Chapter Twenty
As always, the days between Christmas and New Year’s sit on a different plane of existence from the rest of the year.
Aubrey settles quickly into her old habits of not changing out of her pajamas and surviving off of leftovers.
She and Maggie go browsing in shops without buying anything, telling each other, “You’d look so pretty in that,” and then setting things back on the racks.
They drink coffee and sugary cocktails and visit their respective families for lunches and brunches that keep them in a near-constant bloat.
Problems feel distant and life is very slow, in the snow that falls out the apartment windows, in the water that boils on the stove.
It should feel comforting—like the embrace of childhood memories and the luxury of feeling like your younger self for a few days, who had nothing to worry about over the holidays except feasting and sleeping—but things aren’t quite the same.
They ring a little off-key, a little unfamiliar.
Maggie’s apartment doesn’t feel like home anymore.
Aubrey asks permission to use a mug, has to be reminded where things are stored.
And in the midst of all of this, she thinks of Arthur.
Very often, if not all the time. Her thoughts are jumbled, but they’re there, and sometimes she catches herself thinking about him in the most innocuous moments, washing the dishes or locking the door behind her or trying very hard not to think about him.
Ben and Annie stop by the apartment once, which is welcome if unusual.
Aubrey suspects her brother’s turned into their mother a little, now that he’s settled into this fresh relationship, falling into the familiar air of pity and tentative personal questions of people who decide suddenly that Aubrey ought to catch up to them now.
Part of her wants to tell her brother she’s met someone, but it feels like a lie.
So she keeps it to herself, smiles, and answers questions with off-handed comments about women not needing to be in a relationship to feel whole, all while her chest sits cracked open in wait for someone.
Ben, Annie, and Aubrey sit in a semi circle in the living room, with glasses of wine and beers and blankets over their knees, and chat about the past few months as if this is a normal thing for them to do.
Aubrey doesn’t mind. She finds this pretty fun, actually.
In the kitchen, Maggie and her brother are arguing over their meagre attempt at cooking dinner.
At some point, they talk about when Ben and Aubrey were teenagers with too much free time and access to their parents’ digital camera, and the pictures they took in their backyard that they were so convinced could rival Vogue photoshoots, and Annie is nearly crying from laughing.
Aubrey says, “Hold on, hold on, I think I’ve still got them on my laptop, actually. ”
She sets up her laptop on the coffee table and turns it on while the others reminisce on the punk rock groups of their youth and who they’d be desperate to see live in concert today. Aubrey confesses she’d cried when My Chemical Romance split up.
She’d left her phone in Maggie’s bedroom for the past few hours, hoping to trick her brain into believing that maybe she doesn’t care about what’s happening hours away from here, or who might be texting her.
So when she reopens her desktop and finds two new messages waiting for her, she thinks for a second she might’ve picked up the wrong laptop.
The first message is from Renée, Florence’s cousin.
The second is from a name Aubrey doesn’t recognize.
Both messages begin with nearly the same sentence, something like Hi Aubrey, hope you’re enjoying your holidays far from Lunenburg, cut off by the restricted length of the preview.
Immediately, Aubrey thinks of Florence and what could’ve happened that might spur a message from Renée, and who this other person might be, and how likely it is that this is bad. The odds are not great.
Aubrey’s sudden worry is interrupted only by Ben’s impatient “Well?” so she sets the strange messages aside for now and digs up the old photos instead. They’re worse than she remembers.
It’s only two hours later that she gets to sit alone on the couch and open Renée’s message. She doesn’t breathe while she reads the first line, then the second, and her heart beats high and nervous in the back of her throat.
And then she exhales.
And reads the message over again.
Hey Aubrey, hope you’re enjoying your holidays far from Lunenburg.
It’s so boring here I might actually lose it.
I hope it’s okay I’m writing to you like this.
I asked Flo and she said it should be fine.
I wouldn’t do this if you weren’t my only resort (I don’t mean this in a rude way.
More in like an “I hoped I might figure this out on my own” way).
I guess Christmas is the time to reach out or whatever.
So, I need some advice. Honestly, any word of encouragement would help.
Here’s the thing. I went on a date, which is fun I guess depending on how you see it.
The date went fine, his name’s Hugh. He’s a little short which I like, and we had a good chat, about school and music.
He agreed with a lot of stuff I said. He looks fine, pretty cute, like if he tried to kiss me I wouldn’t run away or anything.
But honestly, I don’t think I really want to kiss him.
It’s nothing he’s done. I don’t think the date could’ve gone differently, and I had a nice time, but as seeing him again goes, I don’t really want to.
No reason for it, just a gut feeling, I guess.
But all my friends insist I should give him a second chance and that I won’t get all these butterflies from the first date, and things grow over time.
Which I guess is true, but shouldn’t I at least want to see him again a little bit?
I feel like maybe I’m the one who’s got it wrong at this point. I just don’t think there’s a connection there, but I don’t see what could be different that would make me feel the way I’m meant to. He’s a nice, funny, sweet, genuine guy. Maybe I should stick it out until I eventually like him???
Anyway. Let me know what you think. Turns out I enjoyed talking to you and I still think about the things you told me.
Also, I told a friend of mine he could write to you too because he’s a little dumb about this sort of stuff, and I thought you could help him out.
Thanks in advance, happy holidays again.
Renée x
Aubrey she sinks into the couch and drags her hands down her face, with a smile and a low groan. She’s conflicted in what to feel, her brain already churning to draft a response.
She pulls up Florence’s contact card and hits dial.
The apartment is too quiet while the line rings.
Aubrey wants to read the other message, find out what this other person wants to know.
Words already tingle at her fingertips. Over the speaker, Florence answers, “You better be very nice to me, now you’ve abandoned us all for your favourite family. ”
Aubrey laughs, soft in the warmth of Maggie’s living room. “I’m headed back soon, I’ll have you know.”
“Mm. Well, now I can’t really come up with anything else sarcastic to say. That’s actually very nice to hear.”
“You know your cousin’s written me a sweet message asking for my very valuable advice?”
“Oh!” Florence sounds pleased. “She’s actually gone and done it, good. I told her she should. Don’t tell me what she said, obviously. I mean, not right away.”
“So it wasn’t her idea, then?”
“Yes, sorry, I meant she came and asked me if she could reach out to you. I gave her permission, kind of? Not that she needed it, but you know.”
“Okay.” Aubrey smiles around the word. She pulls her knees up to her chest and says, “I haven’t replied yet, but I will. I think it’s nice she wanted advice.”
“Good, yeah. I hope you keep some for me, when you get back. I’ve been dying to talk to you—I matched with this guy I went to school with, and we’ve been chatting for like a week. He’s out of town until the new year, but I was thinking I might see him when he gets back.”
“Well, that sounds like a romance movie. I can’t wait to hear more.”
“What about you? You gonna give Lunenburg a second chance?”
“Am I not still on the first chance?”
“Yeah, no, I know. I just feel—I don’t know, I thought maybe you went home so early because you needed a break from us, here. Not that I’d blame you. But things have just been different since you’ve gone.”
Aubrey steadies her breath and hums, “How different?”
“Mostly it’s that I haven’t been having as much fun with everyone else, I think.
I didn’t really think I’d make a friend like you now, like we’re all just meant to settle into our friendships while our brain is still developing and then keep them for the rest of our lives, right?
And it always feels like everyone’s too busy to make space for more relationships, more people in their lives, so you wonder what the point is.
But then I met you and I didn’t even question it, like of course you were meant to show up now.
Anyway. I miss you, that’s what I’m trying to say.
I’ve been bored, and I want to pick your brain about a lot of things. Everything, basically.”