Love and Other Theories by Alexis Bass

Thanksgiving weekend, he was too busy reuniting with his old friends and boasting about college parties, football games, and sorority girls to spend much time with me. We made out in my driveway for about five minutes,but that was it. He spent Christmas at his mom’s house, four hours away, so I didn’t see him at all over winter break, even though I heard he made a two-day stop at his father’s house.
    I shrug. “If you want.” My car sounds the way it always sounds. It’s just been a while since Trip’s heard it.
    His eyebrows twitch, and I can tell by that one gesture that he was hoping I would flirt back.
    My lips are begging to smile. It’s the pride thing again. Smiling is a knee-jerk reaction to seeing Trip Chapman, to having someone like Trip Chapman come toward you as if you’re the only person he’s ever wanted to see, so I can’t help that. But that’s all it is.
    “What’s up?” I ask him casually. As if it’s just another day and it hasn’t been almost three months since I’ve seen him—since I’ve kissed him. I take a deep breath. I never expected Trip to call after he left for college. I never expected him to see him again like this—even though State is only an hour away.
    He blows past the moment and opens his arms to hug me. I allow myself to curl up into him.
    “So, here you are.” Trip always speaks slowly, but he never sounds stupid. After you spend some time around him, you realize that the delay actually serves as anticipation for whatever amazingly perfect statement is going to come out of his mouth next. Trip always, without fail, says exactly what you want to hear at the exact momentyou want to hear it. Even if you yourself don’t know what you want to be told, Trip will tell you. Right now he says, “It’s been too long, Housing. I don’t know why I waited so long. . . .”
    I don’t say anything; I let go of him.
    “You used to be over here all the time last summer. Remember?”
    I nod. It was only eight months ago. Even though I had a curfew and he had a summer job at the auto-body shop, we still managed to see each other every day. We never clarified what exactly we meant to each other, or if either of us was allowed to see other people. Bottom line: I was having fun. And I think he was too. When Trip left for State, he said, “See you later,” but we both knew he probably wouldn’t. I didn’t even cry. There was a moment when my chest tightened and my mouth got dry, but I didn’t cry. I slept for about two days straight after he left. That’s it. I’d known exactly what to expect.
    “Talk some sense into him, will ya, Aubrey?” Trip’s father, Earl, is on the front porch. He kicks the wooden chair next to his with his foot, gesturing for me to sit. I’ve always liked Earl. There are three beer cans sitting on the ground beside him and he’s nursing his fourth. There is one beer next to Trip’s chair, still full and getting frosty with the cold.
    “Are you thirsty, honey?” Earl asks as Trip picks up his beer and Earl notices I’m the only one without a can.
    “No beer for me, thanks.” I smile. Earl always offers, even though I’m four years shy of the legal drinking age, because it’s the polite thing to do. Earl is young for a dad and he looks it, with his thick head of sandy hair and his handlebar mustache. People around town always refer to Earl, Zane, and Trip as the Chapman Boys. Boys . It’s very accurate. Shelby used to call the Chapman house the frat house.
    “Dad, Aubrey’s cold. Look at her, she’s shivering. I’m taking her inside.” He grabs my hand and leads me through the front door.
    “Have a nice chat,” Earl calls to us.
    “Oh, we will ,” Trip says back, but he smiles in a way that says we won’t be talking at all.
    I let go of Trip’s hand once we’re inside. “So?”
    He doesn’t answer me as we walk into the living room, where Zane is snoring loudly on the plaid couch while a basketball game blares on the