Chapter 17
Hunter
If I was being an optimist, I would say that the email came at a convenient time.
I could tell Max was disappointed by our conversation.
I felt awful, but what other choice do we have?
Sleeping together again would be fun, but it wouldn’t be a good idea.
Something tells me I’m the more experienced one here, so it’s up to me to be responsible.
I was worried that Max wouldn’t be able to treat it as just sex, but honestly, I’m not sure I could either.
We’ve got way too many other things on our plate without adding any more complications.
Case in point: the interview.
I can’t say it was a surprise. I’ve done my research and I’m well aware that plenty of people get invited for an interview as part of the application process.
What’s less clear is why that happens. The authorities insist it’s random, but the consensus online is that it likely indicates some sort of suspicion concerning your application.
So excuse me while I panic just a little.
The system is set up precisely to catch people like us.
We’re lying. We’re not in love. And our ability to lie is about to be put to the test by the government’s ability to catch us.
Luckily, this is where Max’s positive attitude comes in useful.
He announces that what we need is a whiteboard and a set of wipeable marker pens.
Doily seems more likely to possess a blackboard salvaged from the local orphanage that closed down, but we manage to find a whiteboard that is scrawled, for reasons best left unknown, with a list of Vanessa Redgrave’s most irrational phobias.
I prop it up on the living room sofa, then Max and I sit on the floor and begin to brainstorm every possible question we might get asked.
Treating our relationship like a work exercise is remarkably satisfying.
Why didn’t we do this sooner? We could have avoided so many stumbles.
With the whiteboard’s help, we quickly turn a bunch of random anecdotes into a comprehensive relationship timeline.
We search online, cross reference with our diaries, and plot out our first, second and third dates, conceiving all sorts of romantic and considerate gestures, even if I suspect that Max is getting his ideas from Hollywood films rather than real-life relationships.
Our past histories are not quite as open to creative licence.
The guidelines state that we may be asked questions about our lives before we met, and while they insist it isn’t a test, I’ve found forums online where past interviewees claim it can amount to an interrogation.
I ask Max to tell me his full dating history.
I’m not surprised when there doesn’t seem to be much of one.
‘So you’ve never been in love?’ I ask.
‘I guess not.’
‘That makes sense.’
Max looks hurt but tries to laugh it off. ‘What, you think I’m unloveable?’
I smile. ‘It makes sense in the narrative we’re trying to sell. Getting married fast is quite an immature thing to do.’
‘So you think I’m immature. Got it.’
‘Romantically speaking! It’s not an insult. But I’m the first person you’ve ever been in love with.’
‘Fake in love.’
‘Yes, Max, fake in love. But first love is incredibly overwhelming. You’re really going to have to sell that in your interview.’
Max looks at me, intrigued. ‘Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.’
I clam up.
‘Come on then,’ he says. ‘Dish the dirt.’
‘I have been in love.’
‘With who?’
I really don’t want to talk about Rafferty.
It’s not that I’m not prepared to put that time in my life under the spotlight and see it for what it was.
But I don’t want to bring those clouds into Max’s sunlight.
I’ll talk about it in my interview if necessary, but that doesn’t mean I have to do it now.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say.
‘We promised to be honest with each other,’ Max says.
‘I am being honest. I just don’t want to talk about it.’
‘So what do I say if they ask?’
‘Be honest! Say I won’t talk about it.’
Maybe one day I’ll be ready to talk about Rafferty with Max. There’s a part of me that thinks he’d take it well. When I told Zosia and Thiago, all they wanted to do was cuss him out, which was no less than he deserved. But that never feels as good as I think it’s going to.
‘Fine,’ Max says. ‘You’re private. Tell me what I need to know.’
‘I thought I just said—’
‘I’m not talking about the details. Help me understand what being in love feels like.’
How can I communicate this to someone who hasn’t been there?
The highs and the lows. The small humiliations.
Max doesn’t need to know that part. He’s asking as a matter of character research, and when it comes to that, I’m not sure how helpful my experience with Rafferty is.
I’m not even sure that Rafferty loved me.
I think he had the hots for me and he loved what dating me said about him, but I don’t think it went as far as love.
Did I love him? Or was I just young and naive?
I believe in telling the truth, but I’m starting to see that the truth isn’t required in every situation. I don’t want to turn Max into a cynic. Not when we’re on the verge of having to sell our love. I want to protect what’s pure about him. So I’m going to break my rule and lie just a little.
‘It feels amazing,’ I say. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world.’