Chapter 7 #2
“Yeah. I have seventeen,” he replies with a shrug, but now I’m wondering where the hell would he house that many. “One of them has been extra needy lately and I’ll probably need to repot it.”
“What, uh… What kind of plants do you have?”
“A little of everything.” Silence lingers between us for a moment, and my confusion must be written all over my face. He offers a wide smile, then admits, “I don’t grow, sell, or smoke, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“I mean, you could, and I wouldn’t judge,” I rush out.
“Nah, it’s not for me. To each their own, you know.
Most I would do is edibles, but it’s been years.
I have a few snake plants, ferns… nothing too big.
But I assure you, one of my snake plants isn’t going to march into this restaurant and accuse me of cheating.
As far as women go, I haven’t found anyone to pique my interest. Dating apps suck, and even when I think I’ve found someone amazing, it never lasts more than a few dinners or drinks before they get annoyed that I’m busy with work.
I’m sure you can relate—you’re busier than I am. ”
“Sort of. I didn’t work while I was married. Well, I volunteered, but he never saw it as a job, even if I did. Being back to work and part of Olivia’s team has been a bit of an adjustment.”
“How long have you been divorced?”
“Not long enough,” I chuckle.
“Tell me about him.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to hear about it.”
“I do.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” I take a long sip of my iced tea.
“Back when I was your age,” I tease, and he playfully taps my foot under the table, making me laugh.
“Okay, okay! Well, back then, I did what was expected of me—married a man with entirely too much money and ensured if he cheated on me that the prenup would be void. We’re divorced because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. ”
“Why do I feel like there’s more to it than that?”
I really didn’t want to air out my dirty laundry, but it isn’t as if it truly matters.
In a few days, I’ll be gone, and he’ll forget all about my relationship horror stories.
If anything, it’ll help to scare him away.
“I turned into one of those trad wives I always hated on social media. Not the cool ones who are just trying to make healthy snacks for their kids or bake sourdough from scratch. The ones whose husbands don’t appreciate them, treat them like property, and aren’t seen as equals in the home.
That’s great if it works for them, but I’ve never wanted that for myself.
The night I had proof he cheated, I already had food in the oven, and he was running late.
I was hungry after a long day of work at the nonprofit I was volunteering at, and made something quick and easy. ”
“My kind of meal.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t for his benefit. I was exhausted all of the time.
He expected the house to be spotless and that breakfast was on the table at 5 a.m., dinner at 6 p.m..
He may have had money, but he was too cheap to hire a maid or a chef.
He wanted me to be some sort of superhero doing everything, but never once thanked me for anything… I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”
“You’re not. Go on.”
I eye him suspiciously. “You’re going to use this against me, aren’t you?”
“Against you? No. But if I ever meet the cheating asshole, I’ll probably be facing charges for assault.”
“I’d gladly be your alibi.” After a deep breath, I continue, “So, during dinner, I told him I wanted to save half of the sauce from the dish I made so I could use it for my lunch the next day. While we were eating, there was an incoming call from the animal shelter where I wanted to adopt this adorable dachshund I snuggled at a foster event, so I excused myself from the table to answer it. Sadly, it was to tell me the little girl was already adopted but that there were a few other pups I could take home the next day. When I returned to the table, he was gone and so was his plate; my baking dish was submerged in soapy water in the sink. And, no, the sauce wasn’t saved in the fridge. ”
“I take that back, I’ll be facing charges for murder.”
“No need for prison time! It was just food, but it was also the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak.
He hated me—like, really hated me. There was no salvaging the marriage.
The next morning I met with my lawyer, and a few months later, I walked away.
Livy picked me up at my lowest, so the least I could do is help her with her political career after she lost her hockey-god husband to cancer.
She needed to step back into her greatness. "
“I’m familiar with Olivia’s story from what I’ve seen in the news during her campaign, and don’t get me wrong, she’s truly an inspiration with what she’s accomplished. But what about your greatness?”
“I like being in the shadows.”
He nods thoughtfully. “I get it. I don’t want to run for office; I’d probably be compared to my father if I did.”
“Your dad is in politics?”
Eyes wide, he freezes, and I have a feeling he didn’t mean to admit that to me. But after a beat, he replies, “Yeah. Actually, he’s in California.”
“Really? I don’t know of any politicians with the last name Wilson. Is he some sort of local government official? Like a County Supervisor?”
“Different last name, but I’d rather not say.”
“You don’t have to share,” I assure him. “You don’t owe me an explanation just because I trauma-dumped on you. Honestly, I feel like such an asshole. We’re at a conference to help end food insecurity and I’m complaining about how I didn’t have sauce for lunch the next day.”
“No, it’s not that. Your feelings are valid, it’s just that my father doesn’t exactly know I exist. Long story, but my parents met when she was on vacation in Puerto Rico—they had a one-night stand.
She didn’t even know his name until he ran for office in California and was making international news for his work championing the arts.
It’s why I’m saving up, so I can meet him in person and figure out if it’s worth telling him I’m his son.
If he’s a dick, I’ll leave. If it works out, I’d consider staying there permanently.
It’s just a big investment for me to travel or maybe move there, especially to the Bay Area. "
There’s only one person who comes to mind that fits the bill—Mayor Alejandro Sánchez in San Francisco.
He’s Puerto Rican and a major donor for theater and musical programs. He was also a huge asset endorsing Olivia during the gubernatorial race.
For Jamie’s sake, I hope it’s him; Mayor Sánchez is a good man.
Not wanting to press further, I pivot, hoping to shift far enough away from family drama as I offer, “California in general isn’t cheap. Livy and I are in Sacramento, which isn’t too bad, but the Bay Area is brutal.”
“So I’ve seen,” he laughs, and I stupidly swoon at the little crinkles forming at the edges of his eyes. “What about you? Once Olivia’s termed out, what are your big plans?”
My hand instinctively falls to my belly. “If this round of IVF takes, and Livy is reelected for a second term, then I’ll have a seven-year-old when we’re done. If my child loves their school, I’ll probably stick around Sac, but otherwise I’d love to move somewhere a little quieter.”
“Really?” Jamie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Like where?”
“Not sure yet. Ottawa seems nice.” I wink, but instead of him laughing, his eyes darken.
“That was a joke! Sorry, it was a bad one. As much as I love Canada, going through the process of becoming a citizen somewhere else with a child would be a nightmare. So many families wait years, spending tens of thousands of dollars, all to be denied.”
He offers a sly grin. As he brings his iced tea to his lips, he speaks into the glass, “Oh, I don’t know. For the right person, I’d say it’s worth it.”
“Well, in seven years, maybe I’ll ask you to sponsor me to become a citizen.”
Jamie’s smile widens. “Hey now, don’t threaten me with a good time.”