twenty
My apartment felt like it had shrunk overnight.
It wasn't even that small, objectively. Just a decent one-bedroom on a block nobody bothered much about. But the walls felt closer now, like they'd inched forward while I was gone, conspiring to remind me of how temporary all of it was.
I set my bag on the counter and just stood there, trying to remember if I'd left the lamp on or if the bulb had been burned out the whole time. The air smelled stale, like I'd been away longer than a few days.
Brooks went off to D.C to handle some things with his father. Forty-eight hours ago, I'd been standing in the penthouse kitchen swallowed in his clothes, watching Brooks tuck his tie into place and now I was back home.
I kicked off my shoes and padded into the living room. The same lumpy couch. The same coffee table that wobbled if you looked at it funny. The same chipped mug I kept my pens in.
I peeled off my clothes, leaving it in a heap, and pulled on a pair of worn pajama pants.
The TV remote was buried under a stack of unopened mail. I dug it out, flipped to the first news channel I could find, and turned the volume low.
I didn't even have to wait long.
His face was already there-framed by a chyron about education reform and infrastructure spending. He was standing behind a podium with the seal of the state in the corner, wearing that same navy suit, his hands braced neatly on either side of the microphone.
He looked so unbothered. So composed.
I curled up on the end of the couch and watched the footage without really hearing it.
Some aide stepped into the frame, passing him a note. He glanced at it, nodded, then looked up with that slight, practiced smile that I knew by now wasn't real.
God, he was good at this.
It was the same calm he wore when he leaned over me in the dark and said come here. The same certainty that made me feel like, for a second, we were in a world that belonged only to us.
Except it wasn't just ours.
It never would be.
The news anchor droned on:
"...widely expected to clinch the party nomination in the coming weeks. Sources close to the Whitmore campaign report record fundraising numbers in the first quarter..."
I pressed the heel of my hand to my chest.
I wasn't surprised. Not really. I knew what he was. I knew who he belonged to-this whole clean-cut dynasty of people who probably thought girls like me were an amusing little experiment, something to grow out of before the cameras got too close.
But still.
I let my eyes slip shut, just for a second.
I thought about the way he'd looked at me when he pulled back my hair and kissed my throat, slow and unhurried. The way his hands had curved over my hips like they were something he wanted to memorize.
I wanted to believe that version of him more than I wanted to admit.
The microwave clock glowed 11:42. I hadn't eaten all day.
I hauled myself up and dug around in the fridge until I found half a takeout carton from the night before. I didn't bother heating it up. I just perched on the counter, picking at the cold noodles one by one.
On TV, the footage cut to a clip of his father.
The President.
It still didn't feel real, seeing them side by side-same eyes, same calm posture. The younger version and the original.
It made something tight and hollow settle in my stomach.
I couldn't picture Brooks as that man thirty years from now, but maybe that was my own delusion. Maybe everyone who loved him thought he was different until the cameras came on.
I tossed the fork into the sink and pressed my palms flat to the counter.
My phone buzzed on the windowsill.
I crossed to the couch, curled up under the thin throw blanket, and turned the volume up a little louder-just enough to drown out my thoughts.
On the screen, Brooks leaned in to answer a reporter's question. His expression was patient, respectful, the way he always looked when he was managing a room.
He didn't look tired. He didn't look lonely.
He looked like a man who had it all figured out.
I pressed my thumb to the edge of the remote, debating whether to turn it off.
But I didn't.
Because even if it made something in my chest ache, I still wanted to see him.
And that was the worst part of all.
I must have drifted in and out of sleep on the couch, because the next time I opened my eyes, the newscast had switched over to a panel of talking heads dissecting the same ten-second soundbite they'd played on loop all morning.
I rubbed my face with both hands, feeling the fine grit of mascara I'd never bothered to wash off.
The clock on the stove said almost one.
I had an unread text from Tati saying she spoke with Sam and she's down and we'll meet up at Soy's at 2.
I pushed myself upright, the blanket slipping to the floor. My body felt stiff in the way it always did after a night in my own bed-a dull ache in my shoulders that had nothing to do with anything but the shape of this apartment.
I moved on autopilot, showering, straightening my hair, digging through the closet for something clean.
By the time I was dressed-a black tank and jeans-I felt almost like a person again.
I lingered by the door, one hand on the knob. My phone was still buzzing every few minutes with news alerts I didn't want to read.
Once I was outside and in step it honestly felt good to walk around and be outside philly.
When I rounded the corner onto Walnut Street, I could already see Tati's blonde hair through the tall windows of soy. Sam was waving her arms about something, all big gestures and a half-drunk lemon drop tipping precariously in her hand.
They hadn't seen me yet.
And for a second, watching them through the glass, something warm cracked open in my chest.
Not everything in my life was complicated.
Not everything needed to be hidden.
I squared my shoulders, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
"Hi pretty ladies," I cooed walking to their table.
"My baby," Sam said pulling me into a hug. I slid into the booth next to her and Tati.
"I ordered you a lychee martini" Tati replied.
"Thank you," I said. "You look dressed up and expensive. Where are you heading?"
"Oh me?" Tati joked.
"Seth's picking me up from here. He's missing me so," she joked while dusting her shoulders off.
We all three laughed.
"I've been hearing a lot about Seth. Let me find out you're gonna be joining Amira soon and be put up as well." Sam said.
Tati waved. "Never. Don't get me wrong I like Seth, but I couldn't handle the long distance. He's heading back to Texas for summer practice in two weeks then we're back to seeing each other like once every three months."
"You did say that you felt like he was going to ask you to stay with him in Texas."
Tati shrugged, "I felt like it but he hasn't brought the topic up again, so we'll see."
"Enough about me though," she cut in. "Tell us all about the gala."
I picked up the martini she'd ordered me, mostly to buy myself a second to breathe. The cold glass felt good against my palm.
"Yeah, bitch," Sam said, eyes wide. "Don't even try to downplay this. We want details."
I made a face and sipped. "It was...insane."
"Insane like-good insane or run for your life insane?" Tati asked, leaning forward, chin propped on her hand.
"A little of both."
Sam let out a low whistle. "Alright, start from the top."
"Brooks combusted when he saw you, didn't he?" Tati said, grinning.
"I don't know about combusted," I hedged, but my face was getting warm. "He did say I looked really good though."
Tati raised a brow. "How was it, though? Like-once you were actually there. Was it as intimidating as you thought?"
"It was worse," I admitted, and they both groaned. "I walked in and it was just...old money everywhere. Every woman in some understated Oscar de la Renta moment."
Sam tilted her head. "Did anyone say anything shady?"
"Not to my face," I said. "There was so much going on and socializing I don't think anyone noticed me."
"Well, was Brooks attentive at least?" Sam asked, more gently. "I know you were nervous."
I felt my chest go soft. "Yeah. He was...really sweet, actually. Protective, but not in a weird way. He wasn't with me the entire time there were a lot of people who were talking to him."
Sam's expression melted. "Good."
Tati beamed. "I bet he was looking at you the entire time."
My throat tightened. "He...was."
They were quiet for a beat, just watching me.
Then Sam reached over and squeezed my hand. "I'm happy for you. Really."
"Same," Tati said. "Even if he is a politician."
"I know it's probably doomed," I admitted. "But...for now, it's good."
"You don't have to explain it to or not be hopeful," Sam said softly. "It's okay to let something be good without overthinking it."
"Yeah," I murmured. "I'm trying."
Tati lifted her glass. "To trying."
I clinked mine against hers, then Sam's. "To trying."
Sam drained the rest of her lemon drop in one go. "And to having a hot senator boyfriend. Don't argue," she added when I opened my mouth. "That's basically your man."
I shook my head, but I was smiling.
"Have you heard from him today?" Tati asked, resting her cheek on her hand again.
"Yeah," I said. "He's in DC for a couple of days. Meetings and all that."
"Do you miss him?" Sam asked, more teasing than serious.
I didn't answer right away.
Instead, I looked down at the pale swirl of lychee pulp in my glass, feeling that strange ache bloom again in my chest.
"Yeah," I admitted. "I kind of do."
Tati reached over and rubbed my arm. "That's okay, you know. Missing someone."
"I know," I said, softer.
For a second, it was quiet at the table-just the clink of ice in our drinks and the low buzz of a lunch crowd that didn't know or care about any of this.
And somehow, that felt safe.
Like if I had to be uncertain about everything else, at least I wasn't alone in it.