Love Your Life(76)

“That’s a bit weird,” I try again. “Calling you at a restaurant just to get your opinion.”

“Yup,” Matt repeats, without looking up. “Well, that’s how they are.”

For a while we’re silent, while my brain whirs. Here we are, then. This is culture shock. This is me, faced with an unpalatable aspect of Matt-land, thinking, Why? But Matt seems to accept it. Is this just how they behave in his world? Am I biased? Should I try to understand rather than criticize?

Yes! I decide. I should immerse and learn, with compassion and empathy.

“Matt,” I announce firmly, “I want to visit your office.”

“My office?” Matt seems staggered.

“Of course! I love you, but I hardly know what you do! I want to see your work, watch you in action, get to know that side of you. Understand you.”

“You could come to the Harriet’s World Expo,” says Matt reluctantly. “That would be more interesting than coming to the office. It’s in three weeks’ time. We hire a conference venue, Harriet’s House fans come from all over, there’s entertainment….It’s fun.”

    He says “It’s fun” in such flat tones, I almost want to laugh. But that wouldn’t be compassion, nor empathy.

“Great!” I say. “I’ll start by coming to the expo. And in return, you can ask me anything you like about my work.” I sweep a generous hand around the table. “Anything. You must have a million questions!”

“Er…sure,” says Matt. “My mind’s a bit blank right now,” he adds quickly, as he sees me waiting. “But I’ll let you know.”

“OK, well, I’ve had another idea,” I press on with energy. “Let’s bring our friends together. Let’s have a party for them and they can all immerse with one another!”

“Maybe.” Matt looks dubious. Honestly. He really should try to engage with this process.

“What about you?” I say encouragingly. “Do you have any ideas to help us acclimatize with each other?”

“Ava…” Matt takes a long sip of beer, looking beleaguered. (Which is his dad’s fault, not mine.) “I dunno. This all seems like overthinking to me. Couldn’t we just…you know. Go with the flow?”

“No! We have to be proactive!” I open the book and find a pull-out quote. “?‘Don’t shrink from culture shock, but launch yourself bravely toward it. Only then will you have a chance of success.’?”

I jab at the words significantly with my finger, then clap the book shut and take a deep sip of my cocktail. Just saying those words has emboldened me. I’m going to launch myself bravely at Matt’s work. And his parents. And golf. I just hope they’re ready.



* * *



—

    Neither of us wants dessert, so when we leave the restaurant it’s still a light, balmy evening. The air is almost Italian-warm, and there are crowds of people outside every pub and clustered in the piazza, watching a busker. As we wander over, drawn by the shrieks and gasps of the crowd, I hear Matt’s phone buzzing in his pocket and see the rocklike look start to come over his face.

“Don’t think about your phone,” I say as gently as I can. “We’re in Covent Garden and it’s a beautiful night. Let’s have fun. Fun. Remember that?”

My words seem to prick Matt, because he says, “I’m fun!” defensively.

“Of course you are,” I backtrack hastily. “I just meant…you know…let’s chill out. Enjoy ourselves.”

“Volunteer!” The busker’s amplified voice rises above the crowd. “I need a brave, even foolhardy volunteer….No takers?” he adds, as there’s a nervous giggle in the crowd. “Are you all cowards?”

“Me!” Matt shouts suddenly, raising his hand. “I’ll do it!”

“What?” I gasp.

“Live a little,” he says, and winks at me before marching forward to join the busker. I watch, flabbergasted, as they cheerfully exchange a few words. Volunteering at one of these things is my idea of the opposite of fun.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our very brave volunteer…Matt!” bellows the busker, and the crowd erupts. As Matt grins at me, I can’t help laughing. Maybe I’d hate this—but he looks delighted to be there, standing beside a guy in neon-pink shorts and a headset, who’s telling the audience to clap along and cracking jokes about health and safety.

    I wasn’t paying attention to the show earlier on, so I don’t know what the act is. Some kind of acrobatics? Or comedy? I’m prepared for something quite cringeworthy, maybe involving hats. But then, as the busker starts issuing instructions to Matt and gets out his equipment, it becomes clear what the act is—and my smile freezes. Is this for real? Is this busker seriously intending to juggle flaming torches over Matt’s prone body? And Matt’s agreeing to it?

He’s not just agreeing, he’s laughing along. He’s joining in with the busker’s jokes about whether he’s made a will or funeral arrangements. He’s sitting on the ground and waving around. And the crowd is clapping and cheering.

I watch, petrified, as the busker lights the flames. He wasn’t joking: That’s real fire. My stomach is all twisted up; I can’t even watch. But I can’t not watch either. In the end I compromise by watching through my fingers, holding my breath. Oh God…