Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
NOVEMBER 2, 2021
ELECTION DAY
Cautiously optimistic, those have been Mara’s words all day. She thinks there’s a chance. Grant’s admission somewhat balanced the drop from the pregnancy bombshell. Voters seem to want a male candidate who can control his team just as much as they want a female candidate who is perfect.
Results have been trickling in all day, but the real action is now. Downstairs, there is a ballroom full of volunteers and supporters dressed in cocktail attire, nibbling on chicken skewers and sipping gin and tonics, hoping for a win. I’m upstairs in a suite with Mara and a few other key staffers watching the results and trying to distract ourselves from frayed nerves.
The day has been a blur. My throat was hoarse by mid-afternoon, with Mara having me speak at every opportunity she could find. The exit polls have been erratic, creating more uncertainty in an already unpredictable election. The surprising tide has been the number of women voting today. We expected higher numbers, given that I’m the first female candidate for governor, but nothing like this. There’s no consistency in the way women vote, a fact that makes me smile. Women have long been an untapped mystery in politics, rarely following the predictions of pundits. Today is no different.
As the ballots are being counted, the after-work voters filling the polls, I wait in an elaborately decorated hotel room. I should be holed up with Dean, stuffing ourselves with cheese pizza. Cheese pizza was our celebration food and our commiseration food. Months earlier, when we daydreamed about this night, Dean had said, “Just make sure whatever dress they make you wear isn’t too tight for a pizza feast.” Instead, I’ll be eating alone.
I look over to the closet in my room and see my dress hanging. It’s what I’ll wear when I walk onstage to either accept or concede victory.
The consultants wanted a purple pantsuit, but the color made me feel like a cartoon character. Mara wanted white. I vetoed immediately, knowing myself and the high likelihood of visible stains. I need to eat and I’m a notorious dripper.
Ultimately, we agreed on green. Because I like green. It reminds me of days spent in the gardens and it feels like a strong color against my dark hair. I need all the strength possible tonight as I sit in this hotel room alone, wondering what will happen. I slip on the emerald sheath dress and the matching blazer. I have a gold locket that belonged to my grandmother that hangs discreetly in the v of the blazer. Otherwise, the only jewelry I wear is my wedding band, which I haven’t stopped twisting all day. I’ll take it off tonight, because Dean is filing our divorce papers tomorrow.
I finish dressing when Mara starts shouting. “Get out here, Tess! The results are coming in.”
I walk into the living room of the hotel suite and look around at the faces, trying to uncover the answers to my future. But everyone’s eyes are glued to the television screen. We’ve been waiting on the voting districts in northern Virginia. These are the most populated areas of the state, and once those polls close, the election will be over. It’s Grant’s territory, but it’s also a traditionally liberal part of the state.
Mara grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly.
The phones in the room begin erupting in sounds, a symphony of ringtones and buzzing.
“This is it,” Mara says. “You ready?”
“Does feeling like vomiting mean I am ready?”
“It does,” Mara says.
“Well, answer your phone, then,” I instruct.
I close my eyes, hold my breath, try to stop every unnecessary movement as I wait for my life to change.
“They’ve complied exit polls from Arlington, Alexandria, and Loudoun counties,” Mara relays. “Too close to call in Alexandria.”
I swallow.
Mara continues, “But they feel comfortable with the numbers elsewhere. NBC is going to announce and is asking for a statement.”
“What are they going to announce, Mara?”
I open my eyes, and that’s when I see the giant smile across her face. That’s when I see the room focused on me. There are tears forming in the corners of my eyes as Mara shouts.
“You won! Tess Murphy is the seventy-fourth governor of Virginia.”
The room erupts in applause. Hugs are exchanged. There is a flurry of activity as Mara formulates an official statement and preparations are made for me to make my way downstairs. I smile at all of the hardworking faces surrounding me, trying to mimic their joy.
But really, I’ve never felt more alone in my life. I’ve never worked harder for anything. I’ve never been closer to losing everything. And for the first time I wonder whether it was all worth it.
I feel like I am sleepwalking as I make my way downstairs to the conference room pulsating with celebration. I vaguely recognize that someone is touching up my makeup, tugging my hair, adjusting my suit jacket with the brush of a lint roller.
Mara is whispering instructions in my ear about the prepared speech on the teleprompter as my fist clenches and unclenches.
It shouldn’t be empty. My hand should be wrapped around Dean’s. We should be walking onstage together, arms raised over our heads. But I’m alone as I begin my speech.
I look out over the sea of cheering faces, a crowded room that has gathered to celebrate a victory I’d only hoped was possible. There are people chanting my name and tossing back drinks as I place my hands on either side of a simple wooden lectern.
“There’s something inherently selfish about campaigns,” I say, the crowd starting to quiet. “I’ve spent the last few months meeting as many people as possible, telling them about myself and my ideas. I’ve stood on stages just like this one, listing why everyone should vote for me instead of someone else. I’ve been selfish.”
The room quiets as I clear my throat.
“Tonight is a fresh start. I’m relieved to stop talking about myself. Because as much as I’ve been selfish these last few months, I’ve also been listening. I’ve been listening to the challenges facing the people of Virginia. I’m ready to put the campaign behind us and get started on the work, tackling those problems and coming up with solutions together.”
My eyes survey the room. There are outlines of faces staring in my direction, distorted by the warm lights spotlighting my body.
“There are big and small problems facing every person in this room, myself included. I’m not immune from problems. I’m not perfect and I apologize if I ever gave anyone the impression otherwise.”
I look offstage and see Mara shaking her head. I’m not reading from the prepared speech and Mara’s eyes are wide in panic.
“I’ve made many mistakes in my life and I’m grateful for most of them. I believe in learning from mistakes, taking lessons from failure and foolishness, and applying them toward a more informed, more purposeful future.”
I sense an uneasiness in the crowd, but I plow ahead.
“But there’s one mistake I repeated. I took for granted an important person in my life.”
It’s obvious I’m on the stage alone. Dean’s absence has been stark all evening, but even more so now as I continue speaking. Most will assume I’m skirting around some discussion of Dean, that it’s him I took for granted. And although that’s true, I’ve also realized that I took myself for granted, especially when it came to my relationship with Grant. I was a masochist for self-harm, lust, and longing, and maybe a lifetime of insecurity trumping my beliefs.
I take a deep breath before continuing. “We are only as good as our worst moments. We are only as strong as our weakest times. I promise to wake up every morning committed to working hard for every person in this state.”
“I may never feel like I deserve this honor. As a girl, I dreamed about ways to make the world a more beautiful, loving place. I tended gardens, helped those in need, and tried to lead with love. I haven’t always succeeded, but I’ve kept trying. I may not deserve the honor of being the governor of Virginia, but I will try every day to be a person worthy of this office.”
I walk offstage alone. I go home alone. I fall asleep alone. But I’m ready for a fresh start.