Page 4 of Later Bloom

And then, out of nowhere, Maggie says, “Oh, Aubrey hasn’t really been dating at all, actually,” like it’s no big deal because to her it’s grown into a funny, passing anecdote. But Aubrey has come to learn that to other people it isn’t, and she notices in the girls’ demeanour the familiar tilt of the head, the small frown, the puzzled purse of the lips. The uh before one of them, she’s not sure who, echoes, “At all?”

“No, I mean, I’ve been on dates,” Aubrey clarifies, because it’s what she does, tries to defend this thing about herself that feels much bigger to the world than it does to her. “First dates and such. I just haven’t really committed to the whole thing yet, I guess.” She tries to say it in an amusing way but it doesn’t land the way she hopes. She smiles and thinks of Louise then, of the messages on her phone. She adds, “It’s no big deal, really.” The room has grown hot.

Rachel says, “Yeah, sure,” and then there’s a pause, too long and too quiet, and then she adds, “I mean, not even just casual fucking? Messing around even though you know it won’t lead anywhere? Or saying you’re not committing to any labels, but really, you’ve met each other’s parents?”

“I just haven’t got around to it,” Aubrey says. It feels like a lie. She’s not sure what the truth would be.

“Wow.” Rachel sits back, stunned. “I mean, good for you.” Everyone else nods again, with the same eye contact. Marianne and Ivory say, “Yeah, really, good for you,” and Aubrey knows they don’t really mean it.

“Actually, Aubrey’s got some really great things coming up,” Maggie says then, catching everyone off-guard, including Aubrey. “A big career change, exciting stuff.” She sounds so confident that Aubrey can’t even bring herself to point out that that’s not exactly true.

She opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out. The girls don’t ask for more details, which is a relief and also a little insulting, when she really thinks about it. Maggie is watching her with wide eyes and an expectant smile.

Suddenly, from beyond the classroom door left ajar, some guy shouts, “Oh, hey, something’s going on in there!” and people rush in, buzzing with the thrill of taking over a space they’re not meant to, gasping and pointing at the old desks and shouting, “That used to be my seat!” and “Write something on the board!” The growing crowd fizzes with the intoxicating high of nostalgia.

Aubrey hops off the desk to slip away and back into the now quieter hall, where a few people stand chatting in pairs. She spots Victor among them, nearly unchanged but decidedly a grown man now. She thinks of Maggie, of the picture of the two of them at prom she still had framed when they were in college.

Just like that, there’s no more looking forward to the reunion, arguing with Maggie over whether or not to go, wondering who she might see there, what people might think of her. She’s here now, and nobody really cares, at least not nearly enough for any of it to matter. Just enough to make her feel a little badly about herself, no matter how hard she tries not to. Enough to make her notice how different she feels still, even a decade later. She wonders when that’ll stop. Whether she’ll ever sit among these girls and share stories they’ll relate to. Regrets they’ll bond over. Sometimes she thinks mistakes would be better than this nothingness of having yet to experience anything at all at nearly twenty-eight.

She doesn’t always feel this way—feelings are seldom linear. It’s just a little harder to play the role of the confident, independent woman on nights like these. On a lot of other nights, too. It might be easier if she’d decided this was a choice, something she did on purpose and could explain and justify without much care for other people’s opinions. She’s almost there. It’s a work in progress.

Her mother would argue that maybe if Aubrey stopped rejecting men after one or two dates, she might actually get somewhere. Maybe Aubrey is to blame. She tries not to think about it too much, and she fails often.

She’s going to think about it tonight, and tomorrow too, probably. The reunion is already morphing into a memory. She doesn’t have anything planned in her calendar that hasn’t been there for years—birthdays and holidays and maybe a reminder that says FIND ANOTHER JOB in a bright red font. It pops up weekly on Monday mornings and she often sees it on her way to work. She’d set it up five months earlier, in January, shortly after speaking with Louise.

Heading further down the hall, past the wide mahogany staircase and the administration office, Aubrey pulls up her conversation with her aunt. On the wall across from her, rain knocks relentlessly against a tall, narrow window, fragmenting the moonlight into specks of silver. Aubrey thinks of tomorrow, of Ivory and Maggie. It sucks to realize there’s no real excuse to say no to Louise. Nothing keeping her anchored here, not really. In a not quite small town, not quite big city, an in-between of 90’s neighbourhoods, short but crammed highways, and a comforting but stifling surrounding of mountains. Maybe the sea air would help. Maybe starting over with people who have no idea who she is might hold off a full-blown meltdown for a few months still.

She holds her breath when she presses send. Her message is short. She regrets not adding an exclamation mark at the end to seem a little more enthusiastic.

But Louise’s answer comes in almost immediately.

Chapter Two

Six months earlier

It’s an unusually snowy Christmas. The world beyond the windows of Aubrey’s childhood home is a blur of snowflakes falling relentlessly in a perfect diagonal. Snowbanks rise so high they nearly swallow up the neighbours. A line of cars is parked down the length of the street. The air is a warm hue, turned orange by the glow of the streetlights.

“So, Aubrey, when are you bringing someone along to one of these things, huh?” Her uncle Jeffrey winks at her from the couch. He rubs his hands together very fast. “About time we get some new blood around here!”

Laughter rings out from Aubrey’s dad, brother, and cousins as they toss away torn wrapping paper and gather shiny bows. The Christmas tree sparkles different colours in a rhythmic loop in the corner of the room. By the window, Aubrey smiles down at the crispy leaves she’s been carefully picking off the Ficus for the past ten minutes, a glass of red wine in hand. “I think you’d like that too much.”

It’s a kind of game now. How often can they ask her this question, how long can it go on before it stops being funny. Aubrey seldom wins. The one time she fell into their trap and tried to voice her annoyance a couple years earlier, it sparked an intoxicated debate on her “snowflake generation” and how “no one can joke about anything anymore.” She learned quickly it’s easier to humour them.

It’s fine. She finds it easier the older she gets. She’s more mature now, less prone to bouts of teenage anger. The jokes take on a more concerned air, but she grows a thicker skin. At least that’s what she tells herself, her lips tinted a deep shade of purple as she takes another sip of wine.

“What about you, Jeff?” a voice calls from the other end of the room. “When are you dragging your next victim over so we can warn her off?”

Louise’s head pokes through the archway connecting the living room to the kitchen. Her smile is devious enough to suggest she actually means it. Jeffrey huffs and leans over to tuck away the unwrapped presents at his feet.

Louise has always fascinated Aubrey. There’s an almost juvenile quality to someone perceived by the world as still searching for a safe place to root, someone still navigating waters without a partner or a family or conventional home—if only one that fits a scenario people have elected as normal, acceptable. In watching her aunt over the years, Aubrey has noticed how Louise seems younger than the people around her, not just in the way she looks but in the way she smiles, and laughs, and generally exists in a space.

Maybe Aubrey would notice it in herself, too. She can’t really tell. In the mirror she always looks the same. She’s wondered often what she looks like through another’s eyes. Who she reminds people of, the thoughts she elicits.

With a silly grimace at her six-year-old niece, Aubrey zigzags her way through the mess and enters the kitchen, where her aunt and her mother are busy piping green icing onto a red velvet cake.

“Ignore him,” Louise says without looking up.

“I usually do.”