On the Corner of Love and Hate

by Nina Bocci

  Staring up at the house as I waited in the traffic, I thought back to all of the times Cooper and I had been there together and wasted time by not being together.

  But then I remembered Cooper’s words: “I was stupid and young.” Not for anything, but I hadn’t exactly been a pillar of maturity, either. I still didn’t know exactly what I was going to do about him. About us.

  My phone lay silent in my purse. There wasn’t a message from anyone, not even Whitney gloating that things were looking good. Turnout in every ward was high. People were positive and engaged, and for that I was grateful. My job was over.

  Tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, I thought about how easy it would have been just to turn around and drive away. To avoid seeing Cooper. To avoid seeing Cooper and Whitney together. To avoid it all.

  But I couldn’t do that. I knew that Cooper would be looking for me, and it wouldn’t be fair to him to ruin what was potentially a huge night for him because I was unable to deal with my feelings for him.

  The traffic at a standstill, I sent him a text.

  ME: Don’t answer this. Enjoy your night. I just wanted to tell you that no matter what, Cooper, I’m proud of you and there is a lot of me that’s always been in love with you.

  JACKASS: [read at 6:47PM]

  . . .

  Those bouncing dots were easily the most annoying thing he could have done. Yet I couldn’t help but laugh.

  I pulled up his campaign page on Facebook. Front and center was a photo that had just been posted by Nick.

  Two minutes ago.

  It was Cooper and Whitney standing in front of the Campbells’ massive parlor fireplace. It took up most of one wall, and the mantel was filled with photos of the Campbell family. His arm was linked with Whitney’s, and they were beaming at the camera. The caption read:

  Mayoral Candidate Cooper Campbell-Endicott and Whitney Jocelyn Andrews, Esq., waiting on the results at his election party.

  Below the photo were the reactions. A handful of shares were already registered, so I followed the first link, which led to the newspaper’s home page.

  The same caption was included with the photo, along with some juicy gossip as clickbait:

  If the rumors are to be believed, we may be witnessing a proposal tonight, too. Whitney Campbell-Endicott has a nice ring to it, if you ask us.

  At least it isn’t negative press, I reasoned, feeling an overwhelming urge to get the hell out of Dodge.

  A horn tooted behind me. I jumped, tossed my phone onto the seat, and moved up. I had been so lost in the photo that it was nearly my turn for the valet. No turning back now.

  Inside, the house looked exactly as I remembered it. There was a coatroom just off the foyer, where I left my purse and coat. It was crowded, but not nearly as many people were there as I’d thought would be. It’s still early, I told myself. The polls aren’t closed yet. Once that happens, people will be pouring in waiting for the results.

  There were cameras snapping candid shots of guests and someone walking around with a video camera documenting the comments by partygoers, and waiters walking around with hors d’oeuvres. Then the oddest realization hit me: I was being ignored, and it was glorious.

  I could have been topless with VOTE FOR COOPER stickers on my nipples, and I don’t think anyone would have paid me any mind.

  It wasn’t until the governor and Mr. Endicott waved hello that one of the reporters covering the party came over to ask for a photo. “Where’s Cooper?” he called out, looking around the room for the guest of honor.

  Governor Campbell tried working her way over to me, but the cameras were now blocking her path. She smiled politely, waiting for someone to move so she could join me. As it was, I was standing in the center of an antique rug all alone.

  When she finally made it to me, she pulled me into a warm embrace, followed by Cooper’s father, Sebastian. “Emma, darling, you look gorgeous,” she said, mindful of the ears that were listening intently to our conversation.

  “Thank you, Governor. So do you. I love this color blue on you,” I said, playing right along with it, giving the press nothing but polite chitchat.

  Clare Campbell looked nothing like her son save for the bright, slightly uneven smile they shared. Cooper was all his father from build to complexion to hair color. “I saw your parents earlier,” the governor said. “I’m so glad they’re here. I’ve missed them.”

  I smiled. “I know, they’ve missed you both, too. Perhaps now that Dad will have some free time, he’ll be able to visit you more often,” I suggested, knowing that it was something they’d already discussed and that the press already knew about.

  Emma 1, media vultures 0.

  The reporters looked bored, which meant I’d done my job. I was determined to keep things boring and scandal-free from here on out; at least until Cooper was elected.

  Speaking of Cooper, I knew the moment he entered the sitting room. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and my breathing quickened. It was as if my body knew he was nearby before I actually saw him. I gulped. Moment of truth.

  “Cooper, how about a photo with your friend and her parents? Emma, where’s your parents? Let’s get everyone in this!” the photographer cheered.

  Cooper’s hand touched the small of my back, and it took everything in me not to jump a foot into the air. “Emma,” he whispered, his fingers dancing along my waist. I was dangerously close to launching myself at him in front of a half-dozen cameras.

  No one would be bored then.

  Turning, I schooled my features in preparation to see Cooper in a tuxedo. Thinking about it and seeing it were miles apart. My heart fluttered at the sight of him. “Emma, you look lovely,” he said, leaning down to kiss my cheek. “As always,” he added smoothly.

  I could hear the clicks of the cameras already starting. In the back of my mind, I knew that I should back away, smile gratefully, and move on, but I couldn’t. I simply stared up at him, smiling and wondering just how much over my head I was in all of this.

  Mindful of the cameras, the mics, and the way all of the journalists were leaning in for the scoop, Cooper joked, “Hope you remembered to vote.”

  My hand flew dramatically to my chest. “Oh, was that today? I’m sorry, I had a thing.”

  Cooper bellowed with laughter, tipping his head back. The reporters laughed along with him. “Yes, there was a thing today,” he said. “Pretty important thing, too. Hope you made the right decision.”

  “Oh, I think I did,” I said, smiling. I wanted to hug him. To send a small signal that would say, I’m with you, no matter what, but there were cameras trained on our faces, snapping away. They’d catch it, and although the voting had been finished as of a few moments before, I wasn’t risking it.

  There would be plenty of time for it later. For us later.

  My parents hustled over, breaking the staring contest we were engaged in. “Emma, dear, you look wonderful,” my father said, pushing his way in between myself and Cooper.

  “Come, come, let’s get this photo!” the photographer encouraged us, and instructed us where to stand. Cooper and my father moved to the center, with my mother behind my dad and the governor and Cooper’s dad behind Cooper. That left me the odd man out.

  “I really don’t have to be in this,” I insisted, backing toward the piano. I bumped into the player, sending discordant notes through the party. “Sorry, sorry.”

  “Of course you need to be in here, Emma,” Clare insisted, backing up so that I could stand between her and Cooper. “I insist.”

  With a sigh, I walked over and stood where she indicated, mindful not to touch Cooper at all. “Here comes Whitney, Cooper!” someone shouted from behind us, and I itched to escape.

  “You stay right here, dear,” Clare said, taking my hand in hers to keep me rooted to the spot. “Whitney can stand on his other side.”

  Oh. My. God. How the hell was this going to look? How would anyone explain this one to the readership? Coop
er had not one but two women on his arm? Thankfully, no one knew the history of the parties involved, and it would just look like two old friends, their parents, and his girlfriend stopped for a politically charged photo.

  “Emma,” Whitney said, gliding over to stand next to Cooper. Her dress had looked black in the photo I’d seen earlier, but up close I could tell it was actually a stunning navy silk dress that hugged every curve. No matter the color, it left nothing to the imagination. Her hair was sleek and wavy with a beaded clip holding up one side. She looked like she had stepped out of a catalog that catered to the rich and powerful.

  Whitney placed herself directly between my father and Cooper, her arms around their waists, positioning her front and center. If ever there were a political power couple pose, that was it. I stood as far away from them as I could without it being glaringly obvious that I didn’t want to be anywhere near them.

  “Look this way, folks,” the photographer said, and I forced myself to smile. Just then about a dozen other journalists caught on to the fact that they were missing a prime photography opportunity, so they latched onto us. Luckily, their shouting and the blinding camera flashes were a distraction from what was probably one of the most awkward experiences of my life.

  “Okay, how about one now with just Cooper and his parents? Then Emma, the mayor, and your mom? Any other combos?” someone shouted, and one of the assistants started setting us up. We were positioned like mannequins: Arms here. Head tilted this way. Smile bigger. Smile smaller. Deep breath and exhale. More teeth. “Okay!”

  “If it’s all right, I’d like you to take one of Cooper and Emma, please,” Clare said to one of the photographers. “After all, she played such a major role in the entire thing.”

  Before I could resist, Cooper spun around, turning his back to Whitney, who pouted for a second before plastering on her fake, bright smile.

  “Relax, Emma,” he whispered as he pulled me in to his side. His arm slid behind me, resting just above my backside. His fingers curled around the fabric above my hip—wrinkling it, I was sure, judging by how tightly he was gripping it. As if he were anchoring me to his side. The camera frenzy erupted again. I smiled, followed the shouting photographers’ directions, and desperately tried not to reach over and place my hand over his chest like Whitney had. The moment was only made more ironic when I heard “Emma, lean in to Cooper a bit. Great!”

  EMMA THOUGHT: The Fates are HILARIOUS.

  When the photos were done, Cooper was pulled to the side by one of the local state representatives who were likely there thanks to the governor’s invitation, and I was able to escape from the media frenzy to join the governor and my parents for some much-needed alcohol.

  “This is a lovely party, isn’t it?” Clare said, handing me a glass of champagne. “Makes me miss how we used to have them all the time. I remember the last time you were here—you had a similar look on your face then, too. Both of which I attribute to my son.”

  I smiled, embarrassed a little at how transparent I had been and apparently still was. “It is a beautiful party. Your staff did an incredible job.” I feigned ignorance of her other comment. “I just hope we’re able to celebrate tonight.”

  “Oh, I think we will. I have a feeling we’ll be celebrating a few things tonight,” Clare said, smiling into her champagne glass.

  The cameras were now following Cooper and Whitney around the party, snapping every shot they could. They’d lob out a question about an engagement, and Whitney would beam at Cooper. The crews were eating it up. Cooper looked like a deer in headlights to me, but to everyone else, he probably appeared normal. I just knew him well enough to know that he was getting to the end of a very short rope.

  Whitney, to her credit, didn’t falter once with the questions thrown at her. The Hope Lake and state journalists were like the damn paparazzi in New York City, what with the number of questions and cameras they were throwing into their faces.

  Whereas I could barely handle a few posed photographs, Whitney seemed to feed off the attention. Maybe because she was used to fielding questions in court, but whatever the reason, she was a pro.

  “Whitney, if Cooper wins, will you move to Hope Lake immediately?”

  “I have a huge clientele in Barreton that I need to figure out first.”

  “Whitney, are the rumors true? Are you and Cooper tying the knot?”

  “You’ll have to ask him that, but I hear spring in Hope Lake is a beautiful time for a wedding.”

  “They’re perfect for each other,” I murmured to the governor, who was watching me watching them.

  The thought rankled me. No matter what I felt for Cooper, they were undeniably a solid pair. Whitney was obviously smitten with him, and no matter what Cooper felt for me, he must have had some feelings for her. They had a history, after all.

  The governor touched my arm, patting it gently. “You of all people should know that appearances can be deceiving, Emma,” she said simply, and gave me a one-armed hug.

  • • •

  I SPENT THE NEXT HOUR avoiding Cooper and Whitney in person but following them on social media. It was a bit creepy, but it was still better than the alternative: watching them play it up for the cameras live and in person. The cameras tailed them around the party, and I headed in the opposite direction whenever I saw them coming my way. Still, though, I made sure to stay updated on my phone. New pictures of them appeared every few seconds, with lots of likes and comments about the upcoming “proposal.” Gag me.

  Still, though, not everything was about Hope Lake’s new power couple. There were comments about the election, too, with fans of Cooper’s speculating whether he had enough votes to win and fans of Kirby’s speculating whether he had enough scandals to lose. At one point, Henry livestreamed a short Q and A with Cooper, asking him questions that actually focused on what his platform was. There was no mention of any scandal or lowbrow remarks about his personal life: just facts. That gave Cooper the opportunity to set the record straight on quite a few of the underhanded headlines the paper had run and clear the air of any misunderstandings before the final vote was counted.

  It was all I could do to stop myself from scrolling through the live feed that was updating with the polling results. With the polls closed for just under an hour, we’d start getting percentages in, and I needed to keep up to the minute with the results. My phone was nearly dead—who knew that stalking Cooper and Whitney could drain so much battery?—so I needed to find a plan B: the local news.

  As unreliable as the papers had been, Hope Lake broadcasting was still a source I trusted. Every year the TV station held its own election party, tallying the poll results live. The closest television, I knew from years of visiting Campbell Manor, was in Clare’s office. As I headed there, I fought to keep my nerves at bay.

  What would happen if Cooper lost?

  What would happen if Cooper won?

  What would happen to us?

  As I headed to her office, I saw Cooper and Whitney standing in front of its door, deep in conversation. I couldn’t hear them, and judging by the looks of it, I didn’t know if I wanted to. She was pacing in the small area, waving her arms around. She looked angry as she circled the space around him. Cooper had his arms crossed over his chest, and one foot was tapping the hardwood.

  Judging by the look on his face, he would welcome a distraction. “Excuse me,” I said loudly, standing off to the side so one or both of them would move to free up my path. “It’s almost time.”

  “Already?” Cooper said, glancing nervously at his watch.

  Giving him a small, encouraging smile, I ignored Whitney entirely. “Cooper, it looks good. I’ve been watching the results all night.”

  “So have I,” he said, smiling and pulling out his phone. On it, the chyron was scrolling through.

  Whitney slid me her usual annoyed look. “Good, we’ve got a long day tomorrow.” She pulled Cooper in to her side and started rubbing his back. It seemed odd until I realized the cr
ush of reporters behind me snapping away.

  “Cooper,” his mother called over them, waving her hand for him to join her. “We have a TV set up in the sitting room.”

  The ticker was not yet streaming on-screen, and I waited nervously for it to appear. For now I kept my eyes trained on the reporter, who was discussing the mood at the polls. “Clearly Hope Lake is excited for a change because they turned out for the polls. We are reporting a record number of voters in this mayoral election.”

  Cooper’s face paled. My heart leapt into my throat.

  A change. That sounded suspiciously like a Rogers phrase.

  Does he mean a change in that they want a new direction for the town? They’re tired of my father and embracing Rogers as the change? I wondered frantically.

  Or is it that clearly Hope Lake is “excited for a change,” meaning that people like the direction my father’s taken the town in and they’re ready for Cooper to take it farther?

  EMMA THOUGHT: Now is not the time to overanalyze.

  The TV cut to Kirby’s campaign party just as Cooper’s cell phone blared loudly.

  His hand shook a bit as he pulled it from his pocket. Looking to his parents, he smiled nervously. “This is it,” he said before turning his eyes to me with the slightest wink.

  Rogers appeared on-screen taking a call himself before they cut away quickly to a commercial. Son of a bitch.

  “Thank you, I can’t thank you enough,” Cooper finished, turning to the crowd of anxious guests.

  “Well?” my father said, glancing nervously from the very quiet Cooper to a commercial selling furniture during an election day sale. “Cooper, who was it?”

  “That was the election office.”

  “And?” nearly everyone asked simultaneously. He was about to speak when the news reporter appeared on the screen again.