Yes, I am still writing this. This is a perfectly normal speed at which to write Justin Trudeau fan fiction. Past chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Chapter 6: In Which You are Reminded About Email
The rest of the weekend passes uneventfully. You try to go about your normal leisure activities, like trying on different hats in front of a mirror, but your thoughts keep sliding back to Justin Trudeau. It’s hard to believe that it’s been only a week since you met him! It feels more like it’s been several years, but with large gaps of time in between each encounter that you can’t account for.
You revisit every detail from Friday night in your head—how handsome Justin Trudeau looked in his tuxedo, the way he held you close when you were dancing, and all of the great jokes you told him that he didn’t laugh at. Maybe he couldn’t hear you? Just in case, maybe you should try telling your jokes in an extra-loud voice. Or poking him in the neck after each punchline, to shake a chuckle loose.
When your alarm goes off on Monday morning, you hop out of bed and skip to the kitchen to make breakfast. This is very different from the way you usually get out of bed, which is to roll onto the floor and lie there until you get hungry, then roll into the kitchen and lie on the kitchen tile while you make toast in your floor toaster.
You’re not sure why you’re feeling so excited to go to work. Could it be that you’ve finally found your calling, and it’s to serve the people of Nunavut by representing their interests in Parliament? That doesn’t sound right, but you can’t think of what else it could be. Maybe you’re just excited because you don’t have internet at home.
You arrive at your office early and looking slightly less disheveled than usual. It occurs to you that you need to look busy in case Justin Trudeau stops by. You haven’t seen him since Friday night, so surely he’ll at least pop in to say hi? After all, he is pretending to be your boyfriend, as you remind yourself for expository purposes.
The best way to look busy, you’ve found, is to hold a phone between your ear and your shoulder while typing with one hand and using the other hand to feed paper into the paper shredder. All of that typing and paper shredding makes a nice, loud “busy” sound, and every now and then you punctuate it by shouting “I’m busy!” into the phone. Through your open door you can see people walking past in the hallway, and you can tell they’re impressed by how busy you are.
Every time you glance up, you half hope to see Justin Trudeau leaning against your doorframe with a haughty smile, hair slightly tousled, and maybe a slight breeze blowing his shirt open. But the hours pass, and the only person who stops by is Graham from accounting to ask if you’ve filled out your tax paperwork yet. Eventually you get a cramp in your neck, and your chair is half-buried in shredded paper, like a cozy nest. You decide to stop working so hard at pretending to be busy (all of that shredded paper really speaks for itself), and stretch your legs for a while by lurking outside of Justin Trudeau’s office.
The door to his office is closed, so you end up lurking in the hallway by the elevator, because Justin Trudeau loves elevators. But the only person you run into is an MP from Toronto, whose name you remember because you strenuously object to its spelling.
“Hi Scot,” you say. “Have you seen Justin Trudeau?” You want to sound casual, so you pretend that you are chewing gum.
Scot looks surprised. “He’s at a cabinet retreat in Winnipeg this week.” He gives you a funny look. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that. I heard you two were dating.”
“I did know that! I just forgot,” you say, executing a convincing cover up. “It’s too bad, because I really needed to ask him something about Canada,” you add, because the best way to carry out a successful lie is to layer on additional lies.
“Can’t you send him an email?” Scot suggests.
“Oh, yeah—email!” you say. You always forget about email.
In the time it takes to walk back to your office, your disappointment about Justin Trudeau being out of town turns into anger that Justin Trudeau didn’t tell you he was going to be out of town. Some pretend boyfriend! He totally made you look stupid in front of Scot.
You log onto your computer, punching the keys really hard so the computer knows that you are angry. Uh oh—you have over 1,000 unread emails! Thinking back, you realize you haven’t checked your email since your first day of work, when the guy from IT was showing you how to check your email.
You delete all of the emails in your inbox and immediately feel better. Then you start composing a new email and type the subject line “Betrayal.”
“Dear Justin,” you type. “Thank you so much for telling me that you were going to be out of town all week. I’m glad I knew in advance, so I didn’t waste my time shredding a bunch of paper for no reason, and then humiliate myself in front of Scot when I asked where you were. I’m so lucky to have such a thoughtful and considerate boyfriend.”
You hit the “send” button and lean back in your chair, satisfied. You’re having a very productive work day! Now to entertain yourself with some Internet while you wait for Justin Trudeau to write back.
You’ve barely finished typing “kentuckyderbyhatsforsale.com” into the navigation bar when you hear the “ping” sound that means you have a new email. Wow—Justin Trudeau has written you back already! He must have a very different relationship with email than you do.
From: j.trudeau@canadiangovernment.biz
Subject: Re: Betrayal
What are you talking about? I sent you two emails last week telling you that I was going to be in Winnipeg, and I left you a voicemail.
J.
Sent from my Blackberry
Hmm…this is not the groveling apology that you were hoping for. You’re also not sure if you buy his story. After all, you lie about having sent emails all the time. Just earlier today you lied to Graham from Accounting when you said that you’d emailed him your tax paperwork.
You glance over at your phone and notice a red blinking light labeled “Voicemail from the Prime Minister.” It’s right next to the regular voicemail light, which is also blinking. Huh! How long have those been there?
Unfortunately, there’s no way for you to know for sure whether Justin Trudeau is telling the truth, because you already deleted all of your emails, and you still don’t care to check your voicemail. You decide to play it cool and focus on your objective of making Justin Trudeau feel bad.
From: nunavut_mp@canadiangovernment.biz
Subject: Re: Betrayal
Never mind. I hope you’re having a great time without me in Winnipeg. I’ll just be here in Ottawa, crying alone in my apartment because my cat died yesterday.
His response arrives a few seconds later.
From: j.trudeau@canadiangovernment.biz
Subject: Re: Betrayal
Since when do you have a cat? I thought you hated cats. (Or at least, I assumed you hated cats, because of the time we were walking to Tim Hortons and you tried to kick that cat.)
Sent from my Blackberry
What does he do, memorize every tiny thing you do? You write back immediately.
From: nunavut_mp@canadiangovernment.biz
Subject: Re: Betrayal
I was not trying to kick that cat, that’s just how I walk when I’m around cats.
There, that should shut him up about your imaginary dead cat.
From: j.trudeau@canadiangovernment.biz
Subject: Re: Betrayal
OK…well, I’m sorry about your cat. I have to go to a meeting now. These retreats are so boring. I really wish you were here.
Sent from my Blackberry
When you read his email, your whole body is flooded with a warm feeling, like the time you drove a rental car that had heated seats. Does Justin Trudeau really wish you were there, or is that just part of his pretend-boyfriend act? But why would put on an act when it’s a private email between the two of you? Maybe he’s just staying in character, for when future historians are reviewing his emails? You wish you could talk to Scot about all of this and see what he thinks.
–
For the rest of the week, it feels as though time has slowed down to the speed of an agonizing crawl across the kitchen floor. You continue to go to work, because you are an exemplary employee, but all of the enthusiasm and excitement that you felt for work on Monday morning is gone. You try to cheer yourself up by spilling ketchup on Chrystia Freeland’s coat, and that does cheer you up. Good thinking!
You find that you’re not even looking forward to the weekend, even though usually you love weekends! But somehow, spending two days alone in your apartment organizing all of your socks into a giant, vertical sock tower doesn’t hold its usual appeal.
On Friday after work, you’ve only just changed out of your work clothes and into your lounge clothes (a giant old-timey nightgown that makes you look like a ghost), when you hear a knock at the door. You fling the door open, because peepholes are for cowards. It’s your downstairs neighbor, come to complain about the volume of your Calypso music.
Only about five minutes have passed when there is another knock at the door. You can’t imagine what the problem is now, because you already turned down the volume of your music by one or two (!) notches. If your downstairs neighbor thinks that you wouldn’t deliberately flood your own apartment just to spite him, he has seriously miscalculated.
You fling the door open, again, and standing there in the hallway is Justin Trudeau.
You’re so startled that you give a little jump. Justin Trudeau looks startled, too.
“For a second I thought you were a ghost,” he says.
You immediately start to wonder if maybe you are a ghost. That would explain why you enjoy turning faucets on and off so much. But then Justin Trudeau smiles at you, and it breaks your train of thought. You smile back at him—you can’t help it. It definitely feels like he is genuinely happy to see you, and not just pretend-boyfriend happy to see you.
“What are you doing here?” you shout, because your Calypso music is still pretty loud. “I didn’t think you were coming back until Monday.”
“We wrapped up early,” he says, beaming at you. “I’m here to see if you want to go to the waterslide.”
Check back soon for Chapter 7: Fun Waterslide Date.