Chapter Twenty #3
He’s twenty-one and still single, like Renée.
In short sentences, he speaks of his friends telling the stories of their firsts, of how he’s not sure he’s interested in those experiences.
His words are hesitant but honest, maybe because it’s a little easier to write to a stranger.
His questions sink deep in Aubrey’s mind even though she can’t pretend to fully understand him.
Her thoughts burn her fingertips as she types clumsy advice on growth, patience, asexuality.
How she questioned herself a million times over before she was sure of who she is.
It’s shaky and wordy at best, but at least it’s there, and it might just help, even if only a little.
She reads this second message out loud to Maggie as well, who interrupts dinner to come and read the whole thing off of Aubrey’s computer.
It’s their last evening together. The apartment smells of marinara sauce.
When Maggie is done reading, she looks at Aubrey with a frown and says, “You’ve got all that going on in there and you’re keeping it all to yourself? ”
Aubrey snorts. “I do share some of it with the people who ask.”
“Well, we need to get more to ask. You should get some of this out in the world.” She taps her nail against the edge of her laptop. “Give me a few weeks and I bet I could get you a column somewhere. I mean, this is really good. People could learn a lot from reading about this.”
“Not that many people relate to this stuff. It’s not like I’m exactly looking to shout about it to the whole world.”
“Why not? We’re far past keeping this part of you hidden away like some shameful secret, hon. You’ll do much more in life than stay single for a long time. You might as well make the most of it.”
How odd and unfamiliar, to think of it like this. Aubrey says, reluctantly, “Fine, yeah. I won’t stop you or anything.”
The smile they share is quiet but loud.
“Good.” Maggie turns and heads back to the stove to stir the sauce. “It’s about time you start writing something again.”
They don’t say anything else on this topic. It feels good this way. Aubrey hits send on her response to Theo, shuts her laptop, and thinks, briefly, about Arthur.
When she and Maggie sit down to eat their spaghetti, candles glowing on the counter to drown out the smell of onions, Aubrey says, “I’m sorry I’m leaving you again.”
Maggie smiles. “Ah, that’s okay. I got you longer than I thought I would. It’s been a while now I expected to lose you, so I don’t know why I’m surprised. Maybe it’s because I didn’t anticipate it this way. But it’s rare we anticipate things the way they turn out.”
“You’re not losing me,” Aubrey says, desperate to sound convincing.
“It’s fine. I saw it coming, so I made peace with it, I think. Heading back to Lunenburg, and crushing on Arthur. I do listen when you talk, you know.”
Aubrey’s cheeks burn. She sees a foreign portrait of herself reflected in Maggie’s gentle teasing. Earnestly, she says, “I know you listen, Mags. I think I’m the one who wasn’t paying attention.” She knows that Maggie knows she’s referring to Arthur.
“It’s okay, not figuring everything out right away. It’s okay not to pay attention to everything.”
“I just don’t even know where my attention was, really.”
“On existing. That’s all it is.” Maggie shrugs and picks at the crust of her garlic bread.
She speaks while she chews. “There’s no shame in not noticing things.
It’s all in the right time, like when someone gives you advice you’re not ready to hear.
You don’t internalize it right away, and you don’t really care, and you think, ’well, it doesn’t feel this way at all, so obviously they don’t understand’.
But then you sit with it, and it grows and evolves, and one day you realize it’s true, just like that. ”
“Mm. That’s how I feel about this, yeah. About Arthur specifically.” She’s still getting used to speaking about him like this, like he’s this separate entity that she can discuss with other people, and not just Arthur, her close friend. Her something.
Maggie nods. “Yeah, good. I get it. It’s okay.”
“Will you come up and visit me then, in Lunenburg?”
Maggie laughs and doesn’t answer, and the conversation shifts to the new year, and resolutions they know they won’t keep.
Maggie wants to start yoga classes, and go into the office more, and she wants to donate the clothes in her closet she hasn’t worn in the last three months.
Aubrey has to remind her that summer was six months ago—surely she’ll want to keep some of those pieces.
They hug before they go to bed, and they hug again at 6:15 a.m. by the door, Aubrey’s suitcase by her feet and Maggie’s hair in her face.
They promise they’ll text and call, and it’s nice because they know it’s true for once.
Aubrey texts Louise to let her know she’s getting on the taxi and will be picking her up in fifteen.
It’s strange how quickly it hits her then, that in a few hours she’ll be on a plane, that she’s headed back to a place that already feels distant. Tonight, when she goes to bed, it’ll be in Lunenburg.