Flirting With Disaster

Chapter 16 Two Weeks Later

16

Two Weeks Later

He actually listed it. He’s really going to sell.

I’ve been searching Zillow every day since I got back. When a week passed and nothing popped up, I’d assumed he’d changed his mind, but there it is. He’s used older pictures of the property, though there’s a note that it sustained serious damage recently. The price he’s listed it at reflects that. He’s practically giving it away.

I close my laptop, and push it away from me.

It’s not any of my business. What he does with the property. Whether he sells it or keeps it. Whether he scraps it or rebuilds. I shouldn’t care either way.

“Hey,” Shake calls, his head popping around my office door. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” I change my Teams status to “out of office,” grab my navy blue file organizer, and meet Shake in the hall.

After we’d landed in D.C., I’d told Shake I needed a little time before discussing everything. That I was still too exhausted to talk about it, and he’d understood.

“I ordered from that Greek place you like,” he’d said when we’d reached my apartment. “It should be here in twenty, if you want to go take a shower? Relax a bit before it gets here?”

I’d done just that, and we’d kept the conversation over dinner light. He’d filled me in on more details from the meeting, updates on the drama going on at his work, the latest rumors and gossip on the Hill. It was the kind of dinner we’d had countless times in the past. Familiar. Companionable. Comfortable.

We’d sat on the couch afterward and turned on the news, flipping through the usual twenty-four-hour cable news channels before landing on C-Span. After a few minutes of the bland, unexciting roll call vote onscreen, my chest had grown tight, my breathing shallow. I’d retreated, saying I wanted to turn in early, and that I’d like some time alone, but I’d barely been able to sleep. I’d tossed and turned that night, my dreams dark and confusing, filled with rain and shadows, and flashes of a face I wanted to forget.

The following day was slightly better. Shake and I finally had that much-needed conversation about the Texas seat. I hadn’t been able to deny that there were obvious advantages for both of us to run for Maryland state seats. That there was a congruency there. One half of a couple running for state senate, the other running for state house. Two Marylanders trying to serve their community.

But I also hadn’t been able to give up the idea of Garcia’s seat.

Ultimately, Shake and I decided to put the topic on hold until the meeting so we could see what the team thought. It didn’t make sense to make a decision about it when we weren’t even sure if it was a viable option yet.

Shake and I exit my office building and walk out into the sunshine. This part of D.C. is all concrete and history, and I love it. I love working here. I love living here. I always have. And why wouldn’t I? This is exactly where I was supposed to end up. This is where I’d told my parents I’d end up. And they’re so proud that it all came true. They’re so happy. So relieved .

I remember the day I’d gotten into law school. I’d been wait-listed at a few of my top choices, but this was my first true acceptance. When I’d come home and told my parents, my father had let out a loud cry, wrapping me in a hug. “Congratulations, ma,” he’d told me, before kissing me on the forehead. “You did it.” Later that night, I’d overheard him speaking to my mother in Tamil, his voice full of joy. “We don’t need to be worried about her anymore. She’s going to be fine.”

The sentiment had been sweet, and I should have been happy hearing it, but instead, I’d felt conflicted. Was this truly it? Was this all I had to do to ease my parents’ worries? To prove that I wouldn’t make the same mistakes as my sister? To prove that I was going to be okay?

My sister had sent me a “Congratulations” text that night, with no punctuation mark at the end of the word. It had stung, but the sweet hug my niece had given me the next day had made up for it. We’d hung out the rest of the day, my sister conspicuously absent. I can’t remember where she’d been.

“We’ll be a little early,” Shake says, with a bounce in his step. “But that’s better anyway. The more face time they have with you the better.” He glances over at me. “I think they want to start talking about timing and when we’d want to announce. I know there are a few things we probably need to figure out before then, but still, exciting, right?”

I nod, even though my stomach is twisting in knots.

There’s something I’d have to do before we announce, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet. I tighten my grip on my bag, adjusting the strap around my shoulder. The papers are still sitting down at the bottom, probably a little crumpled by now.

It’ll take me exactly two seconds to send them to my lawyer. I just need to scan and email them. Or I could even walk over and drop them off during my lunch break. His office isn’t that far away. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. Maybe for this meeting. Maybe I need a better sense of the plan before I take the first step. Maybe I need to talk to the advisory group first. Put faces to their names.

I wonder what they’ll say about the Texas seat. Garcia hasn’t publicly announced her retirement, so we’re technically still ahead of the game. I’d prepared some preliminary research. Nothing big, but information about the district, my ties to it, some ideas on messaging and outreach.

I’d run it by Shake, and he’d listened, asked a few questions, told me it all sounded good. He’d been supportive, but things between us haven’t fully returned to normal. It’s almost as if both of us are trying too hard, walking around on eggshells, working to keep the peace.

There are still things we haven’t talked about. He says he doesn’t need to know all the details about my time in Houston. He said he just needed to hear that I have the papers, that they’re signed, that it’s all over with and done.

I’d said those words with false cheer and a breezy smile, but I wonder if he knows the truth. I wonder if he knows how awful it felt to say “over” and “done.” I wonder if he notices how distracted I’ve been these last few days, memories flashing across my mind when I least expect them. I wonder if he notices how sometimes I’m just seconds from falling apart.

Either I’m hiding it better than I thought or he’s pretending not to notice.

When Shake and I enter the conference room, the half dozen or so people around the table rise from their chairs. After a brief round of introductions, Alexa Miller, the young Black woman seated at the head, begins speaking.

My first impression of her is that she’s much younger than I expected. Probably only in her late twenties. In fact, everyone in the room is younger than I’d expected. I’d imagined a room of old, wizened politicos, but nobody here matches that description.

She’s wearing a faded vintage campaign T-shirt, with an oversize black blazer thrown on top. Her hair is up in a loose, messy bun, and behind the thick, dark frames of her glasses, her gaze is direct. Her tone is cutting. She’s not messing around, and I immediately likeher.

“We’ve got a lot to discuss today,” Alexa says. “I’m sure Shake’s caught you up a bit, but we think a joint run is going to attract a lot of attention. We’ve already gotten some bites from a few outlets, but we haven’t been pursuing anything too hard. Just floating ideas. I know there’s some stuff you need to sort out before we go public with an announcement. Though Shake’s said you were wrapping that up, right?”

I resist the urge to glance at my purse, at the papers I should have gotten rid of by now. I swallow hard. I need to stop dragging my feet on this. Delaying it isn’t helping anything. It’s not making me feel any better. After this meeting, I’m going straight to my lawyer’s office. I’m going to physically hand the papers over, and be done with this. I can’t move forward; I can’t sit here and discuss the future if I’m still caught up in the past.

“That’s right,” I say. “Just need to dot the i ’s and cross the t ’s and get it filed, but it’s practically done.”

She nods crisply. “Great. So, let’s talk timing.”

One of her associates dims the light in the room, and a presentation begins to play on the large screen on the wall. It’s incredibly detailed. Thoughts on how and when we should announce, locations to do the announcement, reporters to invite, talking points for our speeches, strategies for fundraising, and proposed policy agendas for the two of us. We’d have shared core issues, but separate platforms with different areas of focus. It all sounds compelling.

As we go through each point, people around the table add their ideas. We ping-pong back and forth, and it’s exhilarating. For a moment, the strange, hollow sensation that hasn’t left my chest these past two weeks begins to fade, replaced by the energy and excitement in the room. Something that’s been a dream for so long is starting to feel possible. This group—these experts —think it’s possible. Finally, it all seems within reach.

The conversation turns to Maryland and the specific needs of the state, and some of my excitement wanes. Not all of it. I’d been drawn to this plan in the first place for a reason. Shake and I had both wanted to keep our jobs in the district, so our choice was either Virginia or Maryland. And based on the timing of seats up for election, Maryland had made the most sense. It had seemed like a great launching pad for our political careers. A stepping-stone for more.

Though now I know there’s an opening in Texas that might make sense for me. One that would let me run for the House immediately, instead of waiting for some indeterminate time in the future. One that would let me help people who live in my city. My home.

I fidget in my seat, uncertainty building within me.

I’d planned to bring this up during this meeting. Shake and I had agreed that I would, but I’m not sure it’s such a good idea anymore. The team’s done all of this research. Shake’s made all of these plans. And I signed on to them and agreed with him that Maryland is the safe route. It’s the sure plan. It’s what makes sense.

But if I ran for Garcia’s seat, it would make it possible for me to…there at least would be the option to…

You’d move to Texas.

Nikhil’s soft, low voice bursts in my mind, as unexpected and startling as a crack of thunder.

I blink and realize the presentation is over. There’s a conversation in full swing now that I’ve apparently tuned out. Something about endorsements and who we might want to approach. Shake offers some thoughts about people he’s worked with, and when he stops, I chime in before really thinking about it.

“What about Congresswoman Garcia?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Shake glancing my way.

“Why? Do you know her?” Alexa asks.

“Not well. I’ve only met her once, but I’ve worked with her people before. I could probably get us a meeting.”

“She’d be a great get,” someone else says. “She’s a legend.”

“Yeah,” I say, my confidence slowly growing. “She is. And this is something I wanted to get everyone’s thoughts about actually, but she’s not running again. She’s going to retire.”

Alexa quirks an eyebrow. “I haven’t heard anything about that.”

“Meena heard about it when she was down in Texas,” Shake says. “It’s just a rumor, but—”

“There are potential candidates in Houston taking it seriously,” I say. “And I think we should too.”

I sit up taller. “Garcia was my representative growing up. I’m from the district. I know it well. And I want to talk about potentially running for that seat.”

A couple of people exchange glances.

“I thought you both were thinking Maryland,” Alexa says. “Shake, you’re still hoping to run for governor there at some point, right? I mean, that’s still the long-term plan?”

“Right,” he says. “That is still the plan. For me. But Meena’s always wanted to run for Congress, and if this opportunity makes sense for her…if there’s still a way for us to frame this right, still a way to launch our runs together, well, that’s what we want to find out.”

“I could still be here for Shake,” I add. “If I run in Texas. We could still campaign together. I’d split my time between here and there. I’d be willing to come up for any big canvassing or fundraiser events, and Shake could come down for some of my stuff too. And ifI won, I’d be here the majority of the time. I think it could be doable.”

Alexa watches me thoughtfully for a moment. “Honestly,” she says, “you’d be a great fit for that seat.”

Shake’s eyebrows jump, and a shooting sensation pierces through me. I’m not sure if it’s my own surprise or something else.

“You’re young, sharp, a great communicator,” Alexa continues. “I actually saw you speak at the Keep Families Together rally a few years ago, and the passion in your voice, the way you connected with people. You’re going to be great on the campaign trail, no matter what race you run in. Texas might be a tough sell since you haven’t lived there in a while, but people like a hometown hero returning to their roots. We could spin it. It’s not…it’s not the worst idea in the world.”

My pulse jumps, excitement and a bit of adrenaline coursing through me. I open my mouth, about to say yes . Or let’s do it . Or at least provide some sort of response to Alexa’s words.

Because she thinks it’s possible, and really that’s all I’d been hoping to hear. With all its flaws, Texas is my home. The laws are a nightmare, people’s rights are under attack, but it’s where I’m from. It’s where I want to be making a difference. I’d never thought about going back before. I’d always thought D.C. was where I was supposed to be, where I could do the most good, but things shifted when I heard about Garcia’s seat. When I was actually present in Houston. When I let myself imagine it.

When I talked about it with Nikhil.

I close my mouth, my throat suddenly dry, all the words I’d been about to say evaporating.

I want to run in Texas. I do. But can I be in Texas and not bump into Nikhil? Can I campaign minutes away from his house, our house, and not see him? Can I be so close—can I be his representative —and stay away from him?

Shake had been worried about that, and for good reason, because I don’t know if I can. Letting him go has been hard enough these past two weeks, when we’ve been separated by more than a thousand miles. I don’t know what would happen if I flew to Houston. I might cave the minute I land. I might break down, unable to resist the almost magnetic pull that draws me to him. The string that binds us together. The one I’ve never been able to sever.

The one I still haven’t, even though I have everything I need to do it.

Shake’s watching me, no doubt sensing the conflicting thoughts jumping through my mind.

“Could we have five?” he asks the team. “Just give us a moment to step out and—”

“No problem,” Alexa says, grabbing her belongings and nodding for the rest of the team to follow suit. “You can have the room. We’ll check back in a bit.” She shoots me a quick, assessing look, then heads out with the others.

We’re silent for a moment, then Shake sighs.

“You haven’t filed them yet,” he says. “You told Alexa you haven’t filed the papers yet. I hadn’t been sure before now. I hadn’t wanted to ask you about it.” He pauses. “Maybe because I already knew.”

Just minutes ago, I’d been so sure that I’d leave this meeting and go straight to my lawyer. That I’d hand over the papers and walk away, but just the thought of it hurts. Not a sharp, pricking pain, but a dull ache. One that I’ve felt for a while, always hovering beneath the surface.

“You’re still in love with him,” Shake says, and I meet his gaze.

His eyes are clear, his voice calm. But he’s preternaturally still, as if it’s taking all of his effort to make sure he gives nothing away.

“I am,” I say, and somehow, though my blood is racing, my voice comes out sounding just as calm as his.

He nods. “And you want to run in Texas?”

“I do.”

He turns toward me, the first cracks in his veneer showing. There’s some anger, some frustration, but there’s something else too. It’s almost like there’s no fight left in him. Almost like…he’s resigned.

“If you were sure about Texas,” he says, “if it had nothing to do with him, nothing would have to change. We could still campaign together. But if you’re saying you want to go back to him—” He stops, shaking his head. “You always told me how alone you felt when you were with him. How there were parts of him you felt like you never really knew. That he never really let you know. How would—how would going back to Houston fix things? How would that change anything?”

My mouth opens, but I don’t have an answer for him. Nikhil’s different now. We both are. That day we signed the papers, he’d recognized that he’d pushed me away. I’d always thought it was because he didn’t see me as a real partner, that he didn’t think I was capable or strong or competent enough to be there for him the same way he always was for me, but it wasn’t that. He’d thought he’d had to prove something to me. My keeping him a secret had made him think that. I’d hidden him, hidden both of us, from my parents. I knew they’d have judged us, judged what we had, and found it lacking, and I hadn’t wanted that to happen. I hadn’t wanted to bring something so special before them only to watch it crumble.

But I’d made the wrong choice, because hiding him had hurt him so much more.

“He’s still that guy, Meena,” Shake continues. “The one who set your career back, who wasn’t there for you when you needed him to be.” He places his hand on mine, his touch light and gentle. “These feelings that you have…they’ll fade. We’ve built something better than that, something that’s so much more stable. And we’re so close to announcing, so close to everything we’ve been working for. So close to actually trying to make this work. There’s no reason to throw all of that away.”

I swallow, my throat uncomfortably tight. I can see the exact future Shake is talking about. A life, a career, a marriage together.

A future with him makes sense, and walking away from all of it would come with consequences. I don’t know what happens with the advisory team if Shake and I aren’t a package deal. I could be slamming the door shut on my political future.

And it doesn’t help that my family’s met him. That my parents love him. That they’ve been hoping the two of us would take the next step sometime soon. If I walk away, how could I tell them that those hopes are never coming true?

What do you want, Meena?

Nikhil’s voice pops back in my head, filling me with longing. I don’t know, I’d tell him. And I can just imagine his response. The sad shake of his head. The small, knowing smile.

You, I’d finally say. I want you .

But it’s too late for that. The voice in my mind must think so too, because it goes quiet. Nikhil doesn’t say a thing. Though I suppose the papers he signed speak for themselves. He doesn’t want me. Not anymore.

But does that mean I stay with Shake? All the things that drew me to our relationship—the shared ambition and drive, our easy friendship, the fact that he was not Nikhil, that he would never make me feel the way I did when I was with Nikhil—none of that feels like enough anymore.

Shake deserves more than I can offer him. And even if I can’t have Nikhil, I deserve more than this too.

“I can’t,” I tell Shake. “I wish I could. You deserve that. You deserve to run for the seat, to get back into politics, and you deserve a partner who’ll stand by you and help you achieve all of that and more. But I can’t be that person. I can’t.”

Shake pulls back, his mouth setting into a firm, thin line.

“I think you’re making a mistake,” he says. “This, our relationship, the way we are together, it works . We’re not going to find this again.” A small note of desperation creeps into his voice. “ I’m not going to find this again. I’m not going to find someone who…who gets me like this. Who would be content with what we have. Who would understand the kind of love we have for each other. Because I do, Meena. I love you.”

“I know,” I say, because I hear the lowercase l in that word. I hear the years of friendship and support and companionship in that word. I hear everything I was once afraid of losing. I hear what could have been enough if I hadn’t known something more. “I love you too. And I…I just want you to be happy.”

His eyes flash, something flickering across his face. “Maybe we don’t all get to be happy.” And I know what he means. There aren’t any guarantees. He may not meet someone else to run for office with, he may open himself up to love again but not find it, or even if he does, it could all end in heartbreak again.

“Maybe,” I say, thinking about Nikhil saying that I was right, that our marriage needs to be over. There aren’t any guarantees thatwe get a second chance. I don’t know if he’d be open to it, orifit would work. I don’t know how any of this will turn out. “Butmaybe,” I tell Shake, “maybe we owe it to ourselves to at least try.”

Shake watches me for a long moment. Disapproval, even a touch of concern, still lingers on his face, but he doesn’t voice any of that when we say our goodbyes.

I grab my stuff and walk out the door, passing Alexa’s office in the hall. Her door’s shut, but her voice is loud and clear from out here. She’s in the middle of a call.

I hesitate for a moment, feeling the slightest twinge of regret that I won’t get to thank her. She and the team put time and effort and energy into formulating their plan, and I’m sure they’ll go on to do great work with Shake. I’ve made my mind up. I’m sure I’ve chosen the right path, but I do wish there was some world where I could have worked with them.

I shake my head, deciding to send Alexa and the team a thank-you via email later.

Right now, there’s somewhere else I have to be.