Spare

This?

No, the one next to it.

We were cackling.

When we’d got through our list, I paid at the checkout, then texted Meg about where to meet. Down the parking ramp, under the shop, people-carrier with blacked out windows. Moments later, our shopping snug in the boot, Billy the Rock at the wheel, we roared out of the car park, heading for Nott Cott. I watched the city going past, all the houses and people, and I thought: I can’t wait for you all to meet her.

12.

I was excited to welcome Meg to my home, but also embarrassed: Nott Cott was no palace. Nott Cott was palace adjacent—that was the best you could say for it. I watched her as she walked up the front path, through the white picket fence. To my relief she made no sign of dismay, gave no indication of disillusionment.

Until she got inside. Then she said something about a frat house.

I glanced around. She wasn’t far off.

Union Jack in the corner. (The one I’d waved at the North Pole.) Old rifle on the TV stand. (A gift from Oman, after an official visit.) Xbox console.

Just a place to keep my stuff, I explained, moving around some papers and clothes. I’m not here much.

It was also constructed for smaller people, humans of a bygone era. Thus the rooms were tiny and the ceilings were doll’s house low. I gave her a quick tour, which took thirty seconds. Mind your head!

I’d never noticed until then just how shabby the furniture was. Brown sofa, browner beanbag chair. Meg paused before the beanbag.

I know. I know.

Our dinner guests were my cousin Euge, her boyfriend Jack, and my mate Charlie. The salmon turned out perfectly and everyone complimented Meg on her culinary talents. They also devoured her stories. They wanted to hear all about Suits. And her travels. I was grateful for their interest, their warmth.

The wine was as good as the company, and there was plenty of it, and after dinner we moved into the snug, put on music and silly hats, and danced. I have a fuzzy memory, and a grainy video on my phone, of Charlie and me rolling on the floor while Meg sat nearby laughing.

Then we got into the tequila.

I remember Euge hugging Meg, as if they were sisters. I remember Charlie giving me a thumbs-up. I remember thinking: If meeting the rest of my family goes like this, we’re home free. But then I noticed that Meg was feeling poorly. She complained of an upset stomach and looked terribly pale.

I thought: Uh-oh, lightweight.

She took herself off to bed. After a nightcap I saw our guests out and tidied up a bit. I got into bed around midnight and crashed out, but I woke at two a.m. to hear her in the bathroom, being sick, truly sick, not the drunken sick I’d imagined. Something else was going on.

Food poisoning.

She revealed that she’d had squid for lunch at a restaurant.

British calamari! Mystery solved.

From the floor she said softly: Please tell me you’re not having to hold back my hair while I’m vomiting.

Yes. I am.

I rubbed her back and eventually put her to bed. Weak, near tears, she said she’d imagined a very different end to Date Four.

Stop, I said. Taking care of each other? That’s the point.

That’s love, I thought, though I managed to keep the words inside.

13.

Just before Meg returned to Canada we went to Frogmore gardens for a walk.

It was on the way to the airport.

A favorite spot of mine, I said. It spoke to her as well. She especially loved the swans, and especially one that was very grumpy. (We named him Steve.) Most swans are grumpy, I said. Majestic, but sourpusses. I always wondered why, since every British swan was the property of Her Majesty, and any abuse of them, thereby, was a criminal offense.

We chatted about Euge and Jack, whom she loved. We talked about Meg’s work. We talked about mine. But mostly we talked about this relationship, a subject so immense it seemed inexhaustible. We continued the talk as we got back into the car and drove to the airport, and kept talking in the car park, where I dropped her on the sly. We agreed that if we were serious about giving ourselves a chance, a real chance, we’d need a serious plan. Which meant, among other things, making a vow never to let more than two weeks pass without seeing each other.

We’d both had long-distance relationships, and they’d always been hard, and part of the reason had always been lack of serious planning. Effort. You had to fight the distance, defeat that distance. Meaning, travel. Lots and lots of travel.