Page 19 of Later Bloom

Aubrey holds the phone up to her screen and Maggie shakes her head no. Swipe left. “I think I know best if I like someone or not,” Aubrey argues.

“Well, this isn’t really about liking someone, is it? It’s just a profile on the internet.” Maggie signals for no again. “I just think you don’t give yourself enough options. He doesn’t have to be the ideal man of your dreams.”

“Mm.” Aubrey follows along to Maggie’s signal, swiping right on a couple profiles. She feels somewhat guilty for giving in like this, for letting Maggie control this part of her life. But then again, she hasn’t been taking much care of it herself. At least Maggie’s making somewhat of an effort on her behalf. “Wouldn’t it be better if he was, though? It’d save us some time.”

“Probably, yeah. But then you won’t find him unless you get it wrong a couple times. Afraid that’s just how it is for most of us.” Maggie leans close to the screen. “I like that one.”

“Okay.” Aubrey taps the little heart next to the picture of a smiling, red-haired man. He’s holding a fish, but she faults her staying in a port town for that. “Can I tell you something?”

“What a ridiculous question,” Maggie says with a soft smile. At times friendship is a little easier from a distance, through texts or video calls while sitting alone in the dark.

“Sometimes I feel like the fact I’ve been single forever has become the only interesting thing about me.” It’s absurd, saying out loud what she’s been thinking for a while now. She watches Maggie’s expression closely as she speaks, but subtly, out of the corner of her eye. “Like it’s the only little bit about myself that makes me stand out from everyone else. I don’t really feel special in any other way. I don’t have any unique hobbies, or talent, or story.” Aubrey drops her eye at the bottom left corner of the screen, at her own image. “I’m just very normal, except for this one thing. So then when I finally find someone, won’t it just make me very normal, and nothing else? Just boring?”

“Aubrey.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve moved to a random town in Nova Scotia.”

“It’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site, actually.”

“Well, that’s something.” Maggie shifts on the screen. “You know, I’ve never thought about that for a single second, in my entire life. About being normal, or boring.”

“About yourself, you mean?”

“Sure, but about you, too. I mean, you’re stunning, and funny, you certainly have to know that, and if that’s all that’s been holding you back, then go get yourself a hobby, I’m begging you.”

Aubrey snorts back a laugh. “That’s not what I meant. I just think—I don’t know. Like I keep picturing myself in this incredible story, but when I really look at things it’s all just very mundane. Like, nothing really feels like I think it should. Moving up here has been fine so far. The novelty’s worn off a little, and I’ve kept most of my usual routine from home. Why would falling in love be any different?”

“Well, I don’t think you can imagine what falling in love will really feel like. I don’t think it’ll disappoint. And it won’t make you boring. I mean, honestly. That’s a little insulting.”

The both of them snicker quietly, in their respective spaces, as if it would break their comfortable bubble to make any loud noises. “That’s not what I was trying to say,” Aubrey insists.

“I know.”

“It’s hard sometimes to decide how I should feel about things. Like, one minute I’m so happy and confident in who I am and the decisions I’m making, and then the next I wonder if everyone’s right, and I’m too picky, and overthinking, and broken.” Aubrey holds her phone up to the screen again.

Maggie shakes her head no and says, “Does it help to know having a boyfriend doesn’t really fix that at all?”

“Mm.”

“It’s such an arbitrary thing, at the end of the day. I’ve had a bunch of them. And I’m still here with you, alone on a Friday night. We’re in the same place. And we’ve got each other.”

Aubrey smiles, just a little. “Poetic.” A popup on her screen indicates a new match then. Raphael. He looks like he spends most of his free time outside in a slightly obnoxious way. He wears nice outdoorsy jackets in all his pictures. “I know it’s arbitrary and pretty stupid. I just can’t stop feeling like it matters so much.”

“The way you feel about this, is it how you feel about other people in relationships? Like they’ve got nothing interesting to say?”

“No, of course not.” Aubrey winces, then dares. “Well, sometimes I do feel it’s all they’ve got to talk about. Especially in groups. People talk about it so much between them, Jesus. You’d think most of what it does is cause problems, being in love. And then when I talk to people in relationships, they ask questions about dating, right? And if I don’t have anything much to say, it’s very rare they ask about anything else. I do have other things to say. Like the last book I’ve read, or the—mm, well. There’s stuff, I’m sure.”

“Mm.” Maggie looks like she wants to disagree but can’t bring herself to. She ventures, “Maybe other people are the problem, then.”

“All signs seem to point to me, is the thing.”

“Should I tell you the way I see it?”

“I’m hoping you will.”

“People talk a lot about dating because it is, I’m afraid, one of the most interesting things we’ve got going, as a group. People care a lot about it. You do, too. Even when people do extraordinary things, we’re generally most interested in the crunchy details of their personal lives. Even politicians and royals and celebrities. We’ll sit in front of the TV and watch people fail at dating for hours on end. Romance has us by the throat. It’s not a commentary on your value as a person. It’s just human nature.”