“I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You haven’t. You absolutely haven’t. But you know how it is. People only pay attention to elections when there’s a scandal.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “This hardly counts as a scandal. A single woman had drinks. Fire up the damn presses.”
He shook his head and reached for me. I pulled back and crossed my arms.
“Gwen, you know it’s not that simple. He just doesn’t want there to be anything distracting voters from the issues at hand. Whether we like it or not, even something this asinine will do it. Remember Julie Huang and ‘Recyclegate?’All she did was say she didn’t recycle. That took news tickers for two weeks.”
“Won’t not having me around raise even more questions, though?”
“Maybe, but most campaign managers aren’t as front-and-center as you are. Some of them even take actual vacations, you know.” He attempted a small smile. “You’ve always been an overachiever.”
The thought of Jackie flashed through my mind, the way she frequently had since our falling out. It was hard not to make a comparison between the two: me giving up pieces of myself to Jeffrey, to Jackie, and getting it thrown back in my face. The bitterness in the back of my throat stemmed as much from my anger at them as anger at myself for giving that much up in the first place.
I gave up the last of that anger and let it bleed into a more manageable annoyance. I refused to call the pain in my chest something as poetic as sorrow.
“And you’re sure he’s not going to try to pull this again?”
“Even if he does, I won’t let him. Listen: Jane’s good, but she’s paranoid, and my dad’s always believed in having an over-overabundance of caution about everything. We’ll get through this debate and go back to normal and win this thing, together. Okay?”
I wished I could trust him. Wanting to would have to be enough for now.
“Okay.”
“Hey.” He gently touched my elbow and lowered his voice. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine,” I replied stiffly, letting him know with my tone that this wasn’t something I wanted to discuss right now. Or ever.
I hadn’t planned on telling him about Jackie and I parting ways, but I had to reassure the campaign that nothing of the sort would ever happen again, and he figured out the rest for himself.
I liked to think I was holding it together. When it came down to it, Jackie was just another woman.
So then why did it feel like there was a stupidly tall, Amazon-shaped hole in my heart?
“I’m only saying, if you need to take some time to—”
“I said I was fine, okay? I’m fine. You need to focus on this debate.”
Thankfully, then the volunteer came back and told everyone to get into place.
Out in the audience, I spotted Dick. My instinct was to avoid him, but he saw me first and waved me over to an empty seat next to him. I entertained the idea of pretending I hadn’t see him, but eventually gave up and joined him in the front row.
“Haven’t seen you much today.”
Dick looked startled, and I allowed himself a petty moment to revel in that. He recovered quickly.
“Mmm. Packed day. Hey, does Osten look slimier than usual, or is it just me?”
I looked up at the stage. Osten and Jeffrey were shaking hands, smiles polite and camera-ready. Osten looked like one of the more handsome used car salesmen on his best days. I didn’t notice anything different.
Before I could tell Dick as much, the lights dimmed and the candidates took their places. The moderator listed off the rules and explained the question portion to the audience. Jeffrey gave a modified version of his stump speech first—altered to include a reference to his policy on public transportation, a big concern of this district—and Osten gave the same copy of his own. The repeat was nothing the audience would have picked up on, but I almost laughed at the laziness—or arrogance—of it all.
The audience lined up for questions, and I pulled my iPad out to take notes. The first couple of questions were softball: parks, schools, the usual. Jeffrey gave polished answers and clever rebuttals to Osten’s when he could.
I wish I could see Osten’s campaign manager, because he was not having a good night. Osten’s answers were formulaic and uninspired. Some quotes were plucked straight from his stump speech without even an attempt at dressing it up as something genuine and off the cuff. What a horrible time to phone it in.
A sluggish half hour passed much the same way. I barely touched my iPad. Every now and then I’d catch Dick nodding in my peripheral, but otherwise he showed no emotion. No comments, no huffs or shakes of his head. For once, he and I were of the same opinion: this was a sweep.
The moderator announced that five more questions would be taken before closing remarks. The next person in line, an older woman with thick, round glasses, shuffled her way up to the microphone.
“My name is Mary Watterson, and this question is for Senator Crawford. In the past, I’ve felt ignored by politicians who can’t seem to find the time for the very constituents who put them into office. How will we know that you won’t abandon your people for special interest and lobby groups like those in Washington?”
Jeffrey smiled at her. “Ma’am, I understand and sympathize with your frustrations. Since I was elected into office by the great people of California’s thirty-fifth district, I have made it my top priority to be available to those who put me here. I will continue to hold town halls, face-to-face meetings, and be active in answering your social media questions to the best of my ability.”
“With all due respect, Senator,” Osten drawled, used car salesman smile prominent and just a bit sinister, “I don’t know if I believe that.”
Jeffrey’s smile didn’t waver. “Spend a little more time in politics, and you might come to believe me.”
The audience chuckled. Then onlookers began to notice a change in the once cordial atmosphere.
Osten raised up his hands in mock surrender. “I don’t mean anything by it, Senator. Maybe I’m wrong. I don’t think it’ll go against my best interest to acknowledge I’ve heard good things about your availability—and, from what I hear, being unavailable wasn’t your wife’s main concern. ’Least not according to the Golden State Conservative.”
The audience gasped. Some chortled. A crescendo of whispers followed right after.
I went stiff in my seat.
The quip was forced and awkward, clearly the centerpiece of his entire argument without any flow to the rest. I would have laughed at the audacity were I not frozen in place.
As I felt like I was going to combust or fall apart, Jeffrey looked made of ice and steel.
“I made a commitment to the good people of this district. While some might waste their time on petty politics and special interests, I remain utterly devoted to our citizens. I make you, and all residents of the thirty-fifth, that promise.” He looked back at the woman who had asked the question, who now looked ready to shuffle out of the room as fast as her slippered feet would take her. “Thank you for your question, Mrs. Watterson.”
The debate moved on from there, but I could barely hear the questions over the ringing in my ears. Osten didn’t try to bring up the article again, and save from a few whispers and looks, the crowd seemed to have forgotten it as quickly as it was spoken. Still, I felt stiff and trapped.
As soon as closing remarks were said and the moderator had thanked Osten and Jeffrey, I was out of my seat. The need to keep up appearances and the expensive kitten heels I hadn’t broken in yet were the only things keeping me from full-out sprinting backstage.
Jeffrey met me halfway up the stairs. His expression was stormy as he wordlessly gestured for me to follow him to a far corner of backstage. I scanned the space for any sign of Osten, but I guessed he must have had a big enough sense of self-preservation to get the hell out as quickly as he could.
“That miserable little snake,” Jeffrey mumbled under his breath.
“That is an insult to snakes everywhere,” I said.
He continued to rant as we picked up his things and started to head out. He paused only to thank the volunteers and shake their hands. I gave him kudos for not ripping their arms off with the force of it.
Dick was leaning on the hood of his car when we got outside. I wanted nothing more than to avoid him, but Jeffrey walked right up to him.
When I slowly caught up to them, Jeffrey was deep into another rant.
“Can you believe him? I mean, I never pegged him as stand-up guy, but I never expected him to be so...so—”
“Sleazy? Underhanded? A self-aggrandizing little prick?” Dick offered with a weak smile. “Welcome to the world of private politics, son.”
Dick looked over at me, and his smile wavered. I pulled out my phone and opened the Lyft app to have something to do other than be the unwilling recipient of Dick Crawford’s pity.
“How about I take you both out for a bite?” he offered cheerfully.
“Thanks, but I don’t think Gwen and I are up to eating.”
“Nonsense! Food’s the best medicine. There’s a new Mexican pop-up joint down on Seventh. Word is they have the best taquitos in town right now. You still like taquitos, don’t you, Gwen?”
I nodded, shocked that Dick remembered anything about me that wasn’t directly related to Jeffrey. Dick beamed and clapped his hands together.
“Great! It’s settled, then. To Juan in a Million!”
Jeffrey glanced at me apologetically. I ignored him and climbed into the backseat of Dick’s car, resigned to spending the rest of a disastrous day with my former father-in-law. To my surprise, Jeffrey also slipped into the backseat. He leaned over and squeezed my hand as we pulled out of the auditorium and away from the reporters swarming for a comment.
Juan in a Million was packed for a Thursday evening. Dick took the liberty of shouldering his way to the front and ordering our food. Jeffrey sat quietly as we waited, next to me but far and away in his own head. I pulled out my phone and did the only thing I thought would make the sinking feeling in my stomach subside.
Remember that time the barista accidentally mixed up our orders and I thought I might go into diabetic shock from drinking your liquidated sugar? Today is worse than that day.
I stared down at the blinking cursor before turning my phone off and shoving it back in my bag. Jackie hadn’t contacted me, so there was no reason for me to contact her. There were other things to focus on besides Jacklyn Dunn.
Dick came back with a steaming plate, and its smell alone made me regret getting in the car a little less. He mostly talked while Jeffrey and I stuffed our faces. Eventually the air of tension between the three of us dissipated into something almost like friendliness. The topic of the debate was carefully skirted around. I’d forgotten how sociable and easygoing Dick could be when he wasn’t being domineering, overbearing, or outright annoying.
By the time Dick picked up the check, Jeffrey seemed more at ease, too. So at ease that we both accepted his offer to drive us home.
Jeffrey was dropped off first with an earnest promise to call me later. His mood had sobered quickly while on the road, and I had a feeling the call would be more me consoling him than the other way around.
That left Dick and me alone. Every now and then, I would catch him looking at me through the rearview mirror with open concern and something akin to nervousness. Despite how pleasant he’d proven he could be back at the restaurant, I couldn’t wait to get out of the car.
He pulled up to my curb, and I was ready to launch out without a quick goodbye when he pointedly cleared his throat.
I knew a free meal with no strings attached was too good to be true. With a sigh, I closed the door and resigned myself to an hour-long lecture.
“I ever tell you about my first wife? Jeffrey’s mother?”
I frowned, taken aback by the question. “Eileen? I don’t think so. Jeffrey’s mentioned her a few times. She sent us a crockpot after our wedding.”
“She was a firecracker of a woman. A lot like you, actually. Didn’t take no shit from nobody. Always had something to say. If she didn’t have an opinion on something, it’s only because she didn’t know about it yet.”
I stared at the reflection of his eyes in the rearview mirror. Blue, just like Jeffrey’s, but somehow alien at the same time. I expected him to look cold or angry, but all he looked was wistful and faraway.
“She was with me for my very first campaign back in ’78, running against an incumbent Democrat in a district that hadn’t had a Republican senator since Hoover. I was behind five, ten points in every poll. They said I didn’t have a chance of winning. And they were right. I lost big time. Exit polls said I was dead in the water before noon.”
He chuckled to himself. I stayed silent, waiting for a twist to this strangely vulnerable side of my former father-in-law that I had never seen in the seven years I’d known him.
“Eileen supported me through that loss, and she was there when I won my first seat. She was my biggest cheerleader and my biggest critic. I dived headfirst into politics after that. My whole world came down to just one thing: winning, and getting in the right position so that next cycle I could win again. I forgot to save time for the stuff, the people, that mattered. When Eileen finally left, it really shouldn’t have come as a shock, but it did.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, even though the dread hanging over me told me I already knew why.
He turned around in his seat to look me dead in the eye, dark brown to Jeffrey-blue.
“Because you’re acting like me, and when you’ve got a good woman who’ll stand by your side and love you through your thickheadedness and faults, you don’t want to pay her back by acting like me.”
Thirteen
Jackie
I had to avoid running during the day now in case some overzealous paparazzo got bold.
In between checking my phone every time it buzzed hoping to see a text from Gwen and screening calls from Lorne, running was the only refuge I could get from my own thoughts these days. The fact that I had to cut back on it to avoid more press exposure only made a shitty situation worse.
Two weeks after Gwen and I broke up I got back to the house and noticed the kitchen window light I remembered turning off was on.
Olivia was home.
The first thing I noticed when I got inside was the smell of smoke and vanilla. I followed the smell to the living room, where Olivia sat twisted on a yoga mat, eyes closed.
I looked at the furniture that was pushed to the corners of the room. “You’ve been . . . busy.”
“I’ve been finding my inner peace,” she replied matter-of-factly.
I waved my hand in front of her face. “Can I ask why you’re finding your inner peace in the middle of our living room?”
She swatted my hand without opening her eyes. “The energy is better in here.”
“Right, because that makes sense.” I shucked off my running shoes and threw them across the room where the loveseat now was, knowing leaving sweaty clothes on the furniture would make her mad. “Why are you doing yoga, anyway? It’s almost midnight.”
“This is the only time I have free anymore, and I have a wedding dress to fit into. In the future. In theory.” She cracked open an eye to study me. “Also, we’re going to have to go wedding dress window shopping soon.”
I grabbed the TV remote off the floor and flopped down on the couch with a groan. “I’m already exhausted just hearing that.”
“How are you holding up, kiddo?”
The TV came to life, blaring a Food Network show, and I tossed the remote to the other side of the couch.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“That’s what I said.”
“You’re a horrible liar.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not lying.”
She hummed noncommittally. By now her eyes were open and she was staring intently at th
e screen, where Ina Garten was preparing something steaming and covered in marinara.
“Should I be insulted that I, your most important platonic friend, can’t get you to tear down those walls and vent?”
“Who decided that you were my most important platonic friend?”
“One, obviously I am, and two, don’t change the subject.” She untwisted herself and turned around to look at me head on. “You are not fine. So what’s wrong?”
I shifted under her scrutiny and went for defensive and petulant. “What?”
“What’s wrong? You sound more tired and annoyed than usual.”
“Wait, are you saying I usually sound tired and annoyed?”
“Don’t change the subject! Can we acknowledge the big gay elephant in the room? You haven’t vented about your breakup with Gwen yet.”
I sighed and pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. “I don’t feel like venting.”
“Everyone feels like venting sometimes. It looks like you need to. What are best friends for? Remember when you listened to me rage about Daniel the first time we broke up?”
“Was it the first or the third?”
“Hmm, maybe you are fine. You’re acting like a dick again.”
I swallowed hard around a lump in my throat that hadn’t been there a second ago. “Maybe I’m not so fine.”
“No shit. Your aura is a crushing blue.”
“What kind of color is crushing—you know what? Yeah. That sounds about right.”
She raised her eyebrows expectantly. I sighed and tried to make the jumble of troubles and half thoughts coherent enough to explain.
“There’s a lot going on right now. Not just Gwen and the press.”
“Is this about your charity game thing?”
I nodded. “Coach Murphy wants an answer soon.”
She cocked her head. “I thought you hadn’t decided if you wanted to do it yet.”
“I haven’t, and that’s the problem.”
Olivia arranged herself so her whole body was facing me as she was leaning back on her hands. She looked equally as tired as I felt, though apparently less annoyed.
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