Forever Your Heart

by Mary Whitney

  Despite my camel hair coat, the January chill made the concrete steps bloody cold under my arse. I stared out onto the busy DC street, waiting for Mum to pick up the phone. She knew it was me when she answered. “Hello, Adam.”

  “Hi, Mum. How are things?”

  “A little better than this time last week. I think he’s getting used to the new chemo treatment. He tried to stay up, but he was too exhausted. He really wanted to talk to you today.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, we watched your bit on the telly on the lunchtime news, like always, but Dad almost jumped out of his chair. Why didn’t you tell us that Nicki Johnson was working at the White House? Of all people! What a coincidence!”

  I grimaced, having figured my parents would see Nicki’s name in the paper or catch her on television soon enough. That morning, Nicki had covered the second half of the press briefing by herself—not long after I got my question into Matthew about the effect of the financial stimulus package on the global economy. I was both relieved and disappointed that I hadn’t had to ask Nicki the question instead—relieved because I might have mucked it up, and disappointed because I would’ve loved to hear her answer. She had ignored me the entire briefing. After our lunch on Friday, I’d thought that I might at least get a hello, but I was wrong. She’d avoided looking at me altogether, whilst I had stood there dying to know what she was thinking.

  Because Nicki had answered half of the day’s press questions, there were a number of clips of her laced into various stories the BBC had been running. I’d seen a few of them, and she looked lovely and spoke brilliantly in each piece. Given the amount of television my parents now watched, it was inevitable they would see the reports, too.

  “I thought you knew,” I said, telling a white lie.

  “No.” She used the same disapproving and disbelieving maternal voice that I’d heard my entire life when I fibbed. “We didn’t know. Why would we?”

  “She worked for Logan when he was governor. You knew that.”

  “But I didn’t know she followed him to Washington and had such an important position in the White House.”

  “Well, she does.”

  “Your father and I were gobsmacked to see her. When we first recognized the name and face, Dad jumped out of his chair to look straight in the TV screen to confirm it was her. And then she did so well. She could speak on any subject they threw at her. She’s so mature and poised.”

  I shook my head. Parents were parents regardless of our age. “She’s thirty-three. She’s an adult now, Mum.”

  “Oh, I know,” she said, brushing my reminder aside. “We were just so impressed by her—what she’s made of herself. And she’s turned into a beautiful woman. Dad was especially taken with her.”

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I took a moment to take in what I had heard. Oh, the irony. Sixteen years ago, Dad had seen Nicki as an ordinary American girl. He hadn’t disliked her—in fact, he’d been rather fond of Nicki—but he hadn’t seen anything special about her. Now he thought she was a catch. She only had to become a press secretary for the president of the United States, the leader of the free fucking world, for him to change his mind.

  Dad bore some responsibility for my current situation, but I’d never held it against him. There’d been too many other things conspiring against Nicki and me when we were seventeen—both my own arsehole behavior and her terror of being hurt again.

  “Adam, what is going on here?” Mum’s demanding tone brought me back to the present. “You didn’t really want to go back to reporting, did you? Is Nicki the reason why you changed jobs?”

  “No. Well, yes, but…” I didn’t know how much I wanted to tell her. Then I realized Sylvia would blab everything to her anyway; I might as well tell the truth. “I mean that it’s very interesting to witness firsthand the start of a new presidency, but, yes, if I must admit it, I wanted to meet Nicki again…just to see if…”

  “And?”

  I scowled. “At the moment she has a boyfriend.”

  Then instead of my mother, Dr. Judith Kincaid the psychologist replied, “And how does that make you feel?”

  “How do you think it makes me feel, Mum? Bloody jealous.”

  “Now, Adam…”

  How many times had I heard that in my life? When I was younger, I’d have grunted and shut up, but I’d become soft in my old age. I knew she was being kind. I succumbed to becoming her patient. “Nicki and I had lunch last week. It seems like she’s in a serious relationship. But…and this is going to sound ridiculous, but I hope there still might be something there between us.”

  I thought back to the lunch—how Nicki had alternated between being an assertive, accomplished woman and the contemplative, slightly awkward teenage girl I’d known…how she’d laughed with me…how she’d touched my hand. We still shared something—of that, I was confident.

  Even with the little information I’d given her, Mum still had enough to elaborate on my life. “Well, you two weren’t together very long, but you were very close. That was such an intense time for her. You were there when she was grieving the most, so seeing each other must bring out many emotions for both of you.”

  The cold stone steps numbed my arse, but the conversation was becoming even more uncomfortable. I stood up and said, “I’ll call a bit earlier tomorrow. Oh…and can you send me some HobNobs?”

  Mum understood my signal. An out-of-the-blue request for my favorite chocolate biscuits was a sign I’d had enough of the long-distance shrink session. She was quiet for a moment, but she mercifully let me go. “Certainly, dear.”

  Just because I cut Mum off didn’t mean I didn’t stop hearing her thoughts. Nicki and I had only dated for six months. We would’ve had more time together if I had picked up on her cues earlier, but I was a stupid boy. I’d been shagging a girl named Meredith every afternoon whilst spending most of my day fascinated with Nicki. Granted, I hadn’t thought Nicki wanted to have anything to do with me, but it was still my fault it took so long for us to get together. That was the first time I had hurt her so much that she’d run away from me.

  As I walked back to the office, my mind was far away from the streets of downtown DC. I was back in Bellaire, Texas, sitting on a curb with a drunk seventeen-year-old Nicki.

  Nicki placed her head between her knees, trying to steady herself so she wouldn’t vomit. The glare from the streetlight made the golden notes in her otherwise dark hair sparkle. For months, I’d stared at her curly hair, wondering what it felt like. Was it coarse or soft? I had my chance to finally feel it, and with a hesitant hand, I reached over to find out.

  I smiled when my fingers first brushed against her curls. They were as soft as her heart. The whole experience was so tantalizing that I couldn’t stop. She was vulnerable at that moment, and I was happy stroking her dark tendrils. I always loved the feeling I might be soothing her a bit. So I was shocked when she asked, “Adam, why are you always so nice to me?”

  Huh. Wasn’t it obvious? I tried to look her in the eye, but her head was turned. I stopped touching her hair for a moment and let my hand rest on her back. “Well, I want to be your friend. I like you, and…” I was hesitant to say more because it would just bring up her sister. She always talked with me about her, though, so I decided to go for it. “I wish you were happier.”

  “You’re being too nice.”

  “Really? How so?”

  She snapped her head to stare me in the eye. “You have a girlfriend. So stop it. Stop being like this with me.”

  At first, I only focused on the first two things she’d said. Like a thief, I’d been caught red-handed, only I wasn’t stealing. I was lying—lying to Meredith. Nicki was right.

  I grumbled. “I know. I should…” But as I thought about it, I realized she’d said something else, which was even more disturbing. “Wait.” I looked her in the eye. “What do you mean ‘stop it’?”

  Her dark eyes welled with tears as she gasped out, “I can’t. I can’t do it
anymore.”

  It was a shitty thing to make any girl cry, but to do it to Nicki was unconscionable. My heart beat double-time as I comprehended what I’d done to her.

  When she rose from the curb, I was already in a panic. Despite the tears rolling down her cheeks, she demanded, “Please just leave me alone.” She turned on her heel. “I’ll walk myself the rest of the way.”

  I couldn’t have Nicki turn her back on me. This was not supposed to be happening between us, so I grabbed her arm. “Please, Nicki. Don’t go. I’m so sorry—”

  She jerked her arm away in a huff, but that was no deterrent to me. I placed my hand on her shoulder, hoping to calm her down. Maybe I could find the right way to explain myself. “Nicki, please. I’ve wanted to be your friend since I moved here. I like being with you…so much. And you…you seem happier when we talk. You actually smile, and when you smile, you’re even more beau—”

  She flinched from my touch, causing my hand to drop. Her tears were quickly replaced with fire in her eyes. “So I’m a pity project for you? The Make Nicki Happy project?”

  “No! Not at all. Please believe me. I care for you, but I haven’t known if you’re—”

  “Care for me?” Now she was livid, and her lip curled in disdain. “Right. I’m sure you think about how you care for me when you’re fucking Meredith.”

  Like a slack-jawed idiot, I’d just been slapped in the face to wake up.

  “Now leave me alone,” she said and stomped away.

  I hadn’t followed her, but the next day I’d tried to speak with her, only to be rebuffed again. After that, fear and guilt had kept me away from Nicki, but not for long.

  Whatever I’d said at our lunch together caused Nicki to ignore me for weeks. It was ridiculous. You’d have thought I was a random reporter from a backwater paper in Mississippi rather than the White House correspondent for the primary news outlet of the United States’ closest ally. She did her best not to look me in the eye, and if I had the chance to ask her a question, she always gave the podium over to someone else. After a few weeks, I was determined to get some kind of acknowledgment from Nicki that she knew I was in the room every morning. One Friday, I was thoroughly frustrated because I couldn’t even get a glance out of her. So I decided to force the issue.

  After that day’s press briefing was over, I walked straight over to Matthew, figuring Nicki would have to see me if I stood there talking with her boss. I could see her standing off to his side, talking to that tosser, Dan Roark, who I was sure was flirting with her.

  When Matthew turned around from a conversation, I piped up. “Matthew, do you have a minute? It’ll be short.”

  He smiled at me. Like most press secretaries, Matthew was a likable chap. He was jovial with everyone, even if he felt your reporting was less than fair. With a back slap, he said, “Sure, I’ll talk today, but we should probably get coffee or something soon—and definitely before we head overseas.”

  Quickly glancing toward Nicki, I could swear her head was slightly tilted toward Matthew and me. She must be listening for something. I jumped on Matthew’s invitation. “Wonderful. I’ll speak to your assistant to arrange a time. I need some immediate help, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m working on a story on the new administration and China. I was wondering who the best person is to talk to about the Administration’s position that China devalues its currency. Is there someone you recommend at Treasury?”

  “Now, Adam, don’t put words in our mouth. I don’t believe the president has made any official comments about the value of China’s currency.”

  “Ah, that’s part of my story. The president mentioned it during the campaign as a major economic issue for the US.”

  “I gotta tell you, this is not at the top of Treasury’s mind right now. Hell, we’re still working to get the Secretary confirmed by the Senate.” He looked over his shoulder and said, “Let me see what I can do for you. How about talking to Nicole? She handles all the wonky stuff.”

  Nicki turned around, but not before quickly sending Dan the twat on his way. He gave me a dirty look as Nicki asked Matthew, “Excuse me? What do you need me for?”

  “Adam here needs some background on the president’s thinking about the Chinese currency.” His eyes darted over to me as he added, “I believe you two know each other.”

  Before I could reply, Nicki answered tersely, “Yeah…” The old Nicki came out as she became furtive, unsure of what I might say. I wondered if Matthew could see that she was nervous. Maybe it didn’t look like it if you didn’t know her, but I could tell. It was funny that she ended up in a profession where she had to skirt around the truth all the time. She’d become very good at lying; had talking to me become difficult for her?

  Trying to calm her down, I stated a vague but indisputable truth that she could feel at ease with. “Yes, we’ve known each other for a while.”

  “Great. No introductions are necessary,” Matthew said, slapping my back. To Nicki, he signaled toward the door. “Nicole, I need to leave. Can you make sure to cover that meeting for me at noon?”

  Nicki said, “Sure,” as he walked away, and then she looked me in the eye. With a small smile, she greeted me warily. “Hi.”

  “Hello. How are you? Shame we haven’t been able to talk this week.”

  I almost laughed when her eyes widened as though she’d been caught in the act. It was proof she had been avoiding me on purpose.

  Once again, though, she recovered and answered me forthrightly. “Yes…it’s been busy. Is there something you needed besides this China question?”

  I inwardly shook my head and fidgeted with my pen in lieu of answering. Her brow furrowed. Was she confused by my silence or disappointed that I hadn’t offered anything special to talk about? I was just about to ask her what was wrong when her face became all business again. She looked at me directly and commented as if speaking on the record.

  “As a candidate, President Logan often spoke of his belief—a widely held belief, I might add—that China artificially manipulates the yuan in order to unfairly bolster its exports.”

  “It’s not so widely held. The Chinese government disagrees.”

  “And your own government agrees. Great Britain has long concurred with the assessment that the yuan is undervalued.”

  “Yes, the British government agrees, but that doesn’t make it so. If it’s such a pressing issue, why isn’t President Logan working on it right now? What does he plan to do?”

  “At the appropriate time, no doubt, the president will address the issue again. When that will be or what it might look like, I don’t know.”

  “Does he believe that China’s currency manipulation is contributing to the global recession?” The question popped out of my mouth just as it would’ve were I asking any government official, and Nicki responded in kind. She spoke to me like I was any reporter in the room—although most members of the lousy American press would never ask the question. Dan Roark certainly never would.

  “There are many factors that have created the recession. The president is simply concerned about any effect China’s monetary actions are having on American jobs. The trade deficit impacts the lives of working men and women by sending production overseas.”

  “With regard to China, what is he planning to do?”

  “President Logan will always act to save American jobs.”

  “Does that include trade protections that the WTO might take issue with?” I grinned as I asked, wanting to show her that I knowingly goaded her.

  Thankfully, I brought a laugh out of her, and she was coy. “I think I told you I don’t know what the president will do.”

  She wore her hair in a loose knot at the base of her neck. I wanted to gently tug at it and watch her hair fall around her shoulders so I could see her as I’d remembered her for all these years. With the smile she had on her face at that moment, I was sure she’d look the same. Her brown eyes were warm as she awaited my res
ponse. It felt so good seeing her like that, I kept quiet for a few seconds longer just to enjoy it.

  “It looks like we’ve both done our jobs,” I finally said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I asked the tough questions, and you responded that you don’t know when clearly you do.”

  “What do you think I know?”

  “You tell me.” I smirked. “I’m not sure.”

  I continued gazing at her, which seemed to have the exact opposite reaction I hoped for. She became unsettled, and her smile faded.

  “I have to go,” she said. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t more help. I’ll have someone follow up with you. Bye.” Then she scurried out of the room.

  What just happened? It was such an odd ending that I decided to walk back to the office rather than get in a cab. I wanted to think, and I couldn’t do that in a minging DC taxi.

  Walking north from the White House, I ruminated on talking with Nicki. She seemed to have several general reactions during our conversations. The first was utterly professional; you’d never know that at one time she’d sat in my lap, wrought with grief and crying over her sister. It killed me to think she might not care about me anymore. Yet when she laughed with me, I felt what had once been between us. There was also a glimmer of what fun we might have together now. Her final reaction was confusing, though. She seemed unsure and distressed. But why?

  It hit me, and I abruptly stopped on the street. High school was happening all over again.

  She doesn’t know what to think!

  I started walking again, confident in my conclusion. It made sense. My own uncertainty had to show through my actions. I thought of my attempts to lighten things up between us compared to when I’d bluntly asked her not to tell anyone about our past.

  Oh God. Nicki might think I’m screwing Felicity, but that when I flirt with her, all I want is access and information. Surely, she wouldn’t think that of me, would she? She wouldn’t think I was a slimy arse?

  Well, of course, she would, you fool. You’ve done it before.