Page 12 of Later Bloom

“He just looks a little different than what I’m usually into.”

Her mother scoffs, and even though she wears a tight-lipped smile, the rest of her suggests it’s not funny at all, actually. “How would you know what you’re usually into?”

“Mom.”

“You’ve never been with anyone.”

“I know that. I’m just saying, I don’t know if I’d like him.”

“Well, of course you wouldn’t. But you give him a chance, and then you know. He’s going to be in real estate. Stacy says he’s very outgoing, hardly ever around the house. Has lots of friends, that sort of thing. Plays tennis.”

Absolutely none of those things relate to Aubrey. You’d think a mother would’ve known that. “Okay. Well, thank you for thinking of me. Like I said, I don’t think he’s for me.”

“You should at least give him a try.” Marie’s tone is clipped, as if Aubrey’s just rejected her personally. “Stacy’s already shown him pictures of you, and he’s really interested in taking you out.”

Aubrey’s heart drops to the depth of her ass. So she’s disappointing this stranger she’s never met, this guy who’s already made up his mind about her only to be told no. She wishes desperately that her mom would’ve talked to her first, waited for her green light, or maybe taken a good look at Oliver and said on her own volition, “You know, I don’t think that’s my daughter’s type, actually.”

But no. Aubrey sighs and says, “Okay, fine. I guess it can’t hurt to meet him.” Because it’s easier. It makes her mother smile, and it shows the world she’s trying, and it makes her feel a little less like there might be something wrong with her. She’ll go back to the girls at school and she’ll have a story to tell. They’ll press her for details. They’ll be interested. And he thinks she’s cute, and he wants to go out with her.

The following evening, Oliver drives by the house to pick her up. He waits in his car and honks until Aubrey comes out. He offers a polite “Hi” when she opens the passenger door and slips in. She realizes just then that she should’ve suggested they meet up somewhere instead.

“I’m Aubrey,” she offers with a small smile.

In return, he says, “Ah, yeah. Hey. I was thinking we might just drive around a bit, if that’s cool.”

“Sure.” Aubrey isn’t sure what’s cool and what isn’t. The truth is, she’s only been on a handful of dates before, most of which she wouldn’t even consider actual dates, and her heart is in her throat right now. She looks back at her parents’ house and wishes she’d said no. Somehow, wallowing in her loneliness in her childhood bedroom would’ve felt like a comforting hug compared to this. She thinks of the sappy movies she’s watched five times over, the dates she’s dreamed of going out on, the stories her friends told her that made her nauseous with envy. In this sea of dating failures and successes, she wonders where she’ll fall. Already she thinks of how the evening will end and goes over the words she’ll choose to say goodbye. Thanks for the evening, this was nice. Yeah, maybe we should do it again, we’ll see. A polite smile. Burning ears.

Oliver stares at the road as he speaks. “So, my mom says you’re studying classical languages.”

“I am, yeah. A bit of creative writing, too.”

“Cool.”

“Mm.” Already the silence creeps in. The neighbourhood around them is steeped in darkness, save for a few traffic lights here and there, blurry through the windshield. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’m getting my real estate license.”

“That’s fun.” Aubrey’s head rolls against the headrest. She hugs her purse to her front. She dreadfully needs this to go well, to be proven wrong. She wants Oliver to catch her off-guard. Maybe he’s not what he seems, and she’ll be taught a lesson, and this will be it. She’ll even go so far as admitting her mother was right.

“So, do you do this kind of thing often?” she asks. “Blind dates?”

He lets out a disheartened chuckle. “No, not really. It’s kind of desperate, right? But I figured, eh. Makes my mom happy. You’re pretty easy on the eyes. I might as well.”

“Right. Well, thanks.” Aubrey takes a second to think of what to say next, and nothing feels quite right. Reluctantly, she settles on, “What music do you listen to?”

They drive for a while after that without talking, letting Oliver’s playlist fill in the silence instead. He skips a lot of songs, mostly rap. Sometimes, one of them asks a question and the other offers a short response. It’s a fine conversation. Aubrey can’t pinpoint exactly what’s wrong with it. Oliver’s an okay guy. They bring up their moms and bond over how annoying they can be. The way he doesn’t seem to care much about most things would probably charm Maggie and the girls in Aubrey’s dorm, who get wasted and compete over who can match with the hottest guy online. It’s hard to tell whether Oliver’s boring or shy. Probably he thinks the same of her. Aubrey looks over a lot to catch a glimpse of his profile.

She’s so painfully aware that he’s a perfectly suitable option. She tries very hard not to estimate how long it’ll be until they get back to the house. As usual, she’s too conscious of herself, of every part of her body, how she should feel. She waits for the butterflies she’s been promised and wonders what part of this is meant to feel natural. Her knees are pressed against the side of the door.

“Sorry,” Oliver says then, startling Aubrey a little. When she looks over, she finds him watching her. He pulls a face. “I’m not too good at chatting and stuff.”

“Oh, no, you’re fine.”

“You’re not saying much.”

“I don’t have much to say.” She taps her fingers nervously against the edge of her knee. “I don’t really like doing this sort of thing, honestly.”

“Driving around?”