Page 112 of Townshipped
She hugs with such abandon. It’s always been like that with her. She never holds back—unapologetically living out loud, saying what she thinks and expressing her colorful personality.
She gives me another squeeze, then she says, “Now let’s get out there and get you home.”
We join my parents and Aiden in the living room. Conversation is formal, causing the house I’ve called home to feel unfamiliar. Aiden catches my eye several times from across the room, but avoids any lingering glances. His aloofness only confirms what I told Gabriela in my room. We care for one another. We shared some amazing moments, but, for him, it’s a chapter that’s closing.
Dad announces that we’d better head out to make our flight. He stands and shakes Aiden’s hand. Mom gives Aiden one of those hugs that ensures you barely touch one another, thanking him politely.
Gabriela grabs Aiden and pulls him into a hug that causes me to say, “Okay, now. That’s enough.” She laughs hard and winks at me as she pulls away.
“I’ll just meet you at the car,” she says. “Thank you again, Aiden, for caring for la hermana de mi corazón.”
The sister of her heart.
“It’s been no hardship,” he says.
He’s another Aiden today, not the man who relaxed with me in the evenings, or made me laugh, or kissed me like I was everything to him.
He’s this boxed-up Aiden. A mechanical wind-up toy—a cheap copy with none of the heart or personality of the original.
“Could you give us a minute?” Aiden asks Gabriela.
“Of course,” she says, her eyes turning serious, her voice tender. “Of course.”
She turns to me. “Take your time, mija. Your dad’s being extra cautious. What’s the hurry? We’re only going to sit in those uncomfortable airport seats at the departure gate staring at strangers for a few hours if we leave now.”
She walks out the front door, and Aiden and I are left alone, this new awkwardness hovering around us.
“So …” I start to say, at the same time as he says, “Em …”
Nervous laughter sputters out of each of us.
I wait.
“Em,” Aiden says, walking toward me a step.
Will he kiss me again? I know he won’t. Our days of kissing are over. The kisses were something that happened because two single young adults were thrown into close proximity and endured a trauma together. And now that the trauma is over and the proximity broken, we’re not those people to one another anymore.
He’ll always be that man to me, but I’m something different to him. Not the woman I thought I was in his life. Not rejected, just not the one.
“Em. I … I just want you to know I’m never going to regret you being here. You. You’re special. And I hope you know that.”
He looks like there’s more he wants to say. Or maybe I’m just wishing he would say something else.
Stay.
That’s the only word he’d have to say. One small word would alter our future.
But he doesn’t say it. Instead he stands resolute, warm and kind, but just out of reach.
“You saved my life,” I say, feeling my emotions swell beyond my control at the realization. “I wouldn’t have made it without you. And you gave me a home. You’ve been a good friend to me, Aiden.”
I have to say it. He has been a friend. In my heart, he’s been so much more. But he doesn’t deserve that burden. He’s got the kids to care for and so many responsibilities. If I shared my real feelings—how much more he means to me than he knows—he would feel responsible to do something about it.
Because he’s Aiden, and fixing things and people is what he does. He never met a cause he couldn’t get behind, or a need he didn’t feel compelled to fill. His friends joke about it, but it’s true and I can’t put him in that position. He needs to be free to focus on what’s next without worrying about taking care of my heart.
Aiden nods. “I’m glad I could be a good friend to you.”
His face glazes over and he looks at the door behind me. Then he looks back at me, softening his eyes and scanning my face.
