Page 6 of Later Bloom

“Just think about it. You don’t have to make a decision until, ah, maybe late May, early June. I’ll be back in town for your mom’s sixtieth, and then heading back to set everything up for the opening. I’ll email you some pictures.”

Aubrey wants to decline, to insist it’s not necessary, because it feels like the polite thing to do. Surely this is a ridiculous offer. Surely there’s no way she could get a job with her aunt in Lunenburg. It hardly even sounds like a real place.

“I’d have to sublet my place,” she observes aloud, mostly to herself.

Louise shrugs, seemingly unfazed. “Offer’s on the table. I’ll send you a few more details so you can decide. It’s fine if you don’t want to come, there are plenty up there who’ll lend a hand. I just happen to have a soft spot for you.”

“The luck I have.”

Behind them, the cake is set up on the dining table, the family gathered around with paper plates to marvel at the red-and-green masterpiece. Holiday music mingles quietly in the background with everyone’s hushed, tired voices. Aubrey looks at Louise, at this person she so easily recognizes herself in. She wonders what they both look like standing there, from their family’s point of view. Two women who can’t seem to get it quite right.

Louise leans in a little closer so only Aubrey can hear. “I know someone in need of an escape when I see one. I’ve seen it often enough, picking at my reflection. But life doesn’t tend to wait long for you to realize what you’ve missed out on. You don’t have to say yes now. Just think about it. It’s only a year in my company. Breathing some sea air, pretending none of this here exists. Nothing too serious, I promise. Just good people, slowing down time for a bit. Everything’ll be here still when you get back. And if not, it wasn’t meant to be in the first place.”

Through a smirk hidden behind her glass, Aubrey says, “You’re very wise tonight. A bit cheesy.”

“Mm. It’s the holidays. I mean, I don’t know. It’s just this idea I had. You’ve got months to decide, anyway. I won’t forget about it, and if nothing’s changed in the spring, then—” Louise shrugs, letting silence finish her sentence for her.

Aubrey nods. “Right. I promise I’ll think about it.”

“Good.”

Someone laughs, too loud and too sudden, in the background. Aubrey heads for the pile of paper plates. She goes home early.

On New Year’s Eve, she and Maggie talk each other into going out for the night. They sit at a comically small table at the pub near Maggie’s place and talk of resolutions, making lists on their phones as they order a third round of gin and tonics.

Aubrey types Quit my job and then Maybe get gym membership? into her phone, then pretends to think of what more she could add to the list. She doesn’t have many resolutions because she tends to pick up new habits and hobbies as they come, only to give up on them just as quickly. It’s been years now since she decided resolutions are pointless—she doesn’t need a set date to start a routine she knows she won’t stick to.

She gives into the ritual anyway, if only to keep Maggie company. Maggie is her opposite. She falls apart without a set list of bullet points to remind her what she ought to focus on every day.

“This is going to be a good year,” Maggie shouts. Cheerful pop music booms from a speaker that sits nearly straight above their heads.

Aubrey gives into a loud, sudden laugh. “We say that every year.”

“Yes. And I’d argue we have it pretty good.”

Aubrey’s smile grows wider. “We do have it pretty good.”

“You know, I don’t think we should come up with resolutions this year.”

“Mm. Should we have decided on that an hour ago?”

“No, no, I mean, I don’t like the word resolutions. It’s too constricting, with some implied guilt if we don’t stick to them, right? So how about—intentions.”

It’s amusing and ironic, this pattern of subtly altered words spinning old ideas into modern concepts. Intentions instead of resolutions. Toxic instead of unhealthy. Eating habits instead of diets. Gaslighting instead of lying.

Aubrey says, “Ah, I see.” She doesn’t quite see, but she’s not sure why she’d ever disagree. She nods in the slow, knowing sort of way that comes with a long-standing friendship between people who’ve grown just apart enough that they don’t quite tell each other the full truth anymore. “Intentions, I like that.”

Maggie’s face splits into a newfound grin. “Right? Okay. So what do you intend on doing this year? What would make you happy?”

“Mags,” Aubrey warns gently.

“What?”

“I know what you’re doing.”

“I asked one question.”

“I don’t intend on doing anything special. I intend on getting through another year with friends and family, and maybe a better job by the end of it.”