Theo decided we were walking to City Hall Plaza because it was, and I quote, "literally right there." This was at 1:15 PM. We arrived at 3:40 PM. I want to be precise about this because Theo is already telling people we "took the scenic route," as though that was a choice either of us made.
The day was genuinely beautiful — 72 degrees, a breeze off the harbor, that specific June light that makes Boston look like it was designed by someone who wanted you to feel good about your decisions. This is the weather that tricks people like Theo. This is the weather that makes him think he has a gift for cities.
He does not have a gift for cities.
The FIFA Fan Festival at City Hall Plaza has been going for a week. There are signs. There are MBTA notices. There is, I learned later, a very clear map on the website that Theo had open on his phone the entire time and was using, as far as I could tell, as a general mood board rather than a navigation tool.
We went through Dewey Square because Theo wanted to see the new mural, which, fine, genuinely worth it, enormous and beautiful. But then he stood in front of it for eleven minutes developing opinions about public art funding, and when I said "we should keep moving," he said "yeah, one sec," which is a phrase that means absolutely nothing coming from him. One sec is not a unit of time Theo has ever experienced.
He routed us through what he called a "corridor" that turned out to be a construction fence with a very polite sign asking us to please go around. We went around. Then he rerouted through another corridor. I stopped asking questions. I just walked where he pointed and thought about the frozen drink I was going to get when we arrived, which became a kind of prayer.
At one point he stopped, looked at his phone, looked at a street sign, looked at his phone again, and said "okay so the plaza is— I think it's just— it's that way but also potentially this way." I sat on a bench. A pigeon sat next to me. We had a moment.
We did eventually get there. The plaza was packed and loud and draped in flags from forty countries and a DJ was playing something that made everyone feel like they were in a movie montage about being young in a city in summer. Theo walked in, spread his arms slightly, and said "see?" Like he'd built it.
I bought the frozen drink. It was excellent. I did not tell him this immediately on principle.
Here is what I will say about Theo, and I mean it sincerely: he is never lost in a way that feels bad. He's lost in a way that feels like an itinerary he just hasn't shown you yet. When we finally found spots by one of the big screens and a match was starting and the crowd did that thing where everyone inhales at once, he looked over at me with this enormous, uncomplicated happiness, like we had planned every single wrong turn on purpose and arrived exactly where we meant to be.
It was an hour and forty-five minutes to walk a mile and a half, in perfect weather, with a working phone. The MBTA extended its hours specifically so people wouldn't have to navigate home alone at midnight. Theo has already announced we're "definitely doing the late-night service home," which means I have accepted that my evening is also in his hands, and I have made my peace with this, and the frozen drink helped, and the flags were so bright in the afternoon sun, and honestly?
Fine.