Chapter 62 Gigi #2
“Really?” Eloise deadpanned. “I never knew.”
“Did you actually think James and I would be good together when you set us up? Or were you just trying to get our summer off
to a rocky start?”
Earlier in the day Gigi had noticed her tan lines fading, her skin reverting to its natural pasty tinge. She didn’t mind.
The next season felt exciting in more ways than one.
“I didn’t think you and James would become anything serious,” Eloise said. “I just hoped he might show you that other types
of men existed, beyond just the...” She trailed off, searching for the words.
“Typical assholes I went for?” Gigi finished for her.
“I don’t care for the phrase, but that’s the gist of it.”
“You didn’t think I was emotionally mature enough to appreciate James.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Well, it’s true. I wasn’t,” Gigi said. “But I’ve grown a lot since the start of summer. I’m pretty much perfect now.” She wagged her tongue.
“Like mother like daughter, right?” Eloise said.
“Absolutely. We Jenkins girls are as good as they come.”
“Which is why I’ve decided to keep the name,” Eloise said. With the divorce underway, she’d been talking about reverting to
Klein, her maiden name. “After all, how would all your fans know I was your mother if we had different last names?”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Gigi said, and she meant it. “Though you might prefer some anonymity once the paparazzi start knocking.”
“I fielded a call today from a national reporter. They found our home phone number; no surprise given how the government tracks
our every move. But my cell phone is safe, for now at least.”
“Going back to the topic of names,” Gigi said. “I’ve decided to run as Georgiana Jenkins, not Gigi. Only because it looks
more professional on the ballot.”
That was partly it, but it was more than that. She wanted all the letters, all the layers, to play a role in how she led.
And Georgiana made her feel a little closer to Queen of the Grand Hotel, the regal leader she’d once envisioned.
“Is that so?” Eloise said. “So I can go back to calling you Georgiana?”
“You’ve only called me Gigi a couple of times.”
“Well, it’s hard to change a habit after so many years.”
“I guess it is.” Gigi thought about James and how it was hard to change her relationship habits. Hard not to let her sarcastic
defenses take over, hard not to give in to her avoidant tendencies. And yet loving James (if she could call it that—she thought
so, but would wait a bit longer to say it) was also the easiest thing she had ever done.
It was a paradox Gigi didn’t care to square, reveling in the circular nature of it all.
What she knew was that she wasn’t just attracted to the commitment of her relationship with James or to the commitment of being mayor for at least a two-year term because they were a novelty. She wanted both of these things because they felt mature, not in a dull way, but in a sturdy one.
It felt like she was unlearning everything just to get back to who she’d been before, when she’d come into this world. Before
her parents had divorced or she’d run away from the island or gotten all those jobs and boyfriends she didn’t care about.
Before all the pain, shame, and programming had taken over.
It turned out that deep down, commitment was her default state after all.
“It doesn’t really matter what you call me,” Gigi said.
She used to care so much. When it felt like life was spinning out of control, her own name had been the only thing she could
control. She was glad to move beyond that, above it. “I’m still keeping my social media handles as @GigiJenkins4Mayor . The character count with Georgiana is too long.”
“Well, I must say, you’ve built quite a movement, Georgiana,” Eloise said.
“Yeah, my so-called friends from LA have popped up again since I’ve gone viral. Funny how after ignoring me all summer they’re
suddenly texting and posting old photos of us now that I’m a somebody.”
“You’ve always been a somebody,” Eloise said.
Lake Huron shone through the darkness, reflecting the first specks of starlight. Its waves lapped up on the rocky shore like
lullabies.
“Do you believe me now when I say that you don’t have to leave Mackinac to have a big life?” Eloise carried on.
It felt like Eloise had been waiting awhile to find a way to slide that one in. Gigi wasn’t even annoyed. She did love how
it felt to reach so many people—both near and far—from this little island perch. And it wasn’t just the scale of it but the
soul too. There was a depth to her work Gigi hadn’t felt before.
“I believe you,” Gigi said, and she did. “The data points for my videos are pretty compelling.”
“I’m proud of you. I really am.”
Gigi slurped up the words like the last of summer’s lemonade.
“There’s nothing to be proud of yet,” Gigi told Eloise. “I haven’t won the election. Perhaps Camille’s smear campaign will
take me out.”
Deirdre had reported that Camille was designing yet another round of flyers featuring photos of the news articles from Gigi’s
high school runaway. “Vote for Camille, Not the Convict” was apparently the new tagline.
Gigi hadn’t unleashed any attacks of her own. Calm felt better than conflict these days. Not that Gigi was backing down; she
was just trying to take the high road where she could. It led to better views anyway. Like up to Arch Rock, where she and
Eloise were walking now.
“No one is dragging my daughter’s name through the mud,” Eloise said. “Or they’ll have me to answer to.”
Gigi looked over at her mother. Her rolled-back shoulders, as if she’d been trained to hold a heavy load. Her elegant profile
that cut like a cliffside. The hardness in the lines around her mouth, yet the softness in the ones around her eyes.
Gigi thought about how Eloise had nearly gone off to college as a teenager. How she had nearly left for Scotland last month.
Eloise never made it seem like she regretted her choice to stay, never insinuated that she had settled. Maybe Gigi was projecting,
but she thought there might be some unfilled ambition wafting from Eloise, cool and brisk like a northern breeze.
It gave Gigi an idea.
“Maybe we can write a short story collection about this someday.” She liked what Clyde had suggested about leveraging Gigi’s
bursts of creative energy for short stories, or “vignettes” as Lillian called them. The prospect felt much less daunting than
a novel. She also liked not feeling reliant on Clyde or anyone else to tell the story of this island. They could pick up a
pen and write it themselves.
“About what?” Eloise asked. “Your campaign?”
“Not just that. About us. About this summer. About this island.”
“I’m not sure our lives are exciting enough for a story.”
Gigi recalled Clyde’s words and said, “There’s no such thing as a boring story, only boring writing.”
She didn’t cite Clyde. It might make her mom sad to think about him. Besides, Gigi liked taking the credit. She had evolved
in some ways but not in others.
“I’m no good at writing,” Eloise said. “I’m a numbers person.”
“Discomfort is how we grow.”
“It’s not by hijacking private planes and running away to Florida?” Eloise said with a wry smile.
Gigi was glad they could joke about it now. But she felt newly awful for all the old trouble she’d gotten into, the things
she’d put her mom through. “I don’t know if I ever said sorry for all that.”
“No.” A beat thumped between them. “You didn’t.”
Gigi looped her arm through Eloise’s. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Or I’m sorry I took Xander along, at least. He was such a spoiled
brat.”
“That’s quite the apology.”
“Thanks. I learned from Dad.”
“Be nice,” Eloise said, though Gigi could tell she was trying very hard to hold in a smirk.
“Really, though,” Gigi went on. She gave Eloise’s arm a squeeze. “I messed up. If I had a daughter who acted how I did, I’m
not sure I’d ever let her back in my house.”
“I think you’ll feel differently if you’re ever a mother,” Eloise said. “Not that I’m pressuring you. I have one grandchild
on the way and that’s plenty.”
Gigi appreciated the words. “We’ll see. I have enough to focus on for the moment. But about what you said about mothers always
letting daughters back in the house... Any chance we can extend the free-rent thing until Election Day?”
She didn’t want to breach campaign finance rules and use her donations for rent.
Besides, she had grown quite fond of living with Eloise and their little routines after they both finished work.
Cooking dinner together, cleaning up, watching a movie (they were on a string of political documentaries for Gigi to gain inspiration, and Gigi had to admit her mother’s commentary was brilliantly brutal).
“You sure are the negotiator,” Eloise said, and Gigi detected a smidge of pride. “I’ll make a daily list of chores for you
to help with. I’ll be needing more help now that Clyde’s not here to fix things and all that.”
Eloise didn’t say it bitterly or sadly. Just matter-of-factly, which was how Gigi knew her mom was bouncing back.
“I’ll be your handyman,” Gigi said happily. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
Eloise linked her arm through Gigi’s. “Thank you for wanting to.”
“So about this book we’re going to write,” Gigi said. “Rebecca has started that creative writing class. She could help us.”
This seemed to intrigue Eloise, who always loved anything that brought the family together.
“And maybe Lillian could write some chapters too,” Gigi said. They’d been texting and catching up on the phone too. Lillian
seemed to be thriving back in Chicago, with a new job that gave her time to have a social life and even write some music.
“Maybe Deirdre could too,” Eloise said. “She’d have fun casting herself as a villain.”
“What should the title be?” Gigi said, unable to keep from zipping ahead to the end. “Something simple and classic— Summer on Mackinac Island ?”
“It would need to be something easier for outsiders to pronounce.”
“True, we need to appeal to the masses. I can post the book on my socials and we’ll sell out in the first week, guaranteed.
We can do a global book tour. Maybe stop in Scotland!”
Gigi couldn’t help but hope that Clyde might come back around at the right time, though Eloise seemed to have her closure.
Eloise didn’t respond to that, just offered up a title suggestion. “ Summer on Turtle Island , perhaps?”
“That would be good, except it’s cultural appropriation of an indigenous name,” Gigi said, referring to how the Native Americans had named Mackinac “Big Turtle.”
“Oops.”
Gigi was glad Eloise didn’t fight it.
They kept thinking. “How about Summer on Lilac Island ?” Eloise proposed. “Since the lilacs are so central to summertime here.”
“Yes,” Gigi said, loving it on the spot. It was more refined, more modest than her usual taste, but for a family book about
the island, it was just right.
“We can call Rebecca tomorrow to start planning,” Gigi said. “Maybe Nonni wants to write some sections too.”
“Let’s take one thing at a time,” Eloise said, though she was smiling.
Gigi wondered what her angsty high school self would think of this scene—she and her mother talking about writing a book together
as they walked each other home.