Page 113 of Townshipped
“May I give you a hug goodbye?” he asks.
“Please,” I say, even though hugging him will be bittersweet.
He moves in and pulls me toward himself. My body folds into his embrace. Memories of each of our kisses flood me, followed by the night when he held me after my nightmare here on the farm, and the way he was so rattled when I screamed in the hotel.
I hold him to me, afraid to lift my face because I might kiss him even though it would be the worst idea in the history of ideas. He smooths a hand down my back and up again, pulling me closer with his strong grip. We stand together holding on to what we’ve shared for a few more minutes.
“You’ll be missed around here.”
“I’ll miss this place too,” I say as he relinquishes me, forcing me to take a step backward so I don’t stand there clinging to him like a dryer sheet or one of those random socks that grips on to a shirt and tries to blend in like it’s not a sock attached to a shirt.
That would be my preference, latching on to Aiden and just traveling through life like his stray sock.
“We’d better get you out there so you don’t miss your flight.”
“Dad’s probably checking the traffic for the tenth time already.”
“He seems nice,” Aiden says as he makes a move to walk toward the door.
“He’s a good dad.”
The words feel like unseasoned food in my mouth. We’re talking about nothing. This man who seemed like he could wordlessly read my very soul is now reduced to exchanging small talk as I walk toward a car to leave this place for good.
I won’t cry. Not now. I’ll keep it together for him.
It’s the least he deserves after all he’s done for me.
38
AIDEN
Iwatch the string of cars pull away down the driveway, forcing myself not to break into a jog worthy of an Academy Award–winning romance film, chasing the car and shouting, “Em, Em! Come back! I need you!” or any Nicholas Sparks–induced outburst. This isn’t the movies and we’re not even officially a couple.
Instead of sprinting after her like a lovesick fool, I stand rooted to the ground impersonating a statue entitled,Farmer Watching Houseguest Leave the Farm. As if she were only a houseguest. I may as well be made of stone. I don’t know my own mind and I can’t feel my heart. Then, my phone buzzes in my pocket, snapping me out of my focus on the last glimpse of the three vehicles as they disappear down the road.
I pull my cell out and smile when I read the text.
Em:Thanks for everything.
What do I say? A thousand things come to mind. I settle on something simple and non-committal.
Aiden:You’re welcome. Anytime.
Em:So, like, anytime I want to crash into a tree, you’re down for it?
I laugh, and then an ache blooms in my chest, so powerful, it’s almost physical.
She’s it.
And I’m letting her go.
I question my own sanity. But then I remind myself I’m letting go because I have to. Em needs this chance to be fully immersed in her old life—to reconnect and determine what she wants—to be Mallory O’Brien, whomever that is. She deserves the opportunity to choose what’s next, even if it guts me to give it to her.
Aiden:Exactly. I’ve got just the tree, in case you ever need to crash somewhere again.
Em:Good to know I’ve got a place to crash.
Em:Sorry, that came out wrong.
