Page 65 of The Wedding Forecast

‘Now you sound like a snob.’

‘I’m not a snob. It’s just a fact.’

‘What was the first play you ever saw?’

‘The local community theatre Christmas nativity play. The boy playing Joseph forgot his lines. I knew, in my five-year-old heart, I could do a lot better.’

‘You’d kill the role of Joseph.’

‘I did! I played him three times over the years—Catholic primary school. Joseph at Christmas, but obviously I was gunning for Jesus or Judas at Easter time.’

‘Obviously.’

‘I did a very dramatic Jesus dying on the cross in grade six. It was like an interactive performance, where the audience walked through the school and came across various scenes. Anyway, I went full throttle on the anguished cries and moans of pain and the wailing and cursing—I added some really good stuff there—and fake blood dripping from my hands, and every child in the audience cried and the school had formal complaints and the local paper covered the controversy.’

‘Oh my god.’

‘I think that was the biggest media buzz I’ve ever had from a performance.’

‘No, you’re always on those Buzzfeed articles about the twenty-five best Code Blue patient storylines.’

‘The casting director must have seen the reaction to my Jesus-dying performance and they knew they had to have me. I could do a great death scene.’

‘Your Code Blue character didn’t die.’ He had an inoperable tumour in his stomach that they operated on and he lived, but his girlfriend was hit by a car in a freak accident while he was on the operating table. She was going out to buy him his favourite sandwich to have once he woke up and could eat again. It was a truly devastating plotline.

‘You are a fan, aren’t you.’ He pauses. ‘Of the show.’

‘Of the show. Yes.’

We smile at each other.

There is a special Van Gogh exhibition on at the Met, and exactly what I predict would happen happens. I tear up when I see The Starry Night. And Wheat Field with Cypresses, and his self-portrait with a straw hat. And then it happens again, later, at the Monets. Not sobbing, not making a scene, just a few small tears wiped away. Mac says nothing. He doesn’t make fun of me, which would annoy me, and even better, he doesn’t try to comfort me, which I would hate. We move around mostly in silence. At one point, his shoulder brushes against mine. I can’t tell if it’s on purpose or by accident.

After the Met, we get salads from a popular chain, and then we look in shop windows at their Christmas displays. I insist he takes a photo of me in front of every Christmas tree we come across. We get cold and go to a cosy cafe with fancy tea and scones in the theme of Alice in Wonderland.

‘There’s a bunch of night-time Christmas markets on this week,’ he says. ‘If you want to go.’

‘I’d love to.’

‘Or you and Hayley could go. I don’t want to crash your holiday.’

‘You’re not crashing it.’ ‘I don’t need to come. I can just give you a list of stuff to do.’

‘I want you to come. It’s fun to have a tour guide.’

‘Okay.’ He looks pleased, and cuts his pumpkin scone down the middle, offering half to me.

‘Thanks,’ I say, giving him half of my chocolate-chip scone in return.

Hayley messages to ask how the day is going.

Would you hate me if I had dinner with some conference people here tonight? she adds.

Totally fine, I text back.

Take Mac to the magic thing, she writes. We have tickets to a show that I am very excited about and Hayley is not.

Good idea, I reply. The idea of inviting him makes me feel immediately stressed. I look up from my phone, as casually as possible, and take a long sip of my tea for courage.