Page 31 of Later Bloom

A few people at the table glance over at them but only for a second, without pausing their conversation. Empty glasses already crowd the middle of the table. A window over the booth overlooks the street, where people are passing or gathering in small groups for a smoke.

“How do you know Arthur?” Aubrey asks, because it’s the only thing she can come up with.

Florence leans back against the wall. “School,” she says simply, her attention lost to the rest of the bar. Then, she returns to Aubrey and asks, “Can I pick your brain about something, actually? It’s a little personal.”

The question rings odd but somehow natural. Aubrey doesn’t even hesitate to reply, “Oh, yeah, sure,” as she settles in more comfortably. She hopes Florence finds her just as cool as she finds her.

“Well, sorry. It’s more than a little personal.” Florence drops her head side to side, like she’s weighing her words. “It’s just, I’ve known Artie a while, so he knows a lot about me. And I’ve been informed—I swear he didn’t mean to tell me, he just blurted it out, you should’ve been there—but it turns out we’ve got something in common.”

Aubrey realizes then she’s holding her breath, and she tries to smile and nod along. She only says, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. So, I’ve also never been with anyone.”

Obviously, Aubrey’s met other people who’ve never been in a relationship before. But only a handful, and always they confessed with a grimace and a little shame, as if it were a dirty secret they had to force themselves to say out loud. Florence says it a little differently, casually, as if it were a simple fact about herself, though her hands twist in her lap and her knuckles pale a shade.

For a second, Aubrey is no better than anyone else. The realization sits tight in her throat. She wants to gape and say, “You can’t be serious,” and point out how beautiful Florence is, and how surely there’s no way. The thought nearly comes out on its own. Instead, she says, “Ah, well. What a fun club to be in.”

Florence laughs with her head thrown back and her shoulders rounding in. “I find it pretty miserable,” she says.

Aubrey finds this incredible to hear. She lowers her voice and leans in, because it feels easier to say things this way. “Don’t you feel we’re not really meant to say that? Like we’re supposed to be entirely fulfilled without a partner, and happy with our own company, and very conscious at all times that some people have it worse?”

“Jesus, yes. Or what about when you tell someone you’ve never been with anyone and they go, ’Oh, you’re so much better off being single, honestly. I miss it every day.’ As if it’s so crazy I could ever want a relationship simply because they’re miserable in theirs.”

“Oh, so we’ve met the exact same people.”

Florence watches Aubrey expectantly. “What about your family? How do they feel about it?”

“About as terribly as you can imagine. My grandmother once had a package delivered to my place because she thought her delivery man was cute and she hoped I might get the same one.”

“You’re kidding.”

“My aunt’s tried to set me up with Arthur, too. Last month she scheduled two orders in the same week so he’d have to come by twice. God, I don’t know. It’s so weird saying that. She’s been single for a while herself, so. I’d come to hope she knew better.”

“Yikes.” Florence shifts in her seat, then says, “I should say Artie’s not a bad pick, at least.”

“Ah, yes. That’s why you’re all over him,” Aubrey jokes.

Florence covers her mouth with her hand and looks up to the ceiling before reaching for her pint of beer. She takes a long sip, then says, “Right. He’s not the one for me is all I’ll say. No real reason for it, I guess. He really is a good guy. I’m sure you get it.”

“I do.” Aubrey is surprised at how much she does get it. She watches Florence for a second. “Do you ever feel like maybe no one’s meant for you at all? Like it just won’t ever click?”

“Oh, yes. All the time.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I feel… everything about it. Desperate, sometimes hopeful, and then desperate again. Pathetic. Terrified. To me, love is... everything. Not in a disillusioned way or whatever. Just, I don’t think life makes much sense without it. It’s the driving force of what makes us human. Your family, your friends. Your lover. I’ve never experienced it but it’s like my body craves it anyway, you know? Like my instinct screams for it, and I’ve no idea what I’m doing so wrong that I can’t get my hands on it.”

It’s overwhelming, seeing yourself reflected so clearly in someone else. Quietly, all Aubrey finds to say in return is, “Yeah.”

Florence takes another sip and turns to smile at the others for a moment. Then she returns her gaze, but she keeps quiet still.

Aubrey adds, “That’s exactly how I feel, yeah.”

They share a smile that must look exactly the same. Florence folds one leg under herself on the booth to angle herself toward Aubrey. “Can I tell you something else?”

“Absolutely, yeah.”

“I’ve never been with anyone, like, at all. Physically, too.” She lets a second pass. Her brows draw in a frown. “Should I say it in other words?”