“Yeah,” he says shortly, the undercurrent of his tone surprisingly bitter. I’m not used to that from Aidan, he’s usually all smiles and jokes. “Right before she left and pretty much dumped Willa on the Scotts.” His aggravation shows as he ruffles through the clothes more roughly. “She’s probably on a beach somewhere with this douchebag she met when we were in high school.” He says begrudgingly.
“They are so many clothes in here. Can you just pick something?” I smile at him and go for a light grey V-neck T-shirt and a pair of black jeans and hand them to him.
“I asked her to stay,” he says out of nowhere. I look at him surprised by the solemnity in his words. There’s no playful glint in his eye, but his look is almost regretful. My eyes widen because I’ve never seen him like this before.
“I would have helped her…” he trails off eying the clothes I just handed him. “This isn’t Chris’s, is it?” he changes the subject and his shift in tone is startling.
“Uhm no,” I tell him. My eyes fall on the T-shirt and jeans and my thoughts shift to Cal. His eyes find mine, and he looks at me contemplatively.
“When I met that Collin dude…” he half-chuckles. “It was weird. I was seeing Chris but not seeing him. I admit I was sort of drunk but… I thought about you, and how it must have been when you met Chris… then Collin.” He looks at me almost sympathetically.
“I know they’re all one person technically, but I have to hand it to you for keeping it all straight,” he says with a half-smile.
“Thanks, Aidan. That means a lot to me.”
“I can cook a little. Just most things tend to be more of the out the box and warm it up variety,” Hillary tells my mom as she watches her clean the chicken wings she’s making for tonight.
“It’s not as hard as it looks. It just takes a little time and patience,” my mom tells her.
“And you cook?” Hillary asks me skeptically.
“I learned from the best.” I throw my arm around my mom’s shoulder.
“Huh. You never used to cook as Cal.” Hillary looks at me skeptically, oblivious to how awkward the statement she just let fly out of her mouth is. I don’t know much about Hillary other than that she’s Lauren’s best friend and that she threw water in Jenna’s face the last time I saw her. Based on that I get that she’s not exactly politically correct.
“Chris is an amazing cook. I’ve been teaching him since he was a little boy,” my mom interjects saving me from an awkward response. “What about you Hillary—did your mom or dad cook?”
She lightly shrugs. “My dad? That’s a laugh.” She chuckles. “My parents are very traditional—meaning a century backward. My mom does all the cooking, all the cleaning, basically an indentured slave,” she says haughtily. “What about your husband—does he cook?" And now the awkwardness that we just managed to avoid is back full force.
“Not really, but only because I enjoy it so much there was never really a need for him to,” my mom answers back politely.
“When I get married—unless he wants food poisoning—my husband will have to be as good in the kitchen as he is in the bedroom.” She laughs and my mom looks down at the food awkwardly.
I let out a short laugh. This girl and Aidan together seems like it would be nothing but trouble. She’s obviously a firecracker and he’s a wrecking ball, and together they’re a path of destruction. But that’s looking too far ahead. I can’t remember the last time he’s been serious with a girl—not that them being here means that he’s serious—maybe they’re just having fun. I hope so, at least because if things go bad with them—and I don’t see things ending amicably—Lauren and I have enough of our own problems to deal with.
“What do you think?” Aidan comes into the kitchen and does a model pose from Zoolander.
“Very handsome,” my mom tells him excitedly.
“I like,” Hillary agrees with a dramatic smile.
“You look okay I guess.”
“Says the guy who stole my old haircut.” He slaps me on the back of the head, and I slap him back.
“Okay, we should know better than to roughhouse in the kitchen,” my mom tells us, taking me back to when I was twelve.
We all head out of the kitchen and sit down in the living room.
“I’m going to go see what Lauren’s up to,” Hillary says before heading up the stairs and I notice Aidan watching her walk away.
“Seriously Aidan,” I scold him once she’s out of earshot.
“What?” he asks innocently.
“Lauren’s best friend?” I frown at him and he laughs.
“We’re just having fun. Nothing serious I promise.” He holds up his fingers in the scout’s honor promise. “Enough about me though. What about you? Are you cool?”
“Yeah I am,” I tell him with a smile
“I mean looking at this place it looks like you are,” he says.
“Yeah, I’ve got to show you the cars.” I laugh.
“Besides the Audi?”
“There’s a Porsche and one of the new Jeeps.” Aidan’s been obsessed with cars since we were kids, and not just in the way most guys are. He could give you a full history of almost any brand you name, his favorite being Chevy. When we were in high school, he had two cars he fully restored and sold by the time he turned twenty-one.
“Oh man, I’ve got to see them.” He jumps up from the couch. I snatch my keys off the table and yell to my mom that we’re heading to the garage. Once we make it down, he stops at the Porsche and does a long whistle sliding his hand across the hood.
“So, this is your life?” Aidan asks dramatically, obviously impressed.
“Yeah.” I breathe out as I pop the locks to the car and toss him the keys. He looks just as excited as a kid in a candy store.
“I know you don’t like this Cal guy, but you can’t fault him on taste. I’ve got to get on a highway because these streets are ridiculous,” he says as we pull out.
“Yeah, I’m still getting used to them,” I admit. Navigating downtown Chicago is like the Wild West. People cut in front of you, pedestrians jaywalk in hoards, and the cabdrivers are the worst—I don’t know how any of them have licenses.
“So catch me up. You’ve been gone for awhile.”
“Yeah, it sucks too,” I grumble.
“I saw you… or Collin about a month ago.”
“You did?” I ask surprised.
He nods. “Yup.”
It’s so strange to hear things like this, to not remember any of it. “How was he or I?” I correct myself remembering Helen’s earlier words.
“Honestly I was sort of drunk.” I frown at him. “But he looked like you, dude. Well you if you had a designer haircut and graduated from some Ivy League school,” Aidan says. He laughs, and then quickly turns serious “You don’t remember anything?”
“No, not while I was him.” I try to get more used to the face of all these sides of me being me and not another person. Helen’s been stressing that. “When I blacked out, the last thing I remembered before coming to was the thing that happened at my parent’s house.” There’s an awkward silence that stretches longer than I expect it to.