by Beth Fred
“Of course.”
“Do you feel confident about the race?”
“We’ve campaigned hard and laid out detailed plans for policies. The polls show we’re dead even, but I believe in the American people to make the right decision. And you know I’m religious. Everything happens for a reason, and I’ll always accept God’s plan for us.”
I smile at my husband. We walk out of the booth hand in hand.
Eric opens the door to his Lexus for me, and I slide in. He gets in the car and takes off, and his phone rings in his cup holder.
“I’ll get it.” I grab the phone from the cup holder and answer it. “Hello?”
“May I speak with Mr. Martinez?”
“He’s driving. But this is Mrs. Martinez.”
“Will you tell him I have an above ask offer on his townhouse, but the buyer wants an answer today?”
“Yeah,” I say and hang up the phone. “Why are you selling the townhouse? And were you going to tell me about it?”
He cocks his head. “I was, but I was hoping to tell you that I’m going to be the president first, so it would be like, ‘Sweetheart, I sold our house, but don’t worry because we’re moving to the White House.’”
“Well, you haven’t won yet.”
“What’s the real estate agent say?”
“You got an above ask offer. Way to change the subject.”
“Do you really need to know what is going on?”
“Well, I am your wife.”
“You know how your dad makes fun of you for basket weaving and refused to pay for your stupid little art degree, and I keep telling you not to be mad?”
“Yes?”
“Your dad lost a lot of money after ’08. He sold the family farm with the clause that he and your mother could live there until they died. But someone else owns the property. He would have paid for your college if you’d done something more lucrative. Since you chose a liberal arts degree he tied up what he didn’t need to live on in a trust, so in case your parents died, you’d have some money.”
“They never told me.”
“Your mom doesn’t know.”
“Wow, Eric. You really should have told me this.”
“Your dad negotiated your prenup hard. If the marriage hadn’t lasted more than a week, you still would have got everything he wanted for you. And I was okay with it because I love you, and if it didn’t work out, I wanted you to be okay. But it did work out. I kept you and my money. If I put what I make off the townhouse with your trust, I can buy back the farm without touching my other assets or our bank account. That’s good news, because we spent a lot of personal resources during the campaign. I wanted to have it accepted before I told you about it.”
“Eric, thank you.”
My husband is such a sweet man. I can’t be mad that he wanted to give me a surprise. I have my own surprise in store.
***
Later that night, we sit on the couch watching the election unfold. Kristin and Monica are on the couch with us. Evan sits in an armchair with a pizza box on his lap, and George lays on my yoga mat on the floor. Eric has a press conference at eleven, but we want a feel for how it’s going before he speaks. By 10:00 p.m., they’ve called a handful of states for Eric, including the electoral rich states of Florida and Texas. He lost the northeast, but that was expected. The counting won’t be done before his press conference, but by 10:30, we are headed in a really good direction.
“Okay, everyone out. I need to talk to my husband before he goes to the Westin to make his speech.”
“Okay, you two. You don’t have that kind of time,” Evan says.
Kristin laughs. “If he’s that quick, you don’t need it.”
They all enjoy laughing at us.
I point to the door. “Out!”
They file out, and I close the door behind them.
Eric walks over to me and wraps his arms around my waist. “What’s up, love?”
I bite my lip. “I need to show you something.”
“Okay,” he says.
“Come upstairs.”
He follows me upstairs and into our room. “Sit,” I say.
Eric chuckles. “What are you doing?”
“Just wait.”
I go into our bathroom and grab the Ziploc bag with the white stick that I’ve had hidden behind the toilet paper cover for this moment. I return to Eric and hand him the bag. He looks from me to the bag in his hand. He stares at the bag like it’s a snake. Then he looks back up to me. “Is that an EPT?”
I smile and nod.
“And that’s a plus sign.”
The smile consumes me, but I don’t say anything. Eric jumps to his feet, wraps his arms around me, and covers my mouth with his. This kiss is long and all-consuming until I break away for air. “Senator, I believe you have a speech to make.”
***
When I wake up in the morning, Eric sits on the foot of the bed watching TV. I sit up in bed. “What’s up?”
“Shh,” he says.
My face covers the TV screen. “Amanda Buchanan-Martinez. Our next first lady,” a voice says over the picture. My face fades out, and a reporter is in the center of a screen. An image of Eric and I walking into the Westin, me held to his side the night before fills half the screen. “And there is your next president with his first lady. I think this is really going to be like a Reagan White House. He never let go of her all night.” The image changes to Eric kissing me after his speech. “And who could forget that kiss? It was a big night for the Martinez-Buchanan family. Mandy’s husband was elected president, and her father won his re-election as well. She largely contributed to both. Voters responded to her frankness.”
Eric turns off the TV and scoots closer to me. “You should probably get your rest. We may not have a chance to sleep in for a while.”
Acknowledgements
Super thanks to Limitless for taking a chance on me, and Toni Rakestraw for all of her hard work on this manuscript!!! I also want to thank all the team at Limitless who helped bring this book to life.
I’d also like to give a shout out to Lee Tobin whose advice changed the first ten pages of this book and my MFA mentors Barb Miller and Anne Harris who haven’t seen this book, but their feedback has done a lot to shape my writing. I’d also like to thank my MFA critique partners Andrea Johnson, Kate Grimm, Mary Rogers, and Serena Jayne. I have to thank my daughter who patiently puts up with my antics, and Emil Fred, my real-life Eric, even though he isn’t the president. ;)
Also, I appreciate constant support from my super-secret FB writing group, my bff Valeria Moreno who makes free graphics to pimp my work, and MM Chabot who formats for me.
About the Author
Meet Beth Fred! That’s me! I’m a full time ELF keeper and part time writer/blogger/writing instructor. I like my tea hot, my romance sweet with maybe a dash of spice, and my guys chivalrous. Real men hold open doors, refer to you as ma’am, make promises they keep, and aren’t afraid to profess their undying love. It’s not breakfast if there aren’t carbs (at least, not in the South). Fajitas, carnitas, and churros are just few of my favorite things. Bet you can’t guess where I’m from.
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