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I’m proud of me too. Relieved, even though me graduating will actually complicate our relationship.
I take a deep breath, inhaling her scent. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“This was all you, Aidan. You knew the material already. You just needed to, you know, show that.”
“I wouldn’t have showed anything, if not for you.”
She rolls her eyes.
“I mean it. You encouraged me. Believed in me. That meant everything.”
Her expression softens before she kisses me again. “C’mon. We’re going to be late, and you already didn’t make a great first impression.” She smirks, then climbs into my truck.
I roll my eyes and head for the driver’s side.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
RYLAN
I’ve never had a guy come over to my parents’ house for dinner before. Visit the house I grew up in, that’s filled with reminders of my childhood. My cement handprints are on the front walk. The walls are covered with photos I took and elementary school art projects. Several of my school photos are attached to the fridge with magnets.
My parents met Walker once, the one time they came to Boston during my sophomore year, and it did not go that well. After about ten minutes, I could tell they didn’t like him, and Walker never made much effort to sway their opinion toward the positive.
Everything about tonight feels different, from the moment my mom opens the front door and points out the handprints. I avoid Aidan’s amused gaze as she tells the story of how excited I was to make them.
She beams at our clasped hands as we enter the house, then fawns over the bouquet of flowers Aidan brought her. Launches into a series of questions as soon as we’re seated in the living room.
My mom adores him, just like I knew she would.
My dad isn’t the stern presence I thought he’d be either. He doesn’t say much from his seat in his favorite armchair, but he’s not scowling or grumbling. He mostly watches us, taking careful note of Aidan’s hand on my knee. He rests his hand there every time we drive somewhere too, and it’s become natural. And my dad’s expression isn’t disapproving, just assessing. Just like he seems to notice how Aidan gets up to refill my drink as soon as I finish it.
My dad and I haven’t discussed Aidan beyond the awkward “Sorry about this morning,” delivered by me right after Holt won the championship. I think my conversation with my mom helped a lot more. I’m sure she passed along everything I told her.
I figured tonight’s dinner invitation was a result of my mom twisting my dad’s arm. But my dad accepts Aidan’s offer to help with the grilling readily enough, and I can see their lips moving while they’re standing on the back patio so they’re not standing in silence. Hopefully they’re discussing hockey, not me.
It’s rainy and cold out, but they seem determined not to let it impinge on the barbecue efforts.
My mom and I end up in the kitchen, her tossing the salad while I sip on wine.
“You like him?” I ask.
She nods. “He’s very charming. Polite. Good-looking.” I make a face, and she smiles. “But you know what my favorite thing about Aidan is?”
“What?”
My mom points the salad tongs she’s holding at me. “That smile on your face.”
I take a sip of wine, pretty sure I’m blushing. “Do you think Dad’ll be okay with it?”
“I think having your kid grow up is bittersweet. We’re both soproud of you, Rylan. But…you’re his little girl.” My mom smiles. “And I’m positive it didn’t occur to him this is how the tutoring arrangement he set up might go. Between that and the way he found out…it threw him for a loop. Just give him a chance to readjust.”
I nod, then glance toward the patio. They’re still talking, which is hopefully a good sign.
“Do you think I made a mistake?” I ask my mom. “Me not starting at Holt as a freshman?”
“Doyouthink it was a mistake?” she counters.
I lift a shoulder, then let it drop. “I don’t know. Part of me thinks so, since it’s felt right being here in a way it never felt in Boston. I thought I just needed time to get comfortable there, that everything would start to make sense, and it never did. Then I came here and everything was so much easier, from the start. I hate thinking I missed out on that for two years. But then part of me thinks…maybe Ineededto go to another school to appreciate Holt. Does that make any sense?”
