The State of Us

by Shaun David Hutchinson

  My mother flared her nostrils. “And do you want to guess how many politicians McMann has in his pocket? I’d like to think our elected representatives aren’t foolish enough to throw in with a self-serving maggot like McMann, but a lot of them only care about lining their own pockets.”

  “You shouldn’t get worked up about McMann on an empty stomach.” My dad nudged her egg-white omelet toward her. “That’s how you wind up with an ulcer.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I worked hard making that beautiful breakfast for you, and you’re not even going to eat it?”

  My mother pursed her lips. “Guilt, Doug? Really? Are you looking to get stabbed?”

  “Not this morning.” My father covertly moved my mother’s fork out of her reach.

  “I can never tell when you’re fighting or flirting,” I said.

  “It’s a fine line,” my mother said, and then she smiled at my father and squeezed his hand.

  My parents were weird, though I assumed most children thought that about their parents. But they were also sweet and absolutely perfect for one another. Where my mother could be demanding and ornery, my father was easygoing. My father’s lack of ambition made up for my mother’s abundance of it. They were a team in every way.

  “I still don’t understand why McMann is such a big problem,” I said. “No independent has ever posed a serious threat before.”

  My mother had gone back to reading her tablet and spoke without looking up. “Because he’s a fear-mongering sociopath.”

  “I doubt he’s a sociopath, dear.”

  “Like hell,” my mother said. “All he cares about is power, and he’ll do and say whatever he thinks will win him the election, even if it means tearing the country apart.” She shook her head. “He’s playing on people’s fears. He’s got Rosario’s voters thinking I’m going to arm toddlers with semiautomatic rifles, and he’s got my voters thinking Rosario’s going to murder babies and kill God, leaving himself as the only alternative.”

  I hadn’t taken the threat Jackson McMann posed seriously because I didn’t believe people would honestly support someone so obviously racist, xenophobic, and misogynistic. I assumed his popularity would flame out quickly and he would become a footnote to the election. But clearly I had been wrong to dismiss him, especially if my mother was concerned.

  “How do we fight him?” I asked.

  “We don’t,” my father said. “We ignore him. Eventually, he’ll say or do something vile enough to disqualify himself from the race.”

  I sensed my parents were done discussing McMann, and I needed to go get showered and dressed for church anyway, but an idea had begun to form.

  “What if I invited Andre Rosario to join me building houses in Belle Rose on Wednesday?” I blurted out the question before I lost my nerve. It was a bold suggestion, and I wasn’t sure how my mother would respond.

  My father said “Why?” while my mother silently scrutinized me.

  I was already a bit overheated from running, but sweat beaded immediately under my arms and on my back as I scrambled to explain. “Jackson McMann is divisive, right? He’s got voters thinking you and Mr. Rosario can’t agree on anything. But if people saw Andre and me working together, it would send the message that you can put aside your differences for the betterment of the country.”

  “I don’t like the idea of you using a volunteer opportunity to score political points,” my father said.

  “Obviously, we would be there to work,” I said. “But not only could we bring some attention to the fact that there are still communities struggling to rebuild after last year’s hurricanes, Andre and I working together could show people that, despite their differences, Mom and Mr. Rosario are both invested in making the country better for everyone, while Jackson McMann is only in it for himself.”

  I folded my hands on the table and waited. I knew I could convince my father that this was a good plan, but convincing my mother was the real test. And I wasn’t even concerned that she would dislike my idea; I was worried that she would see through it. That she would see my ulterior motive for inviting Dre. I really did want to help my mother’s campaign, and I thought this was a good way to do it, but I mostly wanted to see Dre.

  Finally, after staring at me with a stony expression for what felt like an hour, my mother said, “At the very least, it could shift attention away from McMann for an afternoon.”

  “I think this could be a good thing,” I said.

  “Maybe.” My mother still looked skeptical. “Do you think you can stand spending a whole day with Andre Rosario?”

  The thought of spending an entire day hanging out with Dre nearly caused me to smile so big it would have given me away immediately. Thankfully, I was able to suppress it. “If it means helping you, Mom, I’m willing to take one for the team.”

  Dre

  I DIDN’T HAVE to fake being annoyed when Dad woke me up at three thirty in the morning to catch our flight to Louisiana by playing a clip of the kindergarten chorus he’d had to endure listening to the day before. If my aim in the dark had been better, he would’ve had to explain to reporters how a flying tennis shoe had broken his nose.

  You’d think that being the Democratic presidential candidate would mean flying all over the country on private jets, but you’d be wrong. We had to go through security and deal with the TSA getting handsy and crowd around the gate, waiting to get on the plane, even though they were gonna call us by group just like everyone else. The only upside was getting to fly first-class, which I’d never done before. Usually I flew coach and was wedged into a middle seat between people who didn’t understand the concept of keeping their elbows to their damn selves. The only reason I’d gotten to ride first was because Jose had traded seats with me so I could spend time with my dad, and both he and my dad told me not to get used to it.

  Dad had been surprised when I’d finally taken him up on his offer to spend some time with him on the campaign trail. Happy, but surprised. We’d gone to a rally in Kansas on Monday and a town hall meeting in Minnesota on Tuesday, but it was Baton Rouge on Wednesday that I’d really been waiting for. My parents and Jose had thought the idea of me building houses with Dean for Habitat for Humanity was brilliant, and my dad was already going to be in the state, so all I had to do was reluctantly agree to go so that they wouldn’t guess how excited I was.

  “Excited” is underselling it. When I wasn’t chatting with Dean on Promethean, I was moping around thinking about how far away he was, never imagining that he was scheming a way for us to hang out. Dean was way craftier than I gave him credit for.

  My dad was in the aisle seat reading a book about some old dead dude and I was trying to get some sleep in the big, comfy seat when the flight attendant came by to drop off breakfast. I was a little annoyed at being woken up—again—but I was also hungry and the omelet didn’t look awful.

  “I’m really glad you’re here,” Dad said.

  “On the plane?”

  “On the campaign trail.” Dad shrugged. “I’ve missed you, kiddo.”

  This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have while I was trapped on a plane with nowhere to go. Mostly, I just wanted to eat my mediocre breakfast and crash until we landed in Baton Rouge. “Yeah, me too, Dad.”

  Dad was eating his own breakfast—yogurt and fruit—and was quiet for a few minutes, but I could tell he wasn’t done talking. “I signed us up to take trapeze lessons.”

  That definitely wasn’t what I was expecting. “What?”

  “You always said you wanted to join the circus.”

  “When I was ten.”

  “It’s never too late to chase your dreams.”

  I sighed at my meal and gave Dad my full attention. “I mean, I’ll go, obviously, but what’s this about? Are you trying to buy my love? Because a car is the fastest way to my heart.”

  Dad rolled his eyes, but I was serious about that car. “I know I haven’t been around much, and you’ll be heading off to colleg
e soon. I don’t want this election to get in the way of our relationship, Dre.”

  “Then maybe you should’ve waited to run.” I’d only meant to think it, and as soon as I realized I’d said it out loud, I felt like a dick. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t being honest.

  “I did ask,” my dad said.

  “Ugh, I know. It’s just . . .”

  “You can say whatever’s on your mind, Dre.”

  It wasn’t fair for me to be bringing all this up. I’d had my chance to tell him I didn’t want him running, and I’d told him to go for it. Holding it against him now made me feel like an ass. “It’s nothing,” I said. “I just miss you is all.”

  My dad was quiet for a while. Things were weird between us now and they’d never been that way before. My dad had been my best friend, and sometimes it felt like we hardly knew each other anymore. Only, I wasn’t sure which of us had changed.

  “Skip building houses,” Dad said after the flight attendant cleared our trays. “And I’ll have Jose cancel my events today. We’ll hang out, just the two of us.”

  He really meant it too. Jose would’ve flipped out if I’d let Dad torch his schedule to play hooky with me. But I kind of wanted to say yes.

  “It’ll be like when I used to pick you up early from school and we’d go get ice cream and not tell your mom.”

  I laughed. “She always knew anyway, though.”

  “I still don’t understand how.”

  I sighed. “I can’t, Dad. And neither can you.”

  “You don’t want to build houses anyway,” he said. “Remember the birdhouse?”

  “I was nine!”

  “They had to condemn that birdhouse, Dre. Three birds almost died.”

  “Now you’re just making shit up.”

  “Are you calling your father, the future president of the United States, a liar? I’m pretty sure it’s in the Constitution that you can’t do that.”

  I laughed in spite of myself. “Thanks, Dad, but I can’t leave Dean hanging.”

  “Sure you can,” Dad said. “We’ll tell the Arnaults you came down with the flu.”

  It was the kind of thing Dad and I had done all the time before, and I was so tempted to say yes. But as much as I wanted to hang out with my dad, I wanted to see Dean more.

  “Maybe next time,” I said.

  My dad nodded, trying to hide his disappointment at me not bailing on my plans with Dean. “When this election is over, I’ll make it up to you.”

  I felt bad about what I’d said and I didn’t want him going back out on the campaign trail feeling guilty and thinking he could be my dad or he could be president but that he couldn’t be both. I didn’t want him to be president, but I kind of thought he’d do a halfway decent job.

  “Make it up to me by winning,” I said. “Take down Janice Arnault and Jackson McMann, and win this bitch.”

  Dad hugged me and kissed the top of my head.

  “I’d also take a car.”

  “Not happening.”

  “But it could.”

  “Nope.”

  Dad picked his book back up, though I caught him smirking my way. I rolled my eyes and made sure he could see me. Then I pulled out my phone to see if Dean had written. We’d been talking nonstop, but he hadn’t mentioned the trip to Louisiana, and I didn’t want to bring it up because I was afraid I’d jinx it. Instead, we talked about everything else. Comic books and movies and college and how he’d gotten to meet Ariana Grande even though he didn’t know who she was at the time, and I had never been more jealous in my life. Talking to Dean was the brightest spot in my every day, and I could hardly believe I was going to get to see him in a couple of hours.

  At the same time, I was terrified to see him because it wouldn’t just be us. There would be reporters and other volunteers present. We’d have to be careful what we said and how we acted toward one another. I was also scared because, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was seeing Dean as more than a friend, and I didn’t know if I could take him not seeing me the same way, even though it was pretty likely that was all he considered me. Maybe I should’ve told him what was on my mind, but I decided to play it casual instead and see what happened.

  My phone buzzed, but instead of a message from Dean, it was one from Mel.

  Mel: you get the latex?

  Dre: latex . . .

  Mel: for the fantasy fish shoot?!?

  Mel: i will murder you if you forgot

  Dre: i didn’t forget

  Oh yeah, I’d definitely forgotten. Liquid Dreams, a special effects studio, was holding a Fantasy Fish Photo Challenge. The prize was cash and makeup and the chance to intern for Liquid Dreams, but the exposure was the biggest reward. I’d forgotten, when I’d agreed to build houses with Dean, that I’d already made plans with Mel to work on the challenge.

  Shit.

  Dre: im in louisiana with my dad today

  Mel: Okay.

  Dre: capitalized and punctuated?!?

  Dre: dont be like that

  Mel: i’ll see you when youre back

  Dre: im sorry

  Dre: didnt i suffer through the ball with you so you could choose between your boys

  Dre: a choice you still havent made btw

  Mel: this is more important than a stupid dance

  Mel: forget it

  Dre: don’t be like that

  Dre: mel?

  Dre: mel????

  My dad was looking over at me when I dropped my phone in my lap with an exasperated sigh. “Everything all right?”

  It wasn’t fair for Mel to be mad at me. I would’ve understood if our situations were reversed. And it’s not like I was abandoning her just to build houses; I was going to see Dean! It might’ve helped if she knew that, but she didn’t, so I couldn’t blame her for it even though I really wanted to. Everything was too damn complicated.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m probably gonna have to buy Mel a car.”

  Dean

  DRE WALKED ONTO the site wearing tight jean shorts frayed at the bottoms that showed off a disturbing amount of his extremely hairy legs, and a bright rainbow tank top, making him absolutely impossible to miss. We were about the same height, but he looked so much taller than me. He was long and twiggy, and he walked like he was stomping down a runway in Milan. I admired that about him. He’d known he was going to have to pass through a throng of photographers eager to see the potential first sons together, and he’d deliberately chosen that outfit. It was a bold ensemble that I never would have possessed the courage to wear. And despite Dre not having grown up around the press, they liked him, and he answered their questions with a casual ease I had worked hard to master.

  Barriers had been set up to keep the press from disrupting the worksite, and thankfully, the photographers respected them. They were close enough to take a million pictures of Dre and me together, but not near enough to overhear us if we kept our voices low.

  I didn’t know why, but I was nervous to see Dre. Our rambling conversations were so perfect that I suppose I was worried spending time together in real life wouldn’t be as good. Dre might not have liked me in person or I might not have liked him. We could have wound up actual enemies like most of the public assumed we already were.

  “Ah,” Dre said as he approached, “I see you’re wearing your Wednesday leisure outfit.”

  I was wearing khaki jeans and a blue campaign polo. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  Dre held up his hands. “Nothing.”

  “At least I don’t look like I’m trying to make a statement.”

  “You’re making a statement all right.” He cleared his throat. “Quarterly earnings are down due to market conditions outside of our control.”

  There was a sharp edge to Dre’s joke that drew blood, and I wasn’t prepared for it. We’d joked around on Promethean, but those jokes hadn’t hurt, and I didn’t know what had changed. It was possible I’d overestimated our friendship and had made a mi
stake inviting him to the build site, but then I wished he would have said something sooner instead of arriving and mocking me in front of the cameras.

  A young woman who looked only a couple of years older than us popped up between Dre and me like she thought she was heading off a fight, even though we were both smiling. “Hiya! I’m Cora! I’m so happy to have you both here. Who’s ready to build something?”

  I raised my hand. “Is there any work we can do that won’t be too tiring? I’m sure Dre’s not used to doing manual labor.” My annoyance with Dre slipped out, though I should have known better.

  Dre rolled his eyes. “Who do you think you’re dealing with?”

  “Do you know how to put up drywall?”

  “No.”

  “Ductwork?”

  “Ducks?”

  “Ducts,” I said, emphasizing the T.

  “No to either, but I can’t wait for the lecture about it I’m certain you’ve got prepared, Mr. Arnault.” Dre turned to Cora and silently mouthed, Save me!

  I had no idea what must have been going through Cora’s head because I had no idea what was going on, but she finally tossed out a nervous laugh. “I get it,” she said to Dre. “You’re the funny one.”

  Dre shook his head. “He’s the funny one. I’m the arsonist.”

  The pitch of Cora’s laughter rose an octave, and I imagine she was probably wondering what sin she had committed that her punishment was being saddled with us.

  “I’m sorry about him,” I said. “It’s his first time.”

  “But not yours?” Cora asked.

  “No. I volunteer locally most weekends.”

  This information seemed to thrill Cora to no end. “Good. I mean, good! Then I think you two should stick together. We actually need painters today, if you don’t mind painting.”

  “Kiss-ass,” Dre coughed under his breath.

  “If you don’t know how to paint,” I said, “I’m sure we can find you a job rinsing brushes.”

  “I love to paint,” Dre said. “My style is sort of what it’d look like if a cubist was beaten to death by an impressionist.”