Page 56 of Later Bloom

Aubrey blinks. She knows it’s not the right thing to say, but still she asks, “Sure of what?”

“If you knew. And if you felt the same way.” He’s nervous and it shows. Aubrey wants to look over at Maggie. She doesn’t.

“That’s a good question,” is all she finds to respond. It’s pathetic. She tries to smile, but it feels worse. “I mean, thank you. For telling me, and for—well, feeling the way you do.”

Finally, he looks at her. It’s harder to breathe when they make eye contact, and it lasts for at least three seconds, which is very long.

“It’s really fine if you don’t feel the same way,” he says.

“Simon.”

“I mean it. Really. I just thought—I don’t know. You’re great. I really like you.”

“I like you, too.” It’s not a lie. She weighs her words with care. She feels both like an adult and a child at once, navigating waters she’s not quite acclimated to. Her face is very hot. “I, mm, I don’t know how to say this.”

“It’s fine.” Simon sits very straight and fixes his attention on the others, over in the yard. “We can get back to the party.”

“No, come on. Let’s talk about this.” She’s in it now. She doesn’t want this to linger any longer.

He turns and unfolds his legs, dangling off the wall, facing the house not too far away. “I get it, Aubrey, really. I promise I’m fine. Maybe give me a few minutes to get over it, but then, you know. Smooth sailing, all this behind us.”

“What is ’all this’? This was a two-minute conversation.”

“I don’t see it needs to be much longer.”

“It does, because I like you, and I don’t want this to get weird, and I feel it is and this is why I didn’t want us to talk about it in the first place. I hoped it’d go better, and maybe I’d be wrong, and—”

“And maybe I didn’t have feelings for you.”

“No.” Aubrey stares at his profile, sharp and defined by the afternoon sun. “I hoped maybe I had feelings for you.”

He says nothing. If he said something it would be easier, mostly because Aubrey has no clue what to say next, and she’s very aware she’s the one keeping him here now. She just doesn’t want him to get up and leave. It feels too much like the end of something.

When she speaks, her voice cracks only a little. “You’re a great guy.”

He says, “Okay, yeah. Thanks.”

“I don’t understand why I don’t—”

He sighs. He’s growing irritated. “You really don’t have to.”

She watches his fingers, tapping rhythmically on the rocks. “There might be something wrong with me, I think.” She smiles because she wants to be joking.

“Right.”

“I mean, really, any girl would be lucky to have you.”

He doesn’t say anything.

She insists, “It’s true.”

“Any girl but you.” It stings how bitter he sounds.

“Simon,” Aubrey warns again, because this is how they are, usually, calling each other out, no bullshit. But he seems different now, tense, distant. Even when he smiles, it’s short and taut.

“Can we be done with this now? I told you I just need a minute to sort it out. I just thought—” He huffs and grunts, and his frustration is obvious and painful. “Fuck, I don’t know. I thought for sure. And we’d be good together.”

“I thought it might be good enough, being friends.”