Chapter Fifteen #2
Aubrey is nearly as startled by the sound of her name as she is by the tone of his voice.
He sits straight and looks at her too intently.
“Right,” she says unconvincingly. She wants to let out a very long groan.
Instead, she pleads, “It’s harder than it sounds.
I know it. I just feel different. I’m not explaining it right, but I don’t know how else to say it.
I get your point. I just don’t think you’ve been told recently, to your face, that you’re utterly undateable. ”
“Maybe I have,” Arthur retorts immediately.
“You haven’t.”
“I haven’t, but I could’ve been.”
“Yes, but I actually have. I have lived it.” She squints at him. “You recognize we’ve had different experiences, yeah?”
“No one and everyone is undateable, by some standard or another.”
“Don’t get vague and philosophical on me.”
“Is it vague and philosophical, or just true?”
“Arthur.”
He pulls a face. “Sounds weird, when you call me that.”
“It’s your name. What else should I call you?”
“I don’t know. We rarely use each other’s names in conversation.”
“You just did a minute ago.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Of course I’ve shaped some part of my self-worth on what I’ve heard other people say to me. Are you saying you’re entirely confident in who you are without needing any sort of validation from the people around you?”
Arthur sucks air through his teeth. Reluctantly, he concedes, “Fine, yeah.”
“Positive self-talk has very disappointing limits. It’s hard sometimes to run on fumes alone.”
“But you give weight to the negative. You’ve got Maggie’s support, and m—Flo’s. They’re worth something.”
It’s funny hearing Arthur speak of Maggie. Aubrey’s only mentioned her to him a couple times, in passing when he asks if she misses home, or what’s new in the life she left behind. They exist in such different parts of her life.
“They are, sure.” Aubrey sinks back into her chair.
It’s exhausting trying to explain the intricacies of her heart, her brain.
She wishes so desperately he’d just get it.
Maybe this is why people bottle things up.
“I don’t know. I guess it’s just not the same as hearing it from—well, men.
” She flinches. “I hate that I said that out loud.”
“Men’s opinions aren’t worth shit. If you want to hear from a man—fine. You’re not a red flag, or flawed, or undateable. You’re not unlovable and you’re not doomed to end alone.”
“Right, okay. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
He doesn’t seem very amused. “You are hearing me, yeah?”
“Sure.”
“Aubrey.” This time her name is purposeful on his lips. He watches her closely, like he wants her to notice. “I will say it again, if you need to hear it again.”
She drops her gaze to the table because it feels easier. “Once is plenty,” she tries to joke. “Thanks.”
His chair creaks when he shifts his weight in his seat. “Anyway, what I was going to say was—ending up alone is even more terrifying, I get that. But what if you’re not considering all the alternatives? What if you can’t even imagine how good it’ll turn out?”
“Mm, okay. Optimistic.”
“What if you can’t even picture how great things will be, and what if everything turns out absolutely perfect? You get the idea.”
Aubrey likes what he’s saying. It soothes the swelling in her chest a little. “Sure.”
“Honestly, I’m just not very worried about you. Look at you, for Christ’s sake. Not that it matters much what I think, but you know. I think you’ll be fine. But if you decide what I’m saying isn’t worth much, well, you can just focus on that instead. Everything turning out just fine.”
“Yeah.” Aubrey’s voice is stifled, soft.
Arthur is watching her so very closely and he looks for a second as if he might want to hug her.
Maybe she should say less, or think more, but it’s nice to talk to him, even when it catches her off-guard.
Begrudgingly, she says, “Everyone goes on all the time about how short life is.”
Arthur nods, with a taut, stiff smile. “Yeah, they do that.”
“I hate it.”
He takes a small sip from his tea. His face twists into a grimace. “I bet it doesn’t feel very short when you’ve been waiting for something for so long.”
“That’s exactly it, yes.” She looks at his hands, wrapped around the mug again. “Do you not like the tea?”
“Not a big tea guy.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“Oh, it’s fine. I’ll drink it if you make it for me.”
They stare at each other. Aubrey’s chest is tight and she thinks of the time, and how Louise must be on her way home. She feels lost in this conversation, trying to imagine where it could go or what its point is, and she draws a blank, maybe on purpose. “Can I tell you something else?” she asks.
His expression settles into something more serious now. “Mhm. Anything.” It feels heavy and intimidating now, the way he watches her.
She has to look away to say, “I’m really just scared I won’t be happy.” She smiles then, just so he knows she’s not just sad and pathetic.
“Well, shit,” Arthur laughs, somewhere deep from his chest. “I’d be really worried if you weren’t.”
It feels nice, somehow, to be teased this way. It’s so easy to find comfort in this being funny, out of all things. She rolls her eyes. “Ha ha.”
“Okay. I get it. I can help with that, I think.”
Ah. “Of course you can.”
“Would you ever be scared you’d never be sad again?”
Aubrey bites into her smile, as if she can’t let it grow too wide. “I don’t suppose I would.”
“Happiness is an emotion. Not a permanent state. It comes and goes like any other emotion, like sadness, or anger. It’s exhausting to try and stay in it forever. Impossible, even. But it comes back around. Like any other feeling.”
His answer lingers for a moment in the air. He takes another sip of tea and fails miserably at concealing his disgust. Aubrey says, “Jesus. You’re really annoying.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“How do you just think like this?”
“Oh, fuck, I don’t. I have a therapist for a mother is all. I’ve been swimming in emotional regulation and all that crap since I was in diapers.”
Aubrey grunts. “I should’ve known there was a reason.”
“For?”
“For... this.” She motions at him, the puzzled expression on his face and his t-shirt and the hands around his mug. “Being wise and all-knowing, like there’s nothing you haven’t thought through.”
“Ah, that. I was just taught to think about things a lot, and deeply. I don’t think I’ve ever thrown a tantrum without it turning into a long discussion about the unfair frustrations of being human, and how I can do better.”
“Was that exhausting at all?”
“Only extremely.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I like what you said just now, about happiness being an emotion.”
“Good. I’m glad I could help.”