Chapter Nineteen #2
She hears herself answering with questions, but she can’t risk any other response, because what if her tone gives her away?
Her eyes? Smiling and teasing feels safe, protection from the curiosity now catching in her breath.
What’s Arthur possibly doing calling Louise tonight?
Have they talked about her much? Has he said anything or thought anything she might want to hear about?
She’s starved for his thoughts, his words. His face.
At least her aunt doesn’t seem to notice much of this. She shrugs and says off-handedly, “I’ve asked him to pop by the inn and the house while I’m gone, just to make sure things are good, place hasn’t caught fire and that sort of stuff.”
“Ah.” Many thoughts rush through Aubrey’s mind then, all at once—Arthur in her space, looking at her things, touching what she’s touched. Quickly she adds, “Probably smart to do that, yeah.”
“He’s sweet.” When Louise meets Aubrey’s eye, she adds, “Not that I’m trying to push some sort of propaganda onto you.”
This makes Aubrey laugh. She says, “Of course, yeah. I know that.” Louise’s attention lingers too closely on her, then shifts away.
“Just don’t worry is all I mean. I got the gist of it.”
There is quiet conversation coming from the other room, but the air is otherwise quiet. Aubrey stares at her aunt, at the way her eyes are glued to the tree, avoiding Aubrey’s.
“Did you? Because Arthur wasn’t really the gist of it. I get that he’s an obvious pick, a single guy my age, whatever. I just didn’t expect it from you. That’s the point.”
Louise’s lips pinch in a thin line. “Right.”
“I hoped you might’ve been the one person I could look to for reassurance that I’d be fine. That if I never met anyone, everything would still work out. Are you not happy, on your own?”
“Obviously I am.”
“Okay. I believe you. But seeing you talk about Arthur like that, it was like I’d be letting you down if I didn’t go along with a plan I didn’t even know you were capable of coming up with. You’re Louise.”
“I get it, Aubrey. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe there’s no use understanding, because Louise was right in the end anyway. But Aubrey itches to understand. She’s desperate to follow Louise back to Lunenburg knowing that she didn’t get it entirely wrong when she chose to move there in the first place.
“What am I not getting?” Aubrey presses. “I really thought we saw things so similarly.”
“We do, it’s—obviously you don’t know everything about me, sweetheart.
” Louise seems ticked off, as if fighting against herself to keep something in.
She clicks her tongue, toying with the plastic pine needles that poke into her arm.
“I moved to Lunenburg for a man. I never said he’d been the one to ruin things. ”
Aubrey opens her mouth to say something when her mother pokes her head around the corner and chirps, “Can I get anyone something to drink?”
“Not now, Marie,” Louise snaps. She sighs.
Her face is drawn. Marie tuts and vanishes.
“I did the right thing, moving away. It was after I messed it up. I showed up there to be with him, lasted six months, and changed my mind. I don’t know why.
I still think about him, all the time. I don’t even know if he’s still in Lunenburg.
But anyway. I tried to patch things up, I failed. ”
“Why did you leave?” Aubrey has to ask, pressing, the question a whisper on her lips.
“I’m awful at being in relationships. I set myself aside completely because I get so desperate to please.
I have to be their ideal. So I blinked and I’d moved in with him, to this little house by the water, and I had no more hobbies or interests or idea of what I’d do with my time, other than love him.
John. It felt easier then to just start over entirely.
Like maybe I’d be doing us both a favour, trying to reinvent who I thought I was.
Terrible move, obviously. And then I just—” Louise runs a slow hand along the length of her neck, rubbing at her shoulder.
“Tried again, and again, and never found anything even remotely close to what we had. But it was wonderful. I loved him so deeply. Even if I forgot myself. I would’ve given anything to leave myself behind again. ”
“Louise,” Aubrey says gently. She rubs Louise’s arm where it rests over her stomach.
“Anyway. I really am happy on my own. After a while I figured it was much better than whatever other tepid thing was out there. And I liked that it became this thing that pissed my sister off, and the rest of these guys.” She juts her chin at the empty seats around them.
“And I couldn’t well admit that I was really just a heartbroken woman who couldn’t get over this one man.
It was like I’d failed at something, admitting that.
Especially to you. I know you want me to be this symbol that everything’ll be fine.
I get it. I’ve thought a lot about it. I’d feel the same, surely. ”
“That’s not what I wanted you to think at all.”
“I wanted the role,” Louise insists. “I liked that I could be this for you. And I meant everything I wrote to you over the years. I adored reading you. I didn’t want any of that to change.”
Aubrey says nothing. Thank you feels wrong, but she hopes Louise senses it in the way she holds her breath and waits for the next part.
“There was just something when I thought about Arthur,” Louise confesses.
She makes a face like she’s annoyed with herself.
Aubrey smiles. “Like the both of you would fit so well together. I don’t know why I felt this way.
But I just thought if you gave it a try.
I don’t know, these things never sound right when we say them out loud.
It didn’t really make sense. Maybe I was just projecting.
I wanted you to like Lunenburg more than I did, and I wanted you to know at least once what it feels like.
Maybe that’s all it was. I wanted you to know.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed me to be. ”
“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.