Page 34 of Later Bloom

“It’s fine. I think I get it well enough.”

“I think so, too.”

They slow to a halt on the curb in front of the house. “Well, this is you, then,” Arthur says.

Just like that, the conversation is over. “Thanks again for tonight,” Aubrey replies.

He looks at her for a second, which she would find awkward except it isn’t. She smiles, a reflex she resorts to when she can’t think of anything to say or do.

Then Arthur says simply, “People will still want to stick around you no matter where the story goes, you know.”

Aubrey feels like she might break a little if she speaks, so she scrunches up her nose and looks around for an excuse not to answer. She’s not sure why he said that, or why it prompted that twinge in her chest. Arthur adds, “I mean, we’re not hanging out with you just to find out what happens with your dating status. You’re just fun to be around, simple as that.”

“Well, thanks.” Then it feels wrong not to say, “Right back at you.”

“I’ll see you next Monday, then.” He bows his head in a quick nod, then starts backing up down the street, with his hands in his pockets. The road is littered with a few dark leaves. The wind smells different, crisper. “Or maybe before that, I don’t know. I’ll let you know if anything’s happening, yeah?”

“Yes, okay.” Aubrey has to physically hold herself back from waving, but she nods enthusiastically. “Sounds good!”

She watches him walk away for a moment.

Summer draws to a slow close.

Chapter Ten

The arbitrary deadline doesn’t disappear, but time starts to move faster, as it often does when life feels a little easier.

Autumn is so beautiful in Lunenburg that it stifles thoughts of the future. It’s a crime to think of later days as the leaves turn deep shades of red and the town slows to a crawl.

Reservations are fewer at The Beauchamp, and some rooms sit empty for days on end. Aubrey likes to tidy up in there when the days grow long. She finds little souvenirs of their guests’ stay in the changed angle of the cushions or the bottle of perfume someone left on the dresser. Once in a while, the computer pings with a new message, and she reads the emails with her chin in her hand and her knees folded to her chest. People thank her for her time and promise to return, like you always do after you visit somewhere new, where real life doesn’t exist and all you have to worry about is what outfit to wear for dinner.

Arthur takes longer to do his deliveries, even though there are fewer crates. Often, he and Aubrey sit at the table and talk about something that happened between neighbours, or Arthur tells Aubrey what it was like growing up around town. How he went to the waterfront every Saturday morning with his parents, how he wished so desperately for a sibling. How weird it is to stick around even though he can’t imagine leaving.

Louise works more shifts, leaves the house early, and gets home late. Or maybe it just feels this way because it’s very quiet all the time. She and Aubrey speak less. Maybe she should’ve let Louise play matchmaker with her after all and pretended to go along with it to avoid this, now—smiling in passing and saying “Hey, slept well?” to her aunt in the morning as they’re both on their way out.

Sometimes they have dinner together in the kitchen while the guests eat out in the dining room. They sit at the little round table and hum in approval of Louise’s cooking. Once in a while, Louise will set down her cutlery and say, “We’ve got one check-in tomorrow, and then the suite is checking out as well.”

And Aubrey will nod and say, “Great, yeah.”

The silence is always welcome but not always comfortable.

Today, Louise asks, “So, how’ve you been, then?”

Aubrey picks at the blueberries on the table and pops them in her mouth. She smiles around a mouthful and says, “More or less the same, I’m afraid.”

There’s a pot of tea on the stove, filling the room with its scent of chamomile. When Aubrey looks over at it, she finds Louise watching her instead. “What?” she asks, pressing.

“Jesus, nothing. I just realized we haven’t been hanging out as much. You having fun? The job’s okay?”

“No complaints on my part.” Aubrey smiles and reaches over to pat Louise’s arm. She’s tried to tell her aunt a little about the few times she’s gone out with Arthur and his friends, but the mention of Arthur’s name prompts questions she doesn’t care to answer, about how nice he is and how they’re getting along and how close they’re getting. She feels like a child being gently nudged forward by an adult in a direction she doesn’t want to go in, and it’s hard now not to look at Louise and see a family member concerned with a future and a life that isn’t hers to worry about. The questions remind her of that last conversation over the holidays, except without the booze. All Aubrey wants is for her aunt to tell her it’s okay. It’s okay if she stays on her own, if she doesn’t meet anyone for another year, another three, another ten. She wants someone older and wiser to promise Aubrey a gentle future. To say that relationships aren’t all that, that men are stinky and irritating and that she’s not missing out on anything. Louise doesn’t get the hint. Asking for it would feel too much like cheating, and everyone knows it’s all about the other person wanting to say it, not you asking them for it.

So it’s easier to avoid the topic. Aubrey fills her email folder with the things she wished she would say to Louise instead. Beyond the edges of her laptop it feels like there’s not much else to talk about. Like the one thing they have in common is the thing driving them apart, little by little. Maybe it was easier when they lived hours apart.

Louise doesn’t seem to notice her grimace. Aubrey says, “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“Just, I know you’re trying. It’s a little hard for me to be interesting, I feel.”