AFTER PARTY : a short story

Chapter 2

My social battery's already pretty low when Aiden brings out the "Congrats to the Cast and Crew" cake, of course with a medley of ice creams to add as a side. He cuts it in perfect squares, monstrosities of dark blue and gold that stain teeth and tongue, and everyone kind of swoons over how he does it. To be fair, though, he has a coolness as he cuts. Aiden's able to maintain conversation and cut the cake without any issue.

The cake smells too sweet for me, but Aiden's fingers brush over mine when he hands me my slice, and his eyes widen so slightly that I'm momentarily distracted by how much a single thing can brighten his mood; it's almost amazing to see. He smiles, and it's so unbearably bright, and tells me to enjoy it, and I'm left half eating a cake that's too sugary and dry for me to stand.

Aiden eats his with a slowness that irks me, with a great scoop of raspberry ripple ice cream.

People begin peeling off about half an hour after the cake is cut. It's almost ten thirty, and the seniors give excuses about homework and finals prep, and Aiden smiles his easy smile and tells them to have fun, and that he'll see them on Monday. They're going drinking. This is a baby party to them, and I don't doubt they'd rather spend their last few months before college eating cake and not drinking. Esther Walters offers the excuse that she needs to "get home". She's afraid, holding herself close and taking up as small a space as possible. Aiden hugs her, and she disappears, leaving behind her stripping gingerbread Christmas ornaments.

"Is your mom picking you up?" Aiden asks me. The kitchen is a bigger space without so many people wrapped around the island, and the sounds are wider, louder. Despite how many people were here at the party's peak, the room is immaculately kept up and tidy (no doubt thanks to Aiden bopping around and keeping everything clean). The smell of pizza and cake mingles in an awkward waltz that turns in my stomach. It gives me a bit of a headache, but Aiden makes it feel like we're the only two people around.

It's wildly uncomfortable. "Yeah." I check my phone if only to avoid looking at him. "She said she'd be here by ten."

"Oh." Aiden pauses. "Okay."

"She's running late," I offer, but I don't know if I sound genuine.

"Do you want to take some of the pizza home with you?"

"Maybe. Mom doesn't like food waste, but she also doesn't like Hawaiian pizza." Sometimes, I wish I didn't like Hawaiian, either.

"Let me try some," he says, reaching over me to grab a cold slice.

"You don't have to," I say. "I doubt you'll like it."

He still takes a bite. The immediate reaction is small – the slight widening of his eyes and the fall of his cheeks – before he smiles at me. "It's different," Aiden says, smiling as he swallows the bite. "Not bad." He opens his mouth for another.

I put my hand on his arm. "If you don't like it, you don't have to eat it. It's fine."

"I said I'd try it. One bite does not a try make."

"Aiden, I've accepted the reality that not everyone likes pineapple and ham on pizza. You do not have to eat it if you don't like it."

He takes another bite, chewing it slowly. Mournfully. It's painfully comical. "You know," he starts, a muscle in his neck tensing, "the pineapple really – it really – " His facial movements are so minuscule, but his eyes scream that this is an affront to food.

I snort and look away. "Just spit it out. You hate it. It's okay."

"Oh, thank God." Aiden barely touches me as he moves past me, around the island, and spits into the concealed trash can. It sounds like gagging as he does, but he straightens out, wipes his mouth, and turns back to me. "Sor – "