As he strides away, I take the opportunity to answer a WhatsApp thread on whether Maud should dye her hair, but I shove my phone away as Matt returns, looking a bit thunderous.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing. My dad wanted my opinion on something.” He sits down and slugs his beer.
“But he knew you were busy.”
“Yup,” says Matt shortly. And he opens his menu as though closing the discussion.
He sounds both pissed off and as though he doesn’t want to talk about it, which is the worst possible combination. As I open my own menu, I can’t help seething. I know it’s a big family business, massive global brand, blah blah, whatever, but his parents treat Matt like they own him. Twice this week they’ve sent Geoff to pick him up from home when he wasn’t expecting it, just like they did that time at the airport. Geoff isn’t Matt’s personal driver, as I assumed at first. He works for Matt’s parents and does their bidding.
When Matt questioned Geoff’s unexpected appearances, his mother got all defensive and said they were trying to “make his life easier.” (I could hear her through his cellphone.) But it seems pretty controlling to me. Like all these phone calls and dropping in unexpectedly. Where are the boundaries?
“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.