Relive the excitement of past chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
Chapter 5: In Which You Get a Great New Coat
You are still staring at Justin Trudeau when Pedro Sanchez picks you up and starts spinning you around really fast like a tornado.
“I invented this dance move myself!” he says. “I call it la macarena.”
Part of you wants to point out that this name choice is unnecessarily confusing, but another part of you doesn’t want to get into a whole thing about it.
“It’s a very frightening dance!” you say politely.
Pedro Sanchez laughs and puts you down. then resumes listing all of Spain’s UNESCO World Heritage sites. You look around for Justin Trudeau in the crowd, but he’s gone. You start to worry. What if he’s mad at you for dancing with Pedro Sanchez? What if he left without you? How will you get home? You can’t call a ride service, because your phone is made of transparent plastic and filled with candy.
“I want to show you another dance move I invented,” Pedro Sanchez whispers in your ear. “I call it The Electric Slide. It’s nothing what it sounds like!”
“Sorry, I have to go—” you’re about to say “check my credit score,” because that’s the excuse you’ve come up with, when you’re hit by a gentle wave of maple scent. You look up, and Justin Trudeau is standing beside you, his eyes boring into you like whatever kind of tool is used for boring. (Maybe an awl?)
“May I cut in?” Justin Trudeau says in a strained voice, snapping you out of your reverie about tools.
“Prime Minister Trudeau! I’m surprised to see you here on the dance floor,” Pedro Sanchez says, glaring. “I heard that one of your legs was slightly shorter than the other, rendering you unable to dance or walk with a normal gait.”
Justin Trudeau ignores him. His eyes are still on you, and it’s clear he’s not going to take “no” for an answer. (Unless you say “no,” in which case he will respect your choice and graciously withdraw!)
“Sure,” you say, feeling a bit dizzy again. Justin Trudeau takes your hand in his and leads you across the dance floor.
—
Justin Trudeau is not a bad dancer. He hasn’t invented a lot of fancy moves like Pedro Sanchez, but there is something solid and steady about him that puts you at ease. Without really intending to, you find yourself resting your head against his chest.
“I thought you had to work,” you say, half into his shirt. You’re not sure if he can hear you over the music, but you don’t really care. You watch as Pedro Sanchez performs an impressive flamenco dance before a crowd of astonished onlookers.
“I realized that this was more important,” Justin Trudeau says eventually. You’re not sure if he means dancing with you, or just dancing in general. “I hope you didn’t mind me cutting in,” he adds. “I wasn’t sure if I was interrupting anything.”
“No, I’m glad you came when you did. You saved me from having to learn about Spain’s rich cultural heritage.”
Justin Trudeau laughs and holds you a little tighter.
“I was worried you would be mad at me for dancing with Pedro Sanchez,” you admit.
“Of course not,” he says, sounding surprised. “I could never be mad at you.”
“What about when I pretended to choke at Tim Hortons?”
“Oh. Well, yeah, I was mad that time.”
“What about when you found out I committed election fraud?”
“You’ve made your point,” he says, sounding kind of mad. Maybe you should change the subject.
“Promise me you’ll never grow a beard,” you say, because you just had a vision of Justin Trudeau in a beard, and it was deeply unsettling.
“Did I miss something, or—?”
“Just promise me,” you insist. The picture in your mind was so vivid that it was almost like you were seeing through a crack in the universe, into some other, darker world that is trying to encroach on yours.
“Fine, I promise.” He lets out an exasperated sigh, and for the moment you feel safe again. Your head is still resting against his chest, and you debate whether now is a good time to tell him that you’ve gotten makeup all over his shirt.
—
After a long, exhausting search, you exit the coat room feeling reasonably confident that you’re wearing a coat that belongs to you.
Justin Trudeau said he was going to wait for you outside, but instead you find him in the entrance hall, talking to a tiny woman with flippy brown hair. She is holding on to his arm and they are laughing. You’ve never seen Justin Trudeau laugh like that before, even though you tell jokes all of the time and your jokes are amazing. You feel a flash of anger, but you’re not sure why, and you choose not to examine it. (You’re not very introspective!)
Justin Trudeau spots you and waves you over. “I’m glad I’m finally getting a chance to introduce you,” he says, gesturing to the woman beside him. “This is Chrystia Freeland. She’s my deputy prime minister.”
Deputy prime minister? You didn’t know Justin Trudeau had a deputy. To be honest, you had kind of started to think that you were Justin Trudeau’s deputy.
“Justin!” she says, giving him a look of mock outrage. “I can’t believe it. You’re seeing someone?”
“He is!” you interject helpfully but also forcefully.
Chrystia turns to you, and her eyes flick up and down. “Is that my coat?” she asks.
“No,” you say. You move to put your hands in your pockets, but then you realize this coat doesn’t have any pockets. You cover for it by pretending that you were just thrusting your hands down the side of your coat for no reason.
Justin Trudeau is giving you a funny look. “I don’t remember you wearing a coat tonight,” he says. “When I picked you up, I asked where your coat was, and you said that you didn’t need a coat because you could just do your warming-up dance. Then you started waving your arms all around until you knocked my rearview mirror out of its socket and I asked you to stop.”
“Oh, Justin!” You laugh as if Justin Trudeau had just said something really funny instead of annoying and disloyal. Then you link arms with Chrystia as if she’s your new best friend. “I’m sure you know all about how Justin has coat-blindness,” you whisper. “What with you being his deputy and all.”
“What is coat-blindness?” asks Justin Trudeau. He sounds alarmed about the prospect of having coat blindness.
“It means he has trouble seeing coats,” you explain to Chrystia. Accusing other people of coat-blindness has gotten you out of a lot of coat-related scrapes (all of which have occurred as a result of your own coat-blindness.)
“What are you talking about? Of course I can see coats.”
“I was actually just on my way to the coat room to grab my coat,” Chrystia says, eyeing you carefully. “Why don’t you wait for me and we’ll all walk out together?”
“That sounds really fun,” you lie, “but we need to get going.” You look at your bare wrist as if checking the time. “It was so nice meeting you. And good luck in the coat room! Someone made a real mess in there.” You smile sweetly and start pulling Justin Trudeau away by the elbow.
Justin Trudeau follows along, distracted. “This is a coat, right?” he asks, examining his coat.
“No, that’s a shirt,” you say, because gaslighting Justin Trudeau always cheers you up. You’re still feeling upset from your encounter with Chrystia Freeland. You can’t seem to shake the anger you felt when you saw her and Justin Trudeau together. They looked like they were having such a good time.
You wish you knew why it was bothering you so much. Intellectually, you know there’s no reason to be upset. You had a great night! You got to dance with the two most handsome prime ministers in the world, you got this great coat, and you finally found out what paella is. All things considered, pretending to date Justin Trudeau is turning out better than you thought it would. It’s like all the fun of dating, but with no way that your feelings could get hurt, and no way that things could possibly go wrong.
Check back soon for Chapter 6! But don’t check back too soon, or you will feel the bitter sting of disappointment.