Chapter 19
Andi
Before now, I always assumed highly successful writers unlike myself lived glamorous lives, typing away at their computers oceanside, watching the waves crash against the rocky shore while cradling a hot beverage, getting inspiration from the call of the gulls over the coastal breeze.
Despite the new zeros in my bank account, here’s the cold, hard reality.
I’m braless, slumped over in my chair in dim lighting, ruining both my posture and eyesight in one fell swoop; double-fisting a Diet Coke and a tea that’s long gone cold to jump-start the creative juices; eating Ritz Bits with reckless abandon; typing furiously.
I’m working on a new, half-baked romance idea involving a reclusive former musician, a beach, and mysterious messages in the sand.
In just a day, I manage to write the entire first act of the book. Each word typed melts away the anxiety that’s accumulated from years of staring into the void, waiting to be struck by inspiration.
It also proves an excellent mental break from the fear of being doxed, fired, and blacklisted from politics forever.
When I’m writing, I also can’t hyper-fixate on that hotel room in Squamish.
I don’t have to suffer, replaying our conversation in my mind, or angst about how good it felt to talk to someone freely.
Or lament over not having someone to laugh and make jokes with.
I haven’t had that in a long time, not since Laine and Hunter, really.
And then there was that moment in the hotel room when we were on the floor.
And the kiss, which was for show but certainly didn’t feel like it.
I don’t let myself think about it too hard, because he’s leaving in a couple months. What’s even the point?
Once I’m satisfied with my word count, I make the mistake of texting Gretchen, asking if she needs anything. She wastes no time replying that the kids’ closets are a “straight-up mess.”
Only, when I arrive at the house, the closets are still immaculately organized from when I did them a couple months ago. I refold some things anyway to keep Gretchen content while Jason runs rabid in circles around me, undoing all my progress.
Gretchen comes in and sits cross-legged on the floor as soon as she finds out I’m here.
“Everything okay?” I ask over the shouting. Jason is belting the lyrics to a Miley Cyrus song, which seems a little inappropriate for his age.
She shakes her head, but not before asking Jason five times to go play with the Legos in the corner. Thankfully, he obeys. “No. This whole rumor situation is out of control.”
Since Squamish, the media hasn’t let up on the affair rumors.
Even a popular gossip blog published NSFW excerpts of the book, which were dissected and mocked all over the internet (hence my spike in sales).
Apparently healthy depictions of consensual sex focusing on a woman’s pleasure are gross, especially if written by a woman.
If it’s sad, tragic, and written by a white man, it’s high literature.
“I’m really sorry, Gretchen,” I say, grateful for the laundry folding so I can avoid her eyes. I feel beyond guilty.
She stretches her legs out and exhales a long-suffering sigh.
“It’s not just these ridiculous affair rumors.
It’s tiring in general, constantly living in this push and pull of scandals and strategizing.
Imagine every day, someone is questioning, hey, did you see she wore that purple coat?
Clearly that means she’s getting divorced.
The symbolism of purple.” She’s never admitted that before.
“I bet. It’s not exactly something the average person has to deal with,” I point out.
She lifts a shoulder. “People on the internet say I deserve it. That we signed up for this the moment Eric ran for office.”
“First, the internet was a mistake. Who cares what those keyboard warriors think? They don’t even know you. Besides, you didn’t sign up for it, Eric did.”
Looking at her right now, with her head slumped down, she’s a shell of who she was when Eric was first elected.
She was so vivacious, with a personality that could only be described as sparkly enough to match Eric’s charm.
They were a force. They couldn’t even enter a room together without winking at each other and smiling with their own little jokes. You wouldn’t know it now.
“But I supported him. I pushed him to go into politics. It wasn’t even on his radar, you know.
He would have been perfectly happy as a public defender his entire life.
But I thought…a man like him needs something more.
And, well, we got more. I never thought he’d actually win, you know?
That sounds awful, because of course I believed in him.
Still do. I know he’s the best thing for our country; I believe that with my whole heart.
But Eric was so young and a man of color.
All the odds were against us. So when he actually won, I thought, okay, I can give up four years of my career for the greater good.
But now…with the reelection coming up…” She bites her lip.
“That’s four more years, after I already took so much time off work having the kids. ”
I nod in solidarity. It feels unfair that the woman always seems to have to make the sacrifice. It’s why there are so few women at the highest levels of politics.
Gretchen runs her finger over one of Jason’s tiny knit sweaters.
“I know it sounds awful, but I miss my life. Don’t get me wrong, I care about the charity work, but I miss getting my hands dirty, going through case law, poring over files, being up late into the night.
Going to court the next morning and eviscerating the other side.
I feel resentful that I’ve lost that part of me. ”
This is one of the reasons I’ve always had a soft spot for Gretchen, even if she’s not the easiest person to work for.
She’s basically a prisoner in her life. She can’t just go for lunch with a friend on a whim.
She can’t go anywhere unless it’s cleared and approved by security.
And when she does, there’s no hope of privacy with security and the public watching her every move.
I can’t even imagine what that must be like, especially for someone who was always so independent.
“I don’t blame you. It probably doesn’t help that you’re alone most of the time. ”
“Eric always worked long hours. We both did. But this is on a whole different level. He’s somewhere else all the time.
Even when he’s physically here, he’s got his nose buried in files, he’s memorizing speeches, he’s on his phone answering texts and emails.
And he’s…stressed-out.” She’s not wrong.
Since he took office, he’s gotten much grayer than he was before.
The lines on his forehead and around his mouth have become deeper, more pronounced.
I hate seeing her like this. She doesn’t seem happy, and I can’t imagine what another four years of this would do to her soul.
I’ve never wished for Eric not to win. I want him to win, he deserves to win, and I think Canadians deserve for him to win.
But at what cost to his personal life? “Have you talked to Eric about this?”
She nods. “He knows how I feel. But I can’t expect him to walk away from what he was born to do.” She doesn’t say it outright, but I think she’s seriously considering leaving him. “Not that I have a choice,” she adds.
“Technically, you do,” I remind her, though she isn’t far from the truth.
Separating right before the election wouldn’t be ideal.
It would be used as fodder by the opposition to prove Eric isn’t fit to run.
I can hear the sound bites now. “How is Eric fit to run a country when he can’t even keep his family together? ”
“What would you do in my position?” she asks.
My jaw hinges open. Is she actually asking for my advice, like we’re friends or something? I honestly have no idea what I would do. “I’d do what makes me happiest, deep down.”
She nods, teary. I can’t tell if it’s the answer she wants to hear or not. “Thanks, Andi.”
A soft knock at the door interrupts the moment. I expect it to be one of the housekeepers, but it’s Nolan. My stomach twinges and patters when I see him. I haven’t seen him since we came from Squamish.
“Hey, I hope I’m not interrupting,” Nolan says from the doorway, his eyes widening when he spots Gretchen. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were in the middle of something.”
Gretchen waves his words away with an exaggerated smile. “Nolan! It’s so nice to see you. And no, you’re not interrupting.” She gives me a swift elbow. “What can we help you with?”
“I just came by to see if you wanted to sit on the back patio and have lunch.” He holds up a brown paper bag, flashing me a sheepish grin. “But it looks like you’re busy, so we can re—”
“No! Not busy,” Gretchen corrects abruptly. “Andi was just finishing briefing me on some gala logistics.” She stands and brushes off her outfit, giving me a knowing look.
“Uh, are you sure?”
“Of course! God. I remember when Eric used to give me little surprises like this. You two are in the best stage, when it’s still fun and exciting.
I wish I could be your age again, with all that freedom to be young and in love.
” It occurs to me that, in a way, she’s living vicariously through me, which makes me sad for her.
“And I’m heading out to meet with Leslie,” she informs, referring to one of the gala donors.
“Don’t forget to bring her gift!” I say, passing her the small gift bag of prosecco I picked up this morning.
Gretchen takes it and gives us both a wink before she exits the room, leaving Nolan and me alone.
He flashes me a boyish smile and swallows. “Do you have lunch plans?”
“Lunch?”
“If you’re too busy, no worries. I just thought, you know, since we’re supposed to be dating, eating lunch together is something couples do if they work together.
At least I assume so?” He scratches the back of his neck, unsure.
I don’t blame him. The last time we were pretending to be a couple in public, we kissed.
A warmth overtakes me before I can stop it. Maybe it’s the memory of the kiss, or the fact that I’ve never actually taken a real lunch break since I started working for Gretchen. That, and no guy has ever brought me lunch before.
“Yeah, I think couples definitely have lunch together.”