Page 18 of Later Bloom

She thinks again of downloading an app. She’s been holding back until now—not sending messages, not swiping through the men of Lunenburg, not letting herself try. She wonders how much longer she’ll hold off.

She knows it won’t be long at all.

Reservations pick up quickly over the next couple weeks. Guests check in and out every few days, a mix of curious locals and summer tourists. Aubrey finds comfort in her new customer service routine, the speech you come up with after a while of going through the same motions. Hi, welcome, are you checking in? Oh, wonderful, let’s see what we can do for you. Are you celebrating anything special? Wow, this many years together, that’s wonderful. Oh, really, that’s your secret? Amazing. No, no I’m single, so I haven’t had the chance to stay here with my partner. Ah, well, you know, it’s really okay, I don’t mind being on my own. No, really, it’s all good. Follow me up to the second floor, please.

At the pharmacy, she gets stopped by a woman who asks her if she’s Louise’s niece. When Aubrey says yes, the woman laughs gently, to herself, and says, “I’ve heard you’re the exact same as her. Stubborn as a mule, huh?”

Aubrey isn’t too sure what to say to that. The woman adds, “So long as you don’t end up like her, you’ll be just fine!”

Louise and Aubrey see less of each other. Louise works her other job and Aubrey hangs around The Beauchamp most of the time to make sure guests are tended to. Sometimes they eat lunch together in the kitchen and talk about how things are going, what they should order more of, what ridiculous request they’d heard that day.

They don’t talk about men, but Aubrey thinks about them and she knows her aunt does too. There’s this unspoken rule between them now, that if they are to be the resilient, secure women they aim to be, that topic should stay off the table. It’s the opposite of what their relationship used to be. Living with Louise now, Aubrey has never been more aware of how impossible it feels to navigate life without talking about relationships with other people. Even when you’re single, whether you’re looking for someone or not, pretending really hard not to notice or care or truly feeling better and happier alone, it’s just always there. So easy to grasp at when there’s a lull in the conversation. How’s it going with so and so? Have you met anyone recently? Aubrey asks Maggie how her dates have been, each and every one of them, and every time she itches to hear every little detail. Even now, though Louise has always insisted she’s much happier on her own, Aubrey secretly waits for the day her aunt might announce she’s met someone, or been asked out at work, or reconnected with a past lover. Part of Aubrey, she knows very well, is just as bad as everyone who centres relationships and romantic connections as sorts of standards to uphold.

She’s not sure why she thought things would be different in the remote safety of Lunenburg. It’s only been a few weeks, and things are already settling into familiar patterns. At least she’s still holding off perusing the online profiles of local singles.

“Oh, come on, why won’t you?”

Aubrey laughs. It’s late at night in the middle of July. The windows are open. She sits cross-legged on the floor of the inn’s living room with her laptop on the coffee table. Maggie’s face fills the screen.

“I’m just not ready to see what’s out there,” Aubrey says. “I do want to. I just haven’t done it yet.”

Maggie scoffs. “I would’ve downloaded everything available on the very first day. Have you left the house even once?”

“Of course I’ve left the house. I’ve seen all the touristy things, the waterfront and the parks. It’s a lovely town. Very uphill.”

“Have you gone out for drinks?”

“I get so little time off. I’m certainly not spending it drinking alone.” Aubrey grimaces. An empty glass of wine sits next to her laptop. “At least not in public.”

“Please get one of those apps now and swipe through a few profiles with me. Please.” Maggie is sitting on her bed with her legs drawn to her chest. She rests her cheek against her knee and waits.

“Fine.” Aubrey unlocks her phone and says without looking up, “You sound tired.”

“I am, yeah. Exhausted.”

“How come?”

“I miss you.”

It doesn’t take long to redownload the last app Aubrey deleted off her device. She says, “I miss you, too.”

“Yes, but you have it nice.”

“So do you, yeah?”

Maggie hums. “I haven’t been out with anyone in weeks. If I’m not heading to the office I don’t have much of a reason to leave my room.”

If only she were by Aubrey’s side now, picking a new profile picture and writing an amusing yet enticing description for her instead of sitting so still on her computer screen. “You’ll come up here and visit soon, won’t you? Before the weather turns miserable.”

“Of course.” Maggie pulls a face. “What will you do in the winter, when all the tourists leave?”

Aubrey sets her distance and age preferences and sighs. “I don’t know yet. Easier to leave it to later.”

“A very you thing to say.”

Aubrey pretends it’s a compliment. It reminds her more of Louise. “Should I show you every profile as I swipe along?”

Maggie sits up then. “Yes. I don’t trust your judgment much anymore.”