Page 7 of Later Bloom

“But we’re about to turn twenty-eight.”

“Isn’t that thrilling.” The words are flat, but the swell in Aubrey’s chest is real. She holds a neutral expression for maybe half a second before she folds. “Fuck,” she exhales, like a balloon deflating much too fast. “Yeah, we are.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Twenty-eight is fine. I’m just saying—I don’t know, I think we’re getting a little old to keep pretending this isn’t a thing. At least write it down. It’s like you won’t acknowledge it, and I’m sitting here feeling like I’m the only one thinking about it. And I know that’s not the case.”

“If I write it down, I might just fall apart. Because then I’ll get to the end of the year, still alone, and ’finally get a boyfriend’ or something like that will still be in my phone, and I already know I’ll have thought about it for nearly every second of every day. And the only reason I don’t obsess over it now is because I’m desperately trying not to. I don’t think I’ve encountered anyone in the past decade who hasn’t made it their business to remind me how much of an issue it is.”

Aubrey can’t hold eye contact when she speaks like this, but out of the corner of her eye she sees Maggie’s expression morph into concern. Her friend asks, “Holidays not so great this year?”

“Could’ve been better.”

“Was Louise not there?”

“She was, yeah.” Aubrey pauses as she weighs what to say next. She’d thought a lot about telling Maggie about Louise’s plans. Mostly, she wishes Maggie would tell her to say no, that staying here would be best. That she’d miss Aubrey too much, that there will be too much happening for her to just leave like this. It’s what she’s been desperate to believe. She wants to stay here and for things to work out, because maybe then she wouldn’t have wasted the past six years trying over and over to make it all work. Her place, her work, her social life. Herself. She doesn’t want to need to move hours away for it to finally feel right.

But Maggie won’t tell Aubrey to stay. She’s a girl who can’t stay put but who’s been burned too many times by giving herself away too quickly in friendships and relationships to take any sort of leap now. She still craves the stories—at twenty-five she decided to become a column writer, hungry to have an excuse to explore a little without too much risks—so she spurs on other people’s adventures instead, nudges them on and on even if they risk crumbling. At least she’s always there to collect the pieces. Of course, it’s not as bad as it sounds. She’s a great listener, the kind who knows when to speak, when to curse, when to gasp for effect, and she’ll never turn down an invite out for a drink if there’s promise of a good anecdote.

Aubrey says to the table, “She offered me a job back in Lunenburg, actually. So that was something.”

Maggie gapes at her. “Did she really?”

“Mhm, taking care of an inn she plans on opening.”

“Did you say yes?”

“I said I’d think about it.”

“But the answer is yes.”

Aubrey notices she’s smiling again. She can’t help but find a familiar, comforting amusement in Maggie’s enthusiasm, despite the twinge of disappointment at her readiness to say goodbye. “Louise does this kind of stuff all the time. It’s always on to the next thing, a new big project, whatever else. The offer wasn’t until summer. It would’ve been stupid to say yes. I don’t even know what she’ll be doing next week. Or what I’ll be doing, really.” That last part is a lie. Nothing will be any different next week.

“Oh, my god. That’s exactly why you say yes. Nearly everyone knows what they’ll be doing next week. They’ve got someone waiting for them, careers they’re stuck in—don’t make that face. I’m saying you’ll have that too, one day, and then it’ll be too late to say yes to the eccentric aunts asking you to work for them in faraway places. You have to do it. Very selfishly, I’m begging you to.”

The glimmer of self-awareness is at least a little endearing. Aubrey insists on not breaking so easily.

“You don’t even know everything it’d entail. I’d be gone for months, I wouldn’t know anyone but Louise.”

“Cool. Say yes. I don’t want to be sitting here next year in this exact same spot, talking about the exact same thing. Our twenties are hurtling to their end.”

Aubrey chokes on a sip of her drink. “Jesus.”

“It’s the truth. And I know you don’t want me to say it—”

“That’s probably right.”

“—but maybe you’re just not meant to meet someone around here. Maybe this is exactly what you need.”

Aubrey wants to bury her face in her hands, let out a muffled groan against her palm, press her fingers against her eyes and for all of it to make sense, suddenly. She wants to know, magically, what to say to this. She wants to decide between I’m perfectly fine on my own, actually and you’re right, I do hope I’ll meet someone there. Most of all, she wants to stop feeling guilty for wanting the things she wants, and to admit it would be nice indeed to find herself in a relationship for the first time in her life, without feeling like she’s failing at being a strong, modern woman or finally giving in to the pressure she’s insisted isn’t getting to her. She doesn’t want to get it wrong. At least until now she could just blame everyone else. If she fails again after uprooting her whole life, she might run out of excuses.

“I’ll consider it,” she says instead.

Maggie gives an approving nod. “Good. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I’ll be fine, you know.” Maggie eyes Aubrey carefully. Aubrey insists, “Even if I’m in this exact spot a year from now.”

“I know that.”

“Right.”