Spare

Again the conversation flowed, crackled. Burgers came and went, uneaten. I felt an overwhelming sense of Overture, Prelude, Kettle Drums, Act I. And yet also a sense of ending. A phase of my life—the first half?—was coming to a close.

As the night neared its end we had a very frank discussion. There was no way round it.

She put a hand to her cheek and said: What’re we gonna doooo?

We have to give this a proper go.

What does that even mean? I live in Canada. I’m going back tomorrow!

We’ll meet. A long visit. This summer.

My summer’s already planned.

Mine too.

Surely in the whole summer we could find one small spot of time.

She shook her head. She was doing the full Eat Pray Love.

Eat what now?

The book?

Ah. Sorry. Not really big on books.

I felt intimidated. She was so the opposite of me. She read. She was cultured.

Not important, she said with a laugh. The point was, she was going with three girlfriends to Spain, and then with two girlfriends to Italy, and then—

She looked at her calendar. I looked at mine.

She raised her eyes, smiled.

What is it? Tell me.

Actually, there’s one small window…

Recently, she explained, a castmate had advised her not to be so structured about her summer of eating, praying and loving. Keep one week open, this castmate said, leave room for magic, so she’d been saying no to all kinds of things, reserving one week, even turning down a very dreamy bike trip through the lavender fields of southern France…

I looked at my calendar and said: I have one week open as well.

What if they’re the same week?

What if?

Is it possible?

How crazy would that be?

It was the same week.

I suggested we spend it in Botswana. I gave her my best Botswana pitch. Birthplace of all humankind. Most sparsely populated nation on earth. True garden of Eden, with 40 percent of the land given over to Nature.

Plus, the largest number of elephants of any nation on earth.

Above all, it was the place where I’d found myself, where I always re-found myself, where I always felt close to—magic? If she was interested in magic, she should come with me, experience it with me. Camp under the stars, in the middle of nowhere, which is actually Everywhere.

She stared.

I realize it’s crazy, I said. But all of this is obviously crazy.

6.

We couldn’t fly together. For one thing, I was already going to be in Africa. I was scheduled to be in Malawi, doing conservation work with African Parks.

But I didn’t tell her the other reason: We couldn’t risk being seen together, the press finding out about us. Not yet.

So, she finished her Eat Pray Love thing, then flew from London to Johannesburg, then to Maun, where I’d asked Teej to meet her. (I wanted to do it myself, of course, but couldn’t without creating a scene.) After an eleven-hour odyssey, including a three-hour layover in Johannesburg, and a hot car ride to the house, Meghan had every right to be grumpy. But she wasn’t. Bright-eyed, eager, she was ready for anything.

And looking like…perfection. She wore cut-off jean shorts, well-loved hiking boots, a crumpled Panama hat that I’d seen on her Instagram page.

As I opened the gate to Teej and Mike’s house, I handed her a chicken-salad sandwich, wrapped in clingfilm. Thought you might be hungry. I suddenly wished I had flowers, a present, something besides this measly sandwich. We hugged, and it was awkward, not just because of the sandwich but the unavoidable suspense. We’d talked and FaceTimed countless times since our first dates, but this was all new and different. And a bit strange.

We were both thinking the same things. Is it going to translate? To another continent?

And what if it doesn’t?

I asked about the flight. She laughed about the Air Botswana crew. They were big fans of Suits, so they’d asked her to pose for a photo.

Yay, I said, thinking: Shit. If one member of the crew posted that photo, the cat would be out of the bag.

We all jumped into a three-bench truck, Mike driving, my bodyguards trailing, and set off. Straight into the sun. After an hour of tarmac roads, we were facing four hours of dirt tracks. To make the time go faster I pointed out every flower, plant, bird. That’s a francolin. That’s a hornbill. It’s like Zazu from The Lion King. That’s a lilac-breasted roller, and he seems to be doing his mating display.