Chapter Two #3
But Maggie won’t tell Aubrey to stay. She’s a girl who can’t stay put but who’s been burned too many times by giving herself away too quickly in friendships and relationships to take any sort of leap now.
She still craves the stories—at twenty-five she decided to become a column writer, hungry to have an excuse to explore a little without too much risks—so she spurs on other people’s adventures instead, nudges them on and on even if they risk crumbling.
At least she’s always there to collect the pieces.
Of course, it’s not as bad as it sounds.
She’s a great listener, the kind who knows when to speak, when to curse, when to gasp for effect, and she’ll never turn down an invite out for a drink if there’s promise of a good anecdote.
Aubrey says to the table, “She offered me a job back in Lunenburg, actually. So that was something.”
Maggie gapes at her. “Did she really?”
“Mhm, taking care of an inn she plans on opening.”
“Did you say yes?”
“I said I’d think about it.”
“But the answer is yes.”
Aubrey notices she’s smiling again. She can’t help but find a familiar, comforting amusement in Maggie’s enthusiasm, despite the twinge of disappointment at her readiness to say goodbye.
“Louise does this kind of stuff all the time. It’s always on to the next thing, a new big project, whatever else.
The offer wasn’t until summer. It would’ve been stupid to say yes.
I don’t even know what she’ll be doing next week.
Or what I’ll be doing, really.” That last part is a lie.
Nothing will be any different next week.
“Oh, my god. That’s exactly why you say yes.
Nearly everyone knows what they’ll be doing next week.
They’ve got someone waiting for them, careers they’re stuck in—don’t make that face.
I’m saying you’ll have that too, one day, and then it’ll be too late to say yes to the eccentric aunts asking you to work for them in faraway places.
You have to do it. Very selfishly, I’m begging you to. ”
The glimmer of self-awareness is at least a little endearing. Aubrey insists on not breaking so easily.
“You don’t even know everything it’d entail. I’d be gone for months, I wouldn’t know anyone but Louise.”
“Cool. Say yes. I don’t want to be sitting here next year in this exact same spot, talking about the exact same thing. Our twenties are hurtling to their end.”
Aubrey chokes on a sip of her drink. “Jesus.”
“It’s the truth. And I know you don’t want me to say it—”
“That’s probably right.”
“—but maybe you’re just not meant to meet someone around here. Maybe this is exactly what you need.”
Aubrey wants to bury her face in her hands, let out a muffled groan against her palm, press her fingers against her eyes and for all of it to make sense, suddenly.
She wants to know, magically, what to say to this.
She wants to decide between I’m perfectly fine on my own, actually and you’re right, I do hope I’ll meet someone there.
Most of all, she wants to stop feeling guilty for wanting the things she wants, and to admit it would be nice indeed to find herself in a relationship for the first time in her life, without feeling like she’s failing at being a strong, modern woman or finally giving in to the pressure she’s insisted isn’t getting to her.
She doesn’t want to get it wrong. At least until now she could just blame everyone else.
If she fails again after uprooting her whole life, she might run out of excuses.
“I’ll consider it,” she says instead.
Maggie gives an approving nod. “Good. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I’ll be fine, you know.” Maggie eyes Aubrey carefully. Aubrey insists, “Even if I’m in this exact spot a year from now.”
“I know that.”
“Right.”
“And I’ll still be here, no matter what. You know that.”
“Mm. That’s debatable, depending on how well reunion planning goes.”
“Oh, god. Don’t remind me.”
They snicker, noses buried in the crisp aroma of their gin and tonics, and midnight rolls around an hour later to the cheers and shouts of the packed crowd.
Aubrey hugs Maggie to her chest and they wish each other good luck, health, and love in the new year.
Then they reach for their phones to write to their respective families.
Aubrey’s parents have already sent their well wishes and rows of champagne emojis, which she echoes in kind.
The lulling comfort of family dulls the hollowness of her folks’ sentiment.
Maggie disappears over the next few weeks, which turn into months. She drowns in puff pieces, the race for the next editor position at work, and catering and invite planning for the reunion, all while dating and exercising and probably, somewhere in there, breathing.
Aubrey doesn’t quit her job. She goes on three first dates. She reorganizes her living room.
In late May, Louise writes to her again and reiterates her offer, with pictures of Lunenburg that Aubrey’s already seen a dozen times and a list of things to do around town that should somehow entice a twenty-seven-year-old woman to leave her life behind.
Not that there’s much to leave behind, anyway.
Twelve hours after the reunion, Aubrey’s on a plane to Nova Scotia.