Page 5 of Later Bloom

Aubrey’s mother, Marie, rests a hand on her sister’s shoulder and says, “Louise was just telling me all about an inn she’ll be opening up in Lunenburg this summer. Isn’t that exciting?”

There’s a hint of sarcasm there that Louise brushes off with a smile. She likes it when the conversation falls back on her. “I’ll show you pictures of the house if you’d like. It’s been a decade in the making, getting my hands on this beauty. A real piece of work, but the charm, ugh. Off the charts. Kind of like us, huh?”

Louise is a tall, stunning woman, drawn in curves and strong features and dark hair she doesn’t even pretend to have control over. It sits high on her head, with long, wispy tendrils grazing her cheeks when she moves. Aubrey looks more like her than she does her mom.

Marie is shorter, more delicate. Her hair is dyed blonde and cut in a short bob. One would hardly guess they’re sisters. They contrast in the way they dress—Marie in cluttered patterns, Louise in plain, deep earth tones—and in most of the decisions they make. It’s almost comical, like watching two characters designed to piss off the other. But the way they speak, the fluctuation in their tone, is identical, copy-pasted from Aubrey’s grandfather.

“I’m sure it’s stunning,” Aubrey says. Though she’s never been, she’s seen tons of photos of Lunenburg since her aunt moved to the colourful Nova Scotia coastal town nearly twenty years earlier. She was younger than Aubrey is now when she left. Her world there has always seemed like a surreal faraway land, where things seem a little too neat and saturated to be real.

Louise leans over the cake and sets a plastic set of reindeer figurines in its centre. “What do you have planned these next few months?” she asks the cake, and what a terrible question that is.

“The usual,” Aubrey offers through a tightly pinched smile. She hopes it’ll be enough. It rarely is.

“Oh, you must have things coming up. Job stuff, spring in the city, that sort of thing.” She says it like a fact, not a question. At least Louise never brings up men.

“I’m sure, yeah. I’ve got a couple interviews lined up the week after the holidays.” Aubrey pauses as she fails to think of anything else she might have coming up before the summer. Defeated, she adds, “School reunion’s coming early June. Maggie’s putting it together.”

Marie’s eyes raise to the ceiling then. “Oh, god. Don’t remind me it’s been ten years already.”

“I’ll try a little harder.”

Louise snorts out a laugh and Aubrey smiles. It’s always been like this with her aunt—they’re more in sync than Aubrey’s ever been with her mother, even though Louise lives hours away and hardly manages to come in for the holidays. They send each other long emails at least once a month about how things are going, what sorts of comments about singlehood they’ve heard lately. Aubrey loves sitting down to write them, sharpening skills she grew fond of after one particularly inspiring college creative writing class. She may not talk that much, but in writing, she has a hard time shutting up.

“Cake!” Marie announces as she heads off to the dining room, leaving Aubrey alone with her aunt.

“Good luck with the inn,” Aubrey offers quietly. She’s always found Louise intimidating in the way wise older women can be—untouchable, effortless, impossibly cool. In their shared isolation from romantic relationships, Aubrey finds the confidence she struggles to muster for herself.

Louise eyes her up and down a little too intently. “You know, I could use a hand.”

Aubrey hums. “Oh, yeah?” She’s unsure what else to say, where this is heading.

“What sort of jobs are you interviewing for?”

“Ah, mostly glamorized listings for receptionist positions. Office manager, administrative assistant, that sort of thing.”

“Why haven’t you found something as a translator?”

“I’m not a translator.”

“Right, sorry.” Louise sucks her teeth. “It’s classical languages, isn’t it? Surely there’s something there.”

“I’m sure there is.” Aubrey can feel the corners of her eyes crinkle when she smiles. It’s a tight and polite sort of expression, like all she knows to do when she’s uncomfortable is stretch her lips in an upward curve. “I’m still looking, really.”

“Mm. So you’d get something as a receptionist. What then? You settle into a nice comfortable job, yeah?”

“That’d be it.”

Louise gives a resolute nod, as if she’s just agreed with herself. “Right. You should come up and work for me, then.”

“Ah! Okay.”

“I do mean it. If you’re going to go generic, go generic for this. Me. I need someone for the inn. Making the rooms, checking guests in, things like that.”

“I’ve never done any of that.”

“I probably can’t afford someone on a full salary, is the thing. But you’d get free housing and food. And I’d pay you something, for sure.” When Louise meets Aubrey’s eye, it’s to challenge her gaze. “Get away for a bit. Let’s say a year. It’ll do you some good, trust me. That’s what I did.”

“You stayed away,” Aubrey points out gently. She toys with the sleeve of her cardigan. The radiator hums on the wall next to her.