Page 55 of Later Bloom

“How do you feel about him?”

“I don’t know! I just said I don’t know. He’s fine. Funny, and nice, and I like hanging out with him.”

“But?”

“But, I don’t know! It’s like it’s—” She’s tripping over her words, rushing because she can see him approaching out of the corner of her eye. “—it’s not exactly right, like it’s just... sort of tepid, I guess. Just fine. I like the way we are now, good friends. It’s easy, and not scary, and I wasn’t thinking about anything else before I noticed the way he looked at me and all that. It was good. Now I’m—fuck.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine!” Someone waves Simon down then, and he interrupts his strut to talk to another guy. They clink plastic cups and laugh at something Aubrey can’t make out. Maggie lowers her voice. “You don’t have to overthink it. I promise.”

“What if this is how it’s meant to feel, and I just don’t know it? And I’m looking for the wrong thing, and maybe I’ll miss it, because it’s staring me in the face and I don’t realize it’s there?”

“You’ll never miss it. I swear.”

“What if really I should just go for it with Simon, because this is my chance, and he likes me, and I should just say yes?”

“You’ll get other chances,” Maggie insists. Her tone is unwavering, her eyes sharp when they lock with Aubrey’s. She’s so confident. It’s hard not to believe her.

Still, Aubrey finds a way.

Maggie says sternly, “If you want to smash your mouth with Simon’s, do it. If you don’t, don’t. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that. You’ll know. It won’t be tepid.”

“Okay,” Aubrey says, mostly because Simon is nearly there, and she does want to agree with Maggie, and, most of all, she’s exhausted. She wants to sit by Simon’s side and have a chat and wish him happy birthday. She wants things to be easy and soft again, not terrifying like they are now. She says again, “Okay, yeah.”

“Well, look who’s made it!” Simon’s voice is cheerful as he makes his way over, pulling both Aubrey and Maggie into a hug. In unison, the two girls say, “Happy birthday!” and Simon laughs and thanks them in return.

Maggie pulls away and says, “Whatever excuse you have for not throwing a party here every week, I’m calling bullshit. Are your parents hiring? For anything?”

“Ah!” Simon casts a glance at the house. He’s nervous. “Very funny, yeah. Help yourself to whatever’s out there, food and drinks and such.” He turns to Aubrey and his smile morphs slightly. “You wanna sit and talk a little? Tell me about that class I missed last week?”

Aubrey struggles to find her voice, but she nods and says, “I’d love to, yeah.”

They find a spot in the shade to sit, under an impressive willow tree and just far enough from the crowd that the air slows to a whisper. They sit cross-legged on a stumpy stone wall that’s fighting a losing battle against moss and ivy.

“Well,” Aubrey says, terrified of letting the silence linger. “Happy birthday, then.”

“Mm, thanks. It’s been a big deal this year.”

“Eighteen’s meant to be important.”

“Right.” Simon bobs his head in a slow nod. “I’ve heard that, here and there.”

He picks at the moss as he speaks, his eyes fixed on the cracks in the wall. Aubrey watches him closely, trying to find in his hair and nose and shoulders the look of someone she could call hers. She says, “I hope you’ve enjoyed the celebration.”

“Sure,” he shrugs. He’s delicate, sweet. She likes to be around him. There’s really no reason she can think of at this moment, sitting there in the shade, that would justify him not being a good fit for her. He looks up then and says, “It’s more fun now that you’re here, honestly.”

“Oh, well. I’ve just got here. I’m not even warmed up or anything yet.”

He laughs. She likes making him laugh like this. He leans over to pick at the vines swirling away from the wall. “I’m really glad you came.”

“Good. Me too.” And here comes the silence. It’s fine. Aubrey doesn’t panic. She sits there and keeps her smile pasted on. She holds her breath, notices the location of every strand of hair on her head. In her chest none of it makes sense still. She waits for things to click and fall into place.

Simon turns to her and inhales. Then, he says, in a single breath, “I’m guessing you’re aware of the feelings I have for you.”

The wind doesn’t change. Simon still looks like Simon. She exhales.

“Am I?”

“Romantic feelings, I mean. You must’ve noticed. Maybe you haven’t, but recently I feel I haven’t been very subtle, and I keep thinking every time we hang out that it might be it, you know, that something might happen. But then it doesn’t, and I think maybe I can’t really figure things out. I wanted very badly to know you well enough to be sure. But I don’t. Not at all, in fact.”