“Honestly, I just want to go to Columbia,” Aiden admits, torso lying against the kitchen counter, his arms splayed out and fingertips dangling off the very edges. Against the white and gray kitchen, Aiden pops harshly, and it hurts my eyes. “It's in New York, and my grandparents live in Mamaroneck, so I could come back on weekends if I wanted to.” His eyes linger on me for a moment, as if he's saying, And I could go see you, too. But the second he looks away, he grunts. “I'd even be happy with community college.”

“What's with the other ones, then?” I'm draped over the back of the couch, watching him.

Aiden moved away first. In our strange, semi-constipated standoff, he backed down first. Maybe he realized he let too many things slip, or he physically needed to put distance between us before dropping another truth bomb. But he groans, and I can see the condensation form on the countertop. “Mom and Dad said I should aim high. Said I shouldn't be aiming for one school when I have the talent for something better. I – ” He sits up, arms outstretched. “I didn't want to say 'no' to them. It feels selfish to say that. Like, they’re going to be the ones paying for a good chunk of it, so shouldn’t their opinion matter?”

“And it's selfish to not go for Columbia?”

“Just because I want something doesn’t mean it’s a ‘need’,” he points out. “But I don’t know. If I have the talent for something more, why should I limit myself?”

I glance around the house. “Where are your parents tonight?”

“Vacationing in Amsterdam. They like going for a couple months this time of year.”

“And they leave you alone?”

His easy smile returns full-force. “I can take care of myself,” he says lightly. “I'm pretty good at it, now. I know how to cook, clean. I can do my own laundry. I'm a catch for anyone.” The corners of his mouth turn down slightly.

“...how long have they left you alone?”

He looks at me. No yearning or wanting, but surprised. He opens his mouth and cocks his head to the side, ready to rebuff my question, but his expressions soften. Maybe staying up so late is wearing on him the same way it's wearing on me. “They are around,” he starts hesitantly, “and I know they're busy with work and stuff.” Sometimes, it's not enough for me, he wants to add. He doesn't. Aiden drums his fingers against the countertop.

I frown.

“Has your mom gotten back to you yet?”

I shake my head. “No. Not even a text message.” I prop myself up. “What do you want after graduation, then?”

Aiden does the same. He looks at me from five feet away, and he does that amazing thing where it feels like we're the only ones in the world left. His attention, of course, is undividedly on me, but it's much more intense now. “Something I can't want.”

“...what?”

“What I want,” he starts, “I can't...it's selfish of me. And there's a ton of uncertainty in it, too.”

He's not talking about colleges anymore. “Is it a want, or a need?”

“Both.”

“It can only be one,” I tell him.

Aiden shakes his head.

“You could have everything, Aiden,” I whisper, head swimming in exhaustion. I don't care anymore.

“I don't want everything.” His eyes linger on me.

“You could,” I say.

“I don't. I want to believe in a sure thing. I don't want to taste hope for the rest of eternity. It's exhausting to keep...hoping for something that can't happen.”

“You never know.”

He runs hands through his hair. “I don't...I want to believe that what I want is a sure thing. That it’s a genuine need. That if I hope hard enough, it'll happen, but I don't want to feel like I'm dragging something down because I've fixated on it because that's selfish.” He grunts, and covers his face. “But it's getting overwhelming. It's getting so hard, sometimes, to ignore it, because it, like, sticks its handsome head – annoy – it sticks itself right in my face, and I'm back wanting and wanting and scared to do anything.”

Scared? Really? I sigh and look away. “Well, at least you could have everything.”

“I don't. Want. Everything,” he says again, the words flatted by his tone. “I know I was born lucky. I know what I’m about, but I don’t want things, Tom. I need things. ”

“Spoken like a true Brookfellian,” I snicker.

“Tom,” he says. It’s more hurt than I was expecting. “Y – you could have everything, too. You work hard enough for it.”

I don’t need this conversation on me. “I don't want everything. I don't want anything.”

Aiden blinks. “What do you mean? You have a plan – ”

“I know what I said.” Rigidity pains my body, but I can't move. “I don't know what I want. Now or after college.”

“You have a plan, though.”

“Just because I have one doesn't mean anything,” I say, shooting him a pointed look. The air stings. I want to explain myself to him, but I don't know how many words I can say without reiterating my point over and over.

Pain sweeps over Aiden's features. It's not a look he can wear, and I want to rub away the hardness on his face until he's smiling again. And then he slides along the counter, closing the distance between us until we're about two feet away. His arms rest along the counter's edge, hands uncurled. The openness in his posture is so endearing that I have to look away. “But if you could have anything – ”

“Even if I could have everything, that doesn't change the fact that I don't know what 'everything' is.. Doesn't change the fact that I, not only don’t want it, but what I need is still selfish to even consider it. Having a plan – even if it’s someone else’s – makes things easier for me to deal with. No choices to make means I can't stray from it.” I look at his feet, crossing and uncrossing over the shiny stone floor, before sighing. “You know, you could probably be so 'selfish' if you wanted to.”

His feet stay crossed. His posture stiffens.

“I mean, you're well-liked, popular, handsome. You could have anyone, do anything. You could take as much as you wanted to.”