19. Ami
Chapter nineteen
Ami
The day is finally here.
Election day.
From the moment the sun cracks over the horizon, Seabrook hums with a strange, nervous electricity, as though the whole town has been plugged into the same buzzing current.
Even the gulls seem louder when I walk into the polling station this morning, their cries sharp against the brisk air, as if they know something is in the air too.
All the months of campaigning, the speeches on the boardwalk, the flyers that keep blowing down Main Street, the endless coffees Ethan drinks while he plans his forums—they all come to a head today.
And I can’t lie—part of me can’t wait.
The other part, though? It’s restless. Uneasy.
When I first hear these elections are coming, I imagine this day so differently. In my head, I’m standing with Aunt Maggie, hands linked, maybe even whispering jokes under our breath as we wait for results. We’re united, proud, and maybe a little nervous together.
Instead… she hasn’t spoken to me since the day she found out I was helping Ethan.
Not a text. Not a wave across the street. Not even one of her infamous “I’ll deal with you later” looks.
I’ve tried to explain myself—more than once—but she’s more stubborn than a mule that’s nailed its hooves to the ground. She just doesn’t want to hear it.
And the thought that she might lose tonight… and that she’ll have to go through it without me… it’s enough to make my heart ache.
The polling station is in an old high school gym this year—yet another “fresh start in a new location,” as the tradition goes. Every year they pick a new place, which sounds whimsical in theory but mostly just confuses people in practice.
Ethan and I both volunteer to help, and the moment the doors open, we’re swept into a tide of bustling voters.
We point folks toward the right tables, fetch extra pens, reassure people that yes, their name really is on the list. At one point I run down the hall to track down a man who has accidentally wandered into the janitor’s closet instead of the voting booth.
We barely see each other all day. Ethan is cornered by his campaign team, checking voter counts, shaking hands, flashing the kind of smile that somehow manages to look both confident and like he hasn’t slept in two days.
I catch his eye once across the room and try to mouth “good luck” before someone pulls him away again.
I want to grab his hand, or even just steal a quick kiss before the big moment, but there’s no chance. Not with so many people watching. Not when every move we make could be someone’s next piece of gossip.
By late afternoon, the crowd thins, the air thick with anticipation. The last voters trickle in under the dusky light from the high windows, their voices hushed as if the outcome is already tiptoeing in the corners.
That’s when I see her.
Aunt Maggie.
She stands off to one side, near the row of folded bleachers, hands clasped in front of her like she doesn’t know what else to do with them. Her eyes sweep the room, but she doesn’t seem to see anyone.
She looks… smaller somehow. Not in height, but in the way her shoulders round forward, like she’s bracing for a storm she can’t stop. And something inside me twists hard.
I should have gone to her before today. Should have forced her to hear me out weeks ago instead of hoping time would soften her anger.
I excuse myself from the check-in table and cross the room. My boots squeak on the varnished floor, and when she finally notices me, her entire posture changes.
She turns. Walks away.
“Aunt Maggie! Wait! Please—just give me a minute!” I call, quickening my pace.
She stops but doesn’t turn around until I’m almost beside her. “There is nothing I want to talk to you about, Ami,” she says, her voice cold enough to frost the air between us.
It hits me harder than I expect. Aunt Maggie’s voice has always been warmth—summers on the porch, cinnamon rolls on Sunday mornings. Hearing it like this is like touching ice barehanded.
“But there’s so much I need to say to you, Aunty. Please. Just… just give me a chance to explain,” I plead, my voice wobbling despite my best effort.
She faces me fully now, and the disappointment in her eyes is like a physical weight pressing on my chest. “What could you possibly say to make any of this better, Ami? You are my niece. I practically raised you. And yet here you are, standing for someone else when you promised me your help.” Her voice cracks, the hurt threading through each word.
“I have always put you first, and at the first real test, you choose him instead of me.”
I swallow hard, the gym’s fluorescent lights suddenly too bright. “I know it seems that way, Aunt Maggie, but I swear that wasn’t my intention—”
“I don’t understand your intentions at all,” she cuts in sharply. “I’m so disappointed in you. Not only did you go against me, but against our entire family. And nothing you say can justify that.”
Her words land like a door slamming in my face.
“Aunt Maggie, please—”
But the sharp squeal of the microphone coming to life cuts me off.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention? All candidates, please make your way to the stage for the results.”
The announcement rolls through the gym like a wave, pulling everyone toward the front. Aunt Maggie gives me one last look—cool, unreadable—and walks away, her heels clicking against the floor until the noise is swallowed by the crowd’s rising chatter.
I stay rooted to the spot for a moment, blinking against the sudden blur in my vision.
It’s strange how you can be in a room full of people and still feel completely alone.
Ethan is somewhere near the stage now, his broad shoulders standing out above most of the crowd.
I can see him scanning the faces, his jaw set, the nerves hidden but not gone.
His team claps him on the back, but his eyes keep darting toward the entrance, maybe half-expecting more supporters to appear.
The candidates file onto the makeshift stage—a row of risers borrowed from the high school’s choir department.
The American flag hangs behind them, a little lopsided, as if it too is holding its breath.
People squeeze into the remaining folding chairs or stand in clusters along the walls.
A few whisper bets on who will win. Others clutch cups of lukewarm coffee like talismans.
And I… I just stand there, my hands clenched in my coat pockets, trying to figure out how I’ve let things with Aunt Maggie spiral so far out of control.
I think about all the nights I’ve stayed up helping Ethan fine-tune his speeches, the way he’s listened—really listened—when I’ve told him what matters to the people here. I think about how he’s encouraged me to speak up at the forum, how his smile has been proud, not patronizing.
But I also think about Aunt Maggie teaching me how to bake my first pie. About her keeping my secrets in high school, even when she probably shouldn’t have. About her cheering louder than anyone when I won the art contest at the summer fair.
And I realize… no matter who wins tonight, I could still lose something I can’t replace.
The applause swells as the moderator steps up to the microphone.
My heart thuds, but my mind is somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere between the confident woman standing tall on the stage and the lonely figure I saw earlier by the bleachers—both of them my Aunt Maggie—I’m not sure which one I’m more afraid of losing.
I shift my gaze to Ethan, standing just a few feet away from her.
His shoulders are squared, his chin lifted, but I can see the tension in the way he flexes his hands at his sides.
Even from here, I can tell his pulse is pounding.
When his eyes sweep over the crowd, they find mine for half a second—just long enough for a faint, almost imperceptible smile to flicker there.
It’s the kind of smile that tells me he’s glad I’m here, even if we haven’t had a chance to say a word to each other all day.
Between the two of them—Aunt Maggie and Ethan—my heart is pulled in opposite directions.
And in a few minutes, when those results are read, at least one of them will walk away disappointed.
The moderator taps the mic again, and the crowd quiets to a heavy, expectant silence.
My chest tightens. “The votes have been counted,” the moderator announces.
“And the winner of the Seabrook Town Council election is…”
A pause. I grip the edge of my coat pocket so hard my fingers ache. Ethan’s jaw tightens. Aunt Maggie’s chin tilts upward, her expression unflinching.
And in that moment, I know nothing about this win will feel simple.