Chapter Sixteen
Ten years earlier
Aubrey wears her new checkered mint dress to Simon’s eighteenth birthday party.
Maggie’s mom drives them both to Simon’s place, a house on the edge of a cliff on a warm spring afternoon.
Aubrey’s and Simon’s birthdays are only a week apart, and they often laugh about how Simon’s older but only by a little.
For a week, he teases her and Aubrey rolls her eyes and reminds him she’ll catch up soon.
It’s windy and beautiful at Simon’s family home.
The house is big, white, and square, with dark shutters and many windows.
It sits on a large property that overlooks the water, high waves that roll in and crash on sharp rocks far below.
The half-hour drive to this place feels like going on vacation.
It’s only the second time Aubrey’s ever been here. Last time was for a similar occasion, an end-of-year party that got only somewhat out of hand.
Some of the windows are open, and white curtains catch in the wind from inside. When the car pulls up in the half-moon driveway, Maggie whistles. “Holy shit.”
Aubrey laughs. “I know.”
Other than Simon and Maggie, Aubrey doesn’t know any of the people gathered on the lawn, dressed in nice outfits that make them all look like adults, red plastic cups in hand.
In Aubrey’s lap sits her phone and a gift bag with powder blue silk paper.
Maggie, on the other hand, didn’t wrap her present—a gift card to some game shop—and she keeps it in her back pocket, which is very like her. Simon won’t care at all.
“I’ll be back here tomorrow morning at half-past seven,” says Maggie’s mom, Charlotte, as the girls nudge the doors open and climb out of the car.
Maggie leans over to the driver’s window and presses a quick peck to her mom’s cheek. “You’re the absolute best.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Charlotte calls as she pulls away. Aubrey and Maggie stand there, in new dresses and intricate hairstyles. They each brought a backpack with drinks and a change of clothes. It feels oddly childish.
The front door sits wide open between two impressive ferns.
Inside, the house is drenched in sunlight, and the breeze passes right through to the backyard, visible from the entryway.
A few people are scattered here and there between the front and the back door, chatting in pairs or trios.
Maggie’s hand on Aubrey’s arm steals her attention away from the striking decor. “You ready to have fun?”
Aubrey’s “Mhm, yes,” isn’t very convincing.
Maggie hooks her arm over hers and leads her forward through the house, past a large cream kitchen and many overgrown, unruly houseplants. “What are you thinking?” She asks with pointed curiosity.
“I don’t want to say it out loud.”
“You’re scared for nothing. Maybe he won’t say anything at all.”
“He said like three times that he’s got something important to tell me.”
Outside, the sun is blinding and the grass is a deep shade of emerald.
Shadows from the trees dance on the lawn, blankets are laid on the ground, tables sit full of snacks and buckets of ice.
It’s ridiculously lavish, nothing like a party for teenagers.
The whole thing is both odd and thrilling, like this is the kind of event Aubrey sees in movies.
“Thank god you’re here,” she says in an exhale to Maggie.
“So what if he does tell you what we already know? Could be a good thing, yeah?”
“I don’t know.” She breathes in, then out. “I don’t know.”
Aubrey scans the crowd but he sees her first, waving at her from the opposite side of the yard. She waves back. Maggie asks through the smile she flashes at Simon, “Don’t you like him?”
“He’s great, yeah.” It almost sounds like a question, the way Aubrey says it.
“Mm, calm down, you might convince me too hard.”
Aubrey pivots to face Maggie. “He’s coming over here.”
“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.”
Aubrey blinks. She knows it’s not the right thing to say, but still she asks, “Sure of what?”
“If you knew. And if you felt the same way.” He’s nervous and it shows. Aubrey wants to look over at Maggie. She doesn’t.
“That’s a good question,” is all she finds to respond. It’s pathetic. She tries to smile, but it feels worse. “I mean, thank you. For telling me, and for—well, feeling the way you do.”
Finally, he looks at her. It’s harder to breathe when they make eye contact, and it lasts for at least three seconds, which is very long.
“It’s really fine if you don’t feel the same way,” he says.
“Simon.”
“I mean it. Really. I just thought—I don’t know. You’re great. I really like you.”
“I like you, too.” It’s not a lie. She weighs her words with care. She feels both like an adult and a child at once, navigating waters she’s not quite acclimated to. Her face is very hot. “I, mm, I don’t know how to say this.”
“It’s fine.” Simon sits very straight and fixes his attention on the others, over in the yard. “We can get back to the party.”
“No, come on. Let’s talk about this.” She’s in it now. She doesn’t want this to linger any longer.
He turns and unfolds his legs, dangling off the wall, facing the house not too far away. “I get it, Aubrey, really. I promise I’m fine. Maybe give me a few minutes to get over it, but then, you know. Smooth sailing, all this behind us.”