Good at Being Alive(81)

She chokes on her coffee. “Me and Lars?”

“Come on,” I goad. “There’s something there. You adore him, and it’s pretty clear he adores you right back.”

“Dieu,” she says, walking to the kitchen and grabbing a paper towel, laughing. “That made coffee come out of my nose. But no. No. Please never say that again.”

It’s a far more adamant response than I’d expected. “Why not? He’s a smart, good-looking guy. And he seems nice enough.”

“Stop,” she says, placing a palm over her face. “So many reasons. No.”

I give up, for now, and return to my room to get ready. Mindy has sent jeans and a sweater, thank god, so I at least won’t be expected to pretend Norway is a balmy eighty degrees in summer.

We take a van to a public square in the center of Bergen. The streets are cobblestone, the architecture is lovely, the light at dusk is perfection. But I only care about the sight of Theo, standing next to Lars beside an old building that’s been converted into a McDonald’s. He’s scanning the square for something, and when he sees me…he seems to have found it.

He smiles. He doesn’t look away. I smile. I don’t look away either.

I thought we were bad at pretending to be together. But we’re even worse at pretending we’re not. I move toward him and even though Lars is still speaking, Theo is moving in my direction, walking backward to reply. He turns and then he’s close, and closer, and he keeps right on going until he’s beside me.

“Hey,” he says, his gaze on my mouth.

I try to think of a way to manipulate Paula and Lars into making us kiss but come up empty.

“Hey.” God, I wish we were alone right now. Why didn’t we meet here early? Why didn’t we come here straight from Paris and spend an entire week in a hotel room, not seeing Norway once?

Mics and battery packs are handed to us. We clip them on ourselves, old pros at this point. “Tonight, we’re showing you guys exploring Bergen,” Paula says. “Chronologically, this comes after Amsterdam, so it would be very early fall. This trip will show some more hiccups in the relationship. You’ve just had an uncomfortable conversation about children, and now you’ve got to decide where to live.”

I glance up at Theo again. I’ve never wanted to do this—the fake conversations, the pretending—but I want it less now than ever. I don’t want to have what is actually a somewhat real talk about how ill-matched we are when we’re just getting started.

LJ gets in front of us. “Rolling.”

We glance at Jon. “Speed.”

“Action,” Lars calls, and we begin walking.

“Have you given any more thought to where we’ll live once I’ve sold the house?” I ask.

Theo squeezes my hand. “I thought we’d already settled on the Maldives.”

I laugh. “I thought you wanted Primrose Hill.”

“What’s halfway between them?” he asks.

“Iraq,” I reply.

He grins. “Then it’s settled. We’ll move to Iraq. I wonder how the school system is.”

“Cut!” Lars calls, stopping us in place. “We’re supposed to be showing the first chinks in the armor. Agreeing to move to Iraq makes you look like you’re head over heels.”

I flush, unable to meet anyone’s eyes…especially Theo’s.

We shoot the walk over again. Theo stiffly insists he wants to remain in London and I stiffly insist I want to remain in New Jersey, and then Theo tries to bribe me by offering to buy me a polo pony and I laugh, and we’ve ruined the scene for a second time.

Eventually, we get it right and after a quick trip through the fish market—where fish is sold alongside moose burgers and reindeer hot dogs—we climb into a van and return to my house…accompanied by the crew, of course.

“Which room is yours?” he asks as they get the cooking shoot ready.

I nod at it and sigh. “I had big plans for tonight. I brought lingerie.”

He groans quietly and runs a hand down his face. “God, don’t tell me that. I’m in hell right now.”

His hand brushes mine and my muscles tense. I lick my lips and he groans a second time, low in his chest. I’m increasingly appalled by the situation we’re now in: we’re pretending to be in love but also pretending we’re not. I’m supposed to act as if I’m unhappy with Theo when he’s the only part of this I’m pleased by.

We are called into the kitchen to make a soufflé, and though we’re on our best behavior, Lars must continue reminding us that we’re not supposed to be quite so happy. The soufflé comes out flat and entirely inedible. This is meant to be a metaphor for our failing marriage.

It probably is an apt metaphor for our eventual demise, but I’m too thrilled at Theo’s nearness to care.

“You might want to acquire some cooking skills,” he says as we both stare in dismay at the concoction.

“You might want to acquire the kind of income that allows us to eat out all the time.”

“Eating out is impossible,” he says, lifting me onto the counter and stepping between my legs, “when you have six children.”

I know we’re already too close, too flirtatious for Lars’s liking, and I just don’t care. Because a man who jokes about having six kids with you is definitely not seeing anyone else. Not when that man is Theo, anyway.