Page 71 of Later Bloom

“It’s fine. Of course I get it. I didn’t need you to be anything other than yourself.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Louise wears a sad air, though she insists on smiling.

“Well, maybe I did. But I don’t want you to be anything other than yourself.”

“Better,” Louise nods.

“I hope you tell me more about John. You’ll still be the cool single aunt to me even if you do.”

“Fine, yes.”

The doorbell echoes through the house then. Marie’s shrill “I’ll get it!” follows.

So the night begins. For the last time, Aubrey checks her phone, in case a message might’ve come through in the last three minutes. The screen is empty. Her uncles and cousins spill into the house along with snow and glittery wrapping paper.

Next to her, Louise holds her chin just a hair higher. Shouts of “Would you come in, I’m not heating the outside!” and “Jesus, will you stop growing already?” drown out Aubrey’s worries.

Still, she finds space to think about him, over and over, even when she smiles and hugs and avoids the usual personal questions with quips that earn her approving smiles from her aunt.

Ben and Annie share the details of how they met at a café on a rainy Saturday morning, the story of their first date, how they haven’t left each other’s side since then. They dodge personal questions effortlessly, with laughter and looks that shut the world out. When their eyes meet, they only see each other. Aubrey stares. Her heart twinges.

As usual, she helps her mother in the kitchen to escape the crowd. She puts trays of hors d’oeuvres in the oven and fills a bowl with slices of warm baguette. Her mother keeps accidentally drinking out of Aubrey’s glass of wine, and it amuses Marie greatly.

As they set the plates up for dinner, Marie clears her throat and asks, avoiding her daughter’s eye, “So you’ve spent all this time in Lunenburg on your own?”

Aubrey frowns at the turkey. “What do you mean? I work with Louise.”

“You know what I mean,” her mother says, as if it’s enough of an answer.

“If you’re trying to subtly ask me if I’ve finally put an end to the absolute horror that is your eldest daughter still being single as she nears her thirties, then the answer is no. I’m still very much on my own.”

“You’re in your mid to late twenties,” Marie corrects with a tut.

“You know, the way you nag me about this, I’m not sure I’d actually want to tell you if I met someone.”

“Fine. How should I ask, then? I’m just your mom, Aubrey. I’m interested in my daughter’s life. I don’t see what the big deal is, why we always have to make such a thing out of it.”

Aubrey pauses. The plates are messy and people are settling in their seats in the dining room. She steadies her tone and says, calmly, “It’s just the way you ask makes it seem like you’d obviously be disappointed if I said yes, that I’m still on my own. It’s the twist in your question—as if there’s only one answer you’d be satisfied with. I don’t feel you’re interested in my life. I feel you’re interested in knowing if I’ve finally met anyone. Like I’m just willfully holding back just to torture you.”

“I’ve obviously never said that.”

“I’m saying it feels this way.”

“Okay. Fine, then. You can tell me about your time away later, yes?” Marie picks up two plates, nudging her chin at the others. “This is clearly not the time to get into it.”

She seems content with herself as she leaves the room, and Aubrey stands there very still. She’s not sure when she assumed it would get easier, this part with her mom, but she was wrong, and all that’s changed instead is that they’re both adults now. Adults who don’t really communicate, who don’t say the things they truly feel. As normal and predictable as any.

Her mother is just a person. She might be clumsy in her approach, but she has to be doing her best. Assuming anything else would hurt too much. This is what Marie has to offer—intruding questions she tries to disguise as nice and caring, a conversation she starts in the least convenient time to quench the curiosity she relents control to. She’s just human. As is Louise, hiding heartbreak behind awkward matchmaking. As is Aubrey, terrified at times of something she’s been dreaming of for years.

It’s hard these days to see the differences reflected so obviously between Aubrey and her mother. And it sucks knowing that what could bridge that gap the quickest is the presence of a man by Aubrey’s side. She knows her mom won’t wake up in the morning with a different outlook on life. She knows she won’t ever come up with compelling enough arguments to alter her mother’s very core. Instead, she’ll keep making weak attempts at calling her mom out, and they’ll keep avoiding the real conversation and push it to later. And later.

At the table, Aubrey sits next to Louise. While they eat, she says to her aunt, “We haven’t talked much about the new year. Heading back to Lunenburg.” It feels a little less daunting now to bring this up. Maybe later she will mourn the version of Louise she had painted in her mind. For now she likes this new version, a bit more complex, intriguing.

“Right. I was going to tell you about this—I actually got a couple messages about doing something for New Year’s Day, up at the inn. I was thinking of heading back early the day before to set it up. You could just join whenever you can.”

“I could join whenever I can,” Aubrey repeats with a slow nod, toying with her turkey with the tip of her fork. Noncommittal. Very Louise.

They won’t look at each other, but their conversation is quiet, just for the two of them. Louise says, “If you feel like it, of course. But you’ve still got a few months with me before I have to convince you to stay longer, don’t you?”