Chapter Twenty-One #2
It’s just past 6:00 when she crosses the yard over to the inn wearing nothing but boots and a scarf. The sun won’t be up for a bit still. It doesn’t really feel like a new year yet.
She’s just unlocked the door and stepped inside when her phone buzzes to announce a new message from Arthur.
It’s a very polite message, informing her he’ll be there in about fifteen, coming in through the back. And then dots pop up. He’s typing again. A second message appears.
It’ll be good to see you. Been gone too long.
Aubrey sets her phone down on the little kitchen table and turns on the light.
Then she takes off her scarf, buries her face in her hands, and lets out a long, quiet groan against her palms. She looks at the phone again, then at her reflection in the little mirror hanging on the wall.
Then her phone, then the back door, and she realizes she knows nothing.
About herself, about Arthur, about this.
She’s been itching to get to the conclusion of this drawn-out cliffhanger, but even as she steps closer and closer, she can’t figure out what the ending is.
Maybe she needs more time. The stories move fast, but she’s terrified to rush.
To get it wrong. She keeps thinking about him heading over, and how he’s so clueless about how she’s feeling.
Maybe it should stay this way. Then they would talk as usual and things would stay like this.
It’s been hard standing still, but leaping forward feels even harder.
Maybe she was a hypocrite when she confronted him about his feelings. She can’t be a hypocrite.
She takes a seat and stares at the time on the oven. After this is done, no matter what happens, she’ll write an email to Louise. Then maybe she’ll hit send on all of them. From last summer until now, so someone else can tell her she’s made the right moves, felt the right things.
The engine cut off outside and a door slam shut. Still, Aubrey jumps when a knock echoes through the kitchen.
She holds her breath, twists the frigid door handle, and exclaims, “Oh, hi!”
Outside, the sky is lightening in shades of pink and orange.
The snow is fresh. Arthur is bundled up in thick layers, gloves, and a red hat.
He’s holding a box, and he says, “Funny seeing you here.” He looks the same but not at all.
His eyes are soft and his smile comfortable. Nothing about him is foreign.
Aubrey steps aside to let him in. She wants to talk about things that don’t matter, like how early it is, and he must be exhausted, and were there many people on the streets on his way here?
Instead, she stands there as he sets his box down.
When he turns back to her, he says, “I’ve only got two more of those.
Louise said you didn’t need a huge amount of stuff. ”
“Yes, right. Thank you for this, by the way. I told her I could go grocery shopping.”
“Didn’t want to see me much, then?” He’s smiling but he seems serious.
Aubrey clears her throat. It’s surprising how hard it is to hold his eye. “No, no, of course not. It’s just so early, and for only a few boxes. And it’s New Year’s Day.”
“Mm.” He steps over to the door again. Aubrey knows she’s watching him too closely. He says, “Give me a second then, this won’t take long.”
Before he’s out again, she asks, “Will you have time to stay for a bit, after? To talk?”
His mouth twitches in a smile. He drops his head in a nod. “Obviously.”
He brings in two more boxes and stacks them next to the pantry door. It’s like no time has passed at all, except there are little differences here and there—in the way he stands with his body turned a little further out, how he looks over to the side a lot, the hum in his voice before he speaks.
She offers him tea as he takes a seat at the table. The domestic routine they’ve established brings a knot to Aubrey’s throat. That, and what she can’t bring herself to say aloud.
As they wait for the kettle, Arthur asks how her trip home went, and Aubrey says abruptly, “There’s something I think we should talk about.” She can’t stand the itch anymore.
His shoulders are tense, but he wears the tiniest hint of a smile. “Sure,” he offers.
“I just think—well, I’m sorry about what happened last time.
I think I went about it wrong. It just seemed so silly we couldn’t just talk about it, you know—but then it wasn’t my decision to make, I don’t think.
I don’t get to decide what you want to say or not, or how you should feel.
You’re probably thinking, that’s a very basic thing to realize. ”
“Aubrey,” he says simply, in a soft tone, though he doesn’t look at her directly for very long.
“I just mean that I understand. I wanted you to know that. I thought so long about what I wanted to say, and now I’m not really sure how to get it out right.
But just know I’m sorry, and I’m trying to go about it differently.
” She feels so ridiculous standing there in the middle of this kitchen, picking at her cuticles at the crack of dawn.
She looks at the ceiling for a second, hoping somehow it might help.
“What I mean is I only get to decide what I say, and now that I’m actually trying to say it, I’m realizing it’s absolutely terrifying to get the words out.
And I’ve never actually done this, and when I saw it in the movies it looked so easy, and romantic, and like it would just make sense.
I think this does make sense, but nothing about it feels easy or romantic, really.
I’m just scared, and stressed, and I barely slept at all last night. ”
Arthur starts to say, “What are you—”
“I’m just trying to say I have feelings for you.
” She spits it out in one breath and nearly a single syllable.
Her breath catches. “That’s all, honestly.
I mean, almost everyone seemed to think it was obvious except for me, apparently, but I guess it’s caught up to me, and I’d be such a hypocrite not to tell you.
So I’m telling you. I have feelings for you.
I think about you deeply, and often. I think about us, the idea of it, and I think about your face.
Not too much, just in the normal way people do when they’re attracted to someone. I think.”
She winces, then adds quickly before Arthur can open his mouth in return, “I thought I knew for sure you liked me, too, but I’ve been less and less sure about that.
I really don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.
Especially when I said that I think often about your face.
I’ve been trying to be very mature and smart about the situation, because we’re friends and I get how scary it can be, but it’s very hard to be entirely rational about it. Because I like you, very much.”
Arthur says, “Okay.”
Shakily, Aubrey admits, “I can’t read your face at all right now.”
“Oh. Well, I can try to change it if you’d like.”
“No, no. But maybe—I don’t know, do you have anything to say?”
“Yes. A lot, I think. I just wanted to make sure you were done.”
“I don’t think I am,” Aubrey says, because she’s scared she’s forgotten something—surely there’s more to say. “But it might be best I stop talking now. I think that’s the gist of it, really.”
“That you have feelings for me.”
“Yes.”
When he stands up from his chair, Aubrey makes a conscious effort not to back up. Behind her, the kettle is whistling. Arthur walks over and around her to move it off the stove. He’s standing very close now. He says slowly, “And you’d like those feelings to be reciprocated.”
Aubrey nods. She doesn’t trust herself to speak. Her throat is dry and her heart thundering. She can’t think fast enough to decide if this is going as it should.
Arthur says again, “Okay.”
“Can you say anything else?”
“Sorry.”
She smells soap on him, and winter. Her mouth is impossibly dry. She begs, “Hopefully something that’ll put me out of my misery, one way or the other.”
“Well—mm. I don’t want to get this wrong.” His eyes are somewhere off to the side. Aubrey can’t think of what to do with her arms, or herself at all. Then he says, “You weren’t imagining things. When you questioned how I felt.”
“Oh.” She takes a beat. How hard it is to breathe. “Good.”
“I didn’t want to—I didn’t want to risk it. I thought surely there was no reason I should be the one, you know, the first guy you ever—”
Aubrey’s breath hitches. “You should risk it.”
“You have to see it the way I did. The way I do. Falling for this woman who’s never been with anyone—what if she changes her mind?
What if she’s not sure, or I just end up ruining this for her?
I couldn’t—” His hands hover up to her arms, then drop back to his side.
He leans back and adds, “I didn’t want to be the one to hurt you.
Or scare you off, or—I didn’t want to lose you, either.
It’s a lot of things I didn’t want. So it seemed safer not to do anything at all. ”
“Okay.” With every word he speaks, Aubrey finds herself falling a little further apart. She wants to say, fuck, and pull herself together. Again, she finds the ceiling to keep her eyes from spilling over. “God, sorry. A bit rough to hear this. But it’s fine. It’s good.”
He insists, slowly, “I don’t mean it was easier. Just safer.”
“I know.”
“Hey.” He leans over until he catches her eye. The back of his hand brushes against hers. He looks down quickly, then up again. “I thought you liked it when I said things.”
“I do.” It’s true but also a lie. She’s so painfully lost in what to feel, or think.
Arthur moves to rest his hand on her arm and pulls her forward gently, just a hair. “You have to understand I do like you. I’m pretty crazy about you, actually.”