me. I left it running with her inside so she would stay nice and warm.

  “Here.” I hand her the pie.

  “Last one?” Natalie takes it from me and holds it in her lap.

  “Yeah, last one,” I say sarcastically. “We almost had Thanksgiving without pumpkin pie.” I look over at Natalie. Her eyes haven't stopped being curious since the moment I walked back into her mother’s house after the phone call.

  Some might say best friends tell each other everything. To me, there are times when not knowing is a gift.

  Natalie lifts the pie and examines it. “Meet you in the kitchen tonight at two a.m.?”

  “Of course,” I say, turning onto the road that will lead us to my parents. I reach over and yank on Natalie's seatbelt. “Just making sure,” I tell her. She gives me a knowing look and grips the pie.

  With just the slightest amount of pressure on the gas pedal, the car lurches forward. Fallen leaves swirl into the air as we pass, and the nearly bare trees begin to blur. Natalie's eyes are squeezed shut, but she squeals and laughs. She loves the thrill as much as I do.

  I slow down before I make the final turn on to my parents’ property. My mother will chew me out if she sees me driving that fast. Sneaking a peek at Natalie, I see her chest rise and fall with a deep inhale and exhale. She looks at me and grins.

  “That was fun,” she says, her voice a little breathless, her eyes dilated.

  I wink at her and nod, the car slowly creeping up my parents’ long driveway. We wind around some trees and the house comes into view. Parked out front is my father's black Range Rover, and a white SUV I've never seen before.

  “Your parents repainted,” Natalie murmurs, peering out the windshield.

  Their home, previously painted a light tan, is now a colonial blue. The trim is white, and the door is dark gray. My mom spent ten minutes on the phone with me raving about the door she had found. The wreath hanging from the front is a collection of silver metal that has been bent to look like a giant flower. My mom calls it her only perennial flower. I can see why she loves it so much. Right now, all the living things in her yard have gone dormant.

  I bring the car to a stop and put it in park. Natalie bends down, grabbing her purse and lifting it up to her shoulder. She reaches for the door handle, then pauses and turns back to me.

  “Who is going to be here today? I didn't even think about there being other people since your parents are having it out here.”

  Natalie's fingers run through her hair and she flips down the visor and looks at herself in the mirror.

  “It's my parents, and I think they've invited the neighbors from two houses down.” My mom calle
d earlier this week to remind me that I'm supposed to be coming to our house, as if I could possibly forget. Being a schoolteacher means I'm always well aware of all holidays. Plus, I have Natalie to keep me on track.

  “What about Shawn?”

  “Yes, of course.” I can't remember celebrating a single holiday without my father's personal trainer and best friend. When I was younger, I referred to him as my uncle.

  “Let's go.” I climb from the car and go around to the trunk to unload our bags. Natalie leads the way to the front door. She is wearing her tight jeans, the ones with strategically placed rips in them. It’s hard to admit, even to myself, how much I like how she looks in them.

  My hands are full with both of our bags, so Natalie opens the door and holds it for me. The house smells like cinnamon and turkey. Laughter filters in from the kitchen at the back of the house. Off to the right is the staircase that leads to the bedrooms where we will be staying. I pause there to drop off our bags, then we move on to the kitchen.

  “Aidan!” my mother says when she catches sight of us. She wipes her hands on the bottom corner of her apron and pulls me into a tight hug. She steps back and does the same to Natalie. In a lower voice, I hear her tell Natalie that she looks lovely. Natalie grins and ducks her chin, tucking the hair on the right side of her head behind her ear.

  My dad is only a few paces behind my mom. “My son,” he exclaims, his excitement thickening his accent. He holds my face in his hands and scrunches one eye, pretending to examine me. “You look good,” he declares and hugs me. He moves on to Natalie, who smiles and opens her arms. “You must be the reason he looks so good,” he says, stepping into Natalie's arms.

  Natalie's eyes flicker to me. For half a second she looks taken aback, then she recovers and says, “Diego, stop. You’re making me blush, but fine. I’ll take the credit.”

  My father laughs and steps away, turning and gesturing to the breakfast table. I hadn't noticed three people sitting there.

  He gestures to the man first, and then the woman. “This is John and Melinda, they live next door. And this…” He walks quickly to stand behind the third person's chair. “This is Anna.”

  Anna smiles at me. Her very blonde hair is curled and hangs around her face. I'm not sure how old she is, but I'm guessing she's young. She still has baby fat in her cheeks. Her blue eyes widen as she gets up and walks over to where I’m standing.

  “Hi,” she says, her smile softening. Beside me, Natalie starts digging through her purse. I'm almost positive she's looking for absolutely nothing, she's just trying to look anywhere but at the preening girl in front of her.

  Extending her hand, she says, “I'm Anna. But I guess your father already said that.”

  Shaking her hand, I say, “Nice to meet you, Anna. I'm Aidan. This is Natalie.” Gently I elbow Natalie’s side and she looks up.

  She smiles apologetically at Anna. “Hi. I'd shake your hand, but I can't give up the search for my lip gloss.” Natalie laughs and Anna does too.

  I stare at them, confused. Was that some kind of girl secret message?

  Anna continues to smile, Natalie continues to fake dig. The atmosphere is turning awkward really fast, so I do the only thing I can think to do. I turn my attention to John and Melinda. I offer them a hand, in turn, tell them it's nice to meet them, and then pepper them with questions I don't care about the answers to.

  Anna comes back to her chair at the table and now she's sitting opposite from me. Natalie has apparently given up her search, and now she's beside my mother at the kitchen counter, stirring something in a copper pot on the stove.

  Anna is talking about her class load at NYU, but I'm only half listening. My mother and Natalie are talking, and I'm straining to hear their conversation. I don't know why I’m so interested, just that I am.

  “…thought Shawn was going to be here,” Natalie says.

  My mom responds, but I can't hear because her back is turned to me.

  Natalie leans in closer to my mom and says something in a hushed tone. Her eyes flicker over to me, and when she sees me watching her, she quickly looks away.

  “Aidan, your dad says you're a teacher in the city. What America’s youth like these days?” John’s question brings me firmly back into the conversation at the table.

  I tell him my funny stories. The ones about the jock and his girlfriend who can't keep their hands off each other, the ones about the best excuses I've ever heard for being late or not having completed homework. I don't tell him about the student in my seventh period class who I'm almost certain is throwing up her lunch, or the kid with holes in the bottoms of his shoes. Telling strangers about those kids’ hardships feels like a betrayal.

  John rests an arm across the back of Melinda's chair. “Not so different from us then.” His smile is a tad smug and it irritates me.

  I shake my head in agreement and say nothing. America’s youth, as he put it, will never know life without a smartphone, never have to wait through TV commercials, and will probably have a better work-life balance than his generation ever dreamed of having. But sure, they're totally similar.

  My dad walks back into the kitchen with a tray balancing four red martinis. Shawn is behind him with a tray of four more. “Who is ready for a cocktail before the meal?"

  My hand flies into the air. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Natalie do the same.

  My dad serves my mom first, pretending as though he needs a kiss on the cheek before he can give her the drink. She laughs and obliges, and while Melinda and Anna are aww-ing about it, I watch Natalie. I've always known the heart can yearn for something, but until this moment I never knew you could watch the feeling on someone's face. Her features have softened, and her eyes are wistful.

  I've never understood Natalie's obsession with love. Is she not frightened by the power love wields? Twenty years ago my mom wrote a story about love, and she still gets letters about how it has changed people’s lives and convinced them that love is worth the risk. It is only the written word, and it holds power. What would the real thing be like?

  Glass clinks on the tabletop as Shawn places a martini in front of me. I look up to thank him and offer him a handshake. Shawn grabs my hand in his and claps me on the back. I cough and lean forward as though he is hurting me, but it's not that far from the truth. Years of personal training have ensured that Shawn is basically like a brick.

  “Maybe we ought to get you back in the gym. Toughen you up a bit.” He delivers a light one-two punch in my arm.

  Shawn is tall, with broad shoulders and perfect, white teeth. His muscles are long and lean. I’ve never seen him in anything but tiptop shape.

  “No way. I'm not going back to the gym with you. You’re a maniac.”

  Shawn raises his glass, and everybody follows suit. “To maniacs.”

  I meet Natalie's gaze. “To maniacs,” we repeat, our eyes on each other, both of us laughing after we say it. Natalie lifts her glass an inch higher, a second toast meant only for me. I mimic her and wink, then toss back the drink. It tastes of cranberry and orange, and it's strong. The drink is chilled, but instantly my chest feels a few degrees warmer.

  Natalie puckers her lips after a small sip. “That,” she says, setting it down and pointing at the glass, “is trouble.”

  “That,” Anna says, doing the same as Natalie, “is delicious.”

  My mother announces that dinner will be ready in five minutes, and I take that time to take our bags upstairs. Natalie follows, stopping at the foot of the bed where she'll be sleeping. She reaches for her bag and unzips it.

  “Anna seems nice.” Natalie removes items from her bag as she speaks.

  I shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Natalie gives me an exasperated look. “Don't tell me you don't know what's going on here.”

  Her question confuses me. “Apparently you know something I don't. Care to share your knowledge?”

  Natalie rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “How can you be so thick?” She
removes a pair of black leggings from her bag and sets them on the bed.

  Patting my stomach, I say, “I mean, maybe I should take Shawn up on his offer. I could learn to like the gym.”

  Natalie pulls out her toiletry bag and walks into the adjoining bathroom. Peering into the mirror, she rubs a fingertip under each eye, and says, “They're trying to set you up with Anna.”

  Oh. I guess I am thick.

  Natalie looks at me through the mirror and laughs. “Poor Aidan. You had no idea. Not that it matters. Aren’t you seeing Allison?”

  I'm not only surprised about this, I’m irritated. “It's pretty bold to set me up with someone when I'm bringing a girl with me." Allison doesn’t even factor in. I called her two days ago and told her we were finished. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant phone call, but after I ended our last date with a fake migraine, I knew it was over. Our arrangement was casual, and Allison knew that, but when she responded with You know what Aidan? Go fuck yourself I realized perhaps things weren’t as casual for her.

  Natalie straightens and turns, resting the heels of her palms on the countertop behind her. Her gaze is bold and strong. “I’m sure they prepped Anna beforehand. She was expecting you to walk in with me, but she knew I wasn't a threat to her.”

  Aren’t you?

  The question tumbles through my body, shocking my brain, immobilizing my tongue and confusing my heart.

  I can see my reflection in the mirror. I'm slack-jawed and my eyes are wide, and there is not a thing I can do about it. I am stunned.

  Natalie's head tips to the side and her eyes become worried. “Aidan are you—”

  “Dinner!” My mother’s voice carries upstairs. It's a shame she didn't have more kids, she has the projection to yell for many more people.

  “Let's go,” I say hastily, spinning around and hurrying through the bedroom. My bag still sits on Natalie's bed, but I can deal with that later. For now, I just need to get out of here. Natalie's four steps behind me the entire way to the table, and I can't imagine what she must be thinking.