Page 38 of Later Bloom

“I’m just saying, at some point you’ve got to just go for it, otherwise nothing’ll ever happen. Don’t let your head get in the way.”

“I get it.” She doesn’t get it. She wants to say, but what if it doesn’t feel right? What if it doesn’t feel natural? How will she know then? How can she tell?

“Anyway.” He waves his arms through the water as he starts backing up. He doesn’t seem mad, or upset, just impossibly neutral. “Just hit me up if you want to pick up where we left off.”

And Aubrey knows she actually could, and it wouldn’t be an issue for him—he’d be into it and wouldn’t think twice about tonight, or this moment now. To him, this is how things go. This is what he says to women, and they hear him and say okay, sure. Because it really is just kissing, and it’s not that deep, and Aubrey wonders then, more than ever, what’s wrong with her.

Later, she whispers it all to Maggie before they split up in their respective lodges, asking, “What’s wrong with me?” three times over.

Maggie strokes her arm and says “Nothing, really, I promise,” just as many times. Then she grabs Aubrey by the shoulders and says, very firmly, “Don’t ever let a man make you doubt your gut feeling. Trust me. If it doesn’t feel right, it’s not right. I do agree with one thing—it’s not a big deal. I know it feels like it. Give it some time. Make out with other guys, maybe. Only if you want to. I don’t know, fuck.” She drops her hands. They stand under the dim exterior light of Aubrey’s lodge. Maggie continues, “I’m not sure what I should say here, because it’s like I know how you feel but I don’t, but I just think it’s all okay. It’s all going to be fine. You’re going to meet the right guy. I promise.”

In this moment it feels like a nice promise. Even though Maggie doesn’t say when, because she doesn’t know. She can’t know.

Nearly nine years later, when they speak on the phone and Maggie says again, “You’ll find the right person, I promise,” her word technically still stands.

Chapter Twelve

The first snowfall comes mid-November. It’s a Monday night, and a tumultuous sea of white fills the bathroom window as Aubrey lies under a blanket of bubbles. Her phone rests on the edge of the tub. It’s on speaker mode, and as per Aubrey’s Tuesday night routine, Maggie’s voice fills the small room. “Don’t worry,” she’s saying. “I’m sure Louise’ll keep you busy.”

Aubrey sinks a little deeper into the tub until the water reaches her chin. The air smells like fire from when she’d lit some candles. Louise is over at the inn now tidying up after dinner, which they’d served to only one couple. It’s nearly winter. The reservations have grown scarce and the town has slowed to a languid pace.

Aubrey says, vaguely annoyed, “She keeps saying she knew this would happen, that it’s fine and she planned for it and all. So we’re good, apparently. She’s got that job at the hospital, and I’ve got a room here.”

“Yeah, great. No issue, then.”

“No, no issue.” Aubrey stares up at the ceiling, which is covered in baby blue tiles adorned with little flower prints. Louise’s bathroom is a time capsule, a taste of the eighties that looks like a gender reveal gone wrong. She asks Maggie about work. On the other line, there’s a pensive hum.

“It’s been good, yeah. I’ve been out a lot recently to try and get some inspiration. I wrote a couple pieces, something about the best third date restaurants around. Laura liked it, I think. She hardly had any notes. Awful, honestly. I need the notes. Otherwise, how should I ever get any better? It’s fine, I just feel I have to keep proving myself a bit so they don’t catch me off-guard, and—you know. They fired Christina last week, poor her.”

“That’s good, that Laura liked your piece. No notes is a good thing.” The bubbles tickle Aubrey’s ankles, her arms. “I miss going out to eat with you.”

“Good lord, me too. This guy I’ve been seeing keeps wanting to have me over for dinner. I’ve told him a hundred times I get paid to eat out.”

Aubrey snorts. “Nice one.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you told me about this man before?”

“Mm, no. I’m trying this thing where I don’t talk about the men I’m seeing to anyone until things actually get serious. Every time I do, I end up jinxing myself, like the second I tell anyone about it everything just falls apart. But I guess it’s safe to tell you it’s happening. Often, and well.”

“Oh, my.”

“What about you?”

Aubrey laughs softly. “I wouldn’t want to jinx anything.”

“Very funny.”

She shifts in the tub, and the water splashes over the edge a little. “Do you remember camp, when we were nineteen? That guy Theo, and Sam?”

“Jesus.”

“So that’s a yes.” She picks at her nails where she’s been chewing them. “Shame it didn’t work out with Theo, huh?”

“Oh, my god.” Maggie’s embarrassment is palpable even through the phone, her voice muffled like she’s buried her face in her hands. “Do you know he asked if I’d shave my thighs for him?”

“I was just wondering whatever happened to those guys, is all. I was thinking about them today. It’s almost been a decade.”