Chapter 4
Two years later
Colorado Won’t Discriminate—Denver, Colorado
Flannery for President—Miami, Florida
——Forwarded Message——
FROM: Jill Zaretsky
TO: Portsmouth Posse
SENT: November 6, 12:09 pm
SUBJECT: Tomorrow!!!!
Guys!! Hope everyone is having an EXCELLENT e-day, and for the love of all that’s holy hoping today goes better than four years ago!
!! I know a lot of us haven’t seen each other since then, but I can’t tell you how happy it makes me that you’ll all be in gorgeous Vieques tomorrow.
Since I’m the only one of us not on a campaign this year (i.e.
the sole sane person on this list), Laurel and I are already here, and the house is all ready for when you arrive.
I think most of you are on the 1pm ferry, maybe a couple on the 3pm?
And then Simone and her friend are on the 4:30 bc they’re coming from Colorado and time zones are oppressive.
Text me if you get delayed, GOOD LUCK TODAY, and I WILL SEE YOU ALL TOMORROW! !!!! LOVE YOU xoxoxoxo
“How are you feeling?”
“Like my head is gonna fall off my neck.”
Anya leaned her forehead against the seat in front of her, which was a mistake: The impact immediately made her hangover even worse.
“Why did I let you convince me to get on a plane the morning after Election Day?” she groaned.
“Awwww, did someone have too much fun with the homosexuals?” Simone rubbed Anya’s back. “Was someone’s cishet tolerance not quite equal to the task?”
“Yeah, well, it was about your equality, not mine.” Anya put down her tray table and laid her head on her forearms. One thing about working for a gay rights campaign: They knew how to throw a victory party.
There’d been a drag show, a disco ball, confetti cannons, and go-go dancers who circulated through the crowd bearing trays of rainbow shooters (blue raspberry vodka, pineapple juice, and grenadine layered to look like little rainbows) that were super fun to take but far less enjoyable the next morning.
“In a couple of hours, we’ll be on a gorgeous ferry ride—blue skies, crystal waters, a gentle breeze.”
“Mm, that sounds nice,” Anya sighed.
“Then a whole week in an island paradise where absolutely no one will ask you to approve the text of a fundraising email.” Simone grinned.
“That is paradise,” Anya laughed. “And you’re sure Gabe won’t be there?”
Simone shot Anya a look that clearly said, I have already answered your stupid question thousands of times. Do not make me repeat myself.
“Sorry, sorry,” Anya mumbled. “I just can’t believe everyone there is friends with him.”
After six years working in politics, Anya still wasn’t over the fact that everyone really did know everyone else.
It turned out Simone and Gabe had worked in the same field office for the presidential election four years ago, a fact they’d discovered when Anya was bitching about the hot jerk she’d worked with in Ohio and Simone had insisted on seeing a picture.
Since Anya and Simone had worked together on the presidential primary and Simone and Gabe had worked together on the general, they hadn’t realized they all knew one another.
Now Anya was Simone’s plus-one on a post-election trip with that same friend group.
They were going to Vieques, a tiny island off the coast of Puerto Rico that was supposed to be completely magical.
Anya couldn’t wait to see wild horses and swim at deserted beaches and kayak on a bioluminescent bay.
It was going to be a perfectly relaxing week, and absolutely nothing was going to ruin it—especially since Gabe wasn’t coming.
“Got your latte, bro.”
“Thanks, man.”
It was almost noon, and Gabe was in the Miami International Airport somewhere between hungover and still drunk. He hadn’t slept at all, not even for ten minutes, but he was still feeling on top of the world, because he had just won a goddamn presidential election.
He couldn’t help beaming every time the thought washed over him anew: a Democrat in the White House.
A Democrat he put in the White House. Okay, a Democrat sixty million Americans put in the White House, but 3.
8 million of those voters were Floridians, and Gabe had been the director of field operations for Florida for Flannery (a very good job title, despite its unfortunate alliteration), delivering Florida’s twenty-seven electoral votes to Flannery, without which Flannery wouldn’t have won the election.
Ipso facto, Gabe put a Democrat in the White House.
He could write his own ticket in Democratic politics. He was gonna get laid forever. And he’d just bought two last-minute plane tickets to a tropical island to see a bunch of his old campaign buddies. Not a bad week, all told.
Gabe handed one of the two iced lattes he was holding to Kira Liu, who’d been the deputy state director of Flannery for Florida, which meant she was technically Gabe’s boss.
But it was obvious the second Gabe met Kira that they were meant to be best friends and brothers; even though they’d only known each other a few months, Gabe already felt closer to Kira than any friend he’d ever had.
Kira was five-eight but walked with so much self-assurance you’d have sworn she was six-three.
She had a short, perfectly styled undercut and was fluid with language and pronouns: She, they, he, whatever was fine.
Gabe had never met someone so comfortable in their own skin—and, frankly, had never seen anyone do so well with women.
Not that Gabe was a slouch in that regard.
He knew he was a good-looking guy, and he was naturally outgoing enough that he could easily make conversation with any girl he wanted to talk to.
But Kira was so quietly confident, she was magnetic; she didn’t even have to approach women, because they fell all over themselves coming up to her.
The first time Gabe and Kira had gone out to a Miami club, they’d left with about a dozen numbers between them.
They went out three or four times a week for the rest of the cycle, anytime they were done with work before midnight.
They’d talk strategy and office shit and sports and movies, drink for free courtesy of whatever cute bartender was on shift, and never go home alone (unless it was by choice).
They joked that all women were attracted to at least one of them; they called themselves SFE—something for everyone.
Even hungover in an airport, Gabe noticed how women stared as they passed by Gabe and Kira. The duo always made sure to return those friendly smiles.
“So who’s gonna be at this thing?” Kira asked. “Anyone cute?”
“Dude.” Gabe shot Kira a look. “No need to make things messy hooking up with my friends. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of women at the beach bars.”
“I didn’t say I was gonna hook up with anyone, but I like to know who’s gonna be around.” Kira flashed a grin.
“All right, let’s see…” Gabe opened an email his friend Jill had forwarded with a list of who was coming.
“Jill’s like the ringleader. She and her girlfriend Laurel are already at the house setting up.
Ike’s an extremely discerning gay guy, you’ll love him.
And Kyle and Ben are good dudes, I think they’re both bringing their girlfriends.
Oh, I haven’t seen Simone in years, but she’s great—and I think gay? ”
“Single?” Kira asked.
“Not sure.” Gabe shook his head. “Jill mentioned she’s bringing a friend from her campaign in Colorado, but I don’t know if they’re platonic or what.”
“What race were they on?”
“Don’t know that either.” Gabe pulled up Simone’s Facebook, but it was set to private. “Guess we’ll find out when we see her.”
—
It was a short flight to San Juan, then a quick ferry to Vieques, where Gabe rented a red Jeep to drive them to a breathtaking house built high up in the western hills of the island.
The house was modern and minimal, with tones of warm honeyed woods blended with dark irons and deep gray concretes, and there was lush plant life everywhere: vines, indoor trees, pots and baskets overflowing with greenery.
“This is sick,” Kira breathed.
“Guys! You’re here!” Jill rushed out to meet them. She was tall and gawky, wearing cutoffs, a faded tee, and a bright red sun visor, holding a clipboard like she was their literal camp counselor. After hugs and introductions, she showed them to the bedrooms upstairs.
“There are only two rooms left—one for you two, one for Simone and her friend. This one has a great view, but it’s kinda romantic?
” Jill indicated a cozy room not much bigger than the king bed inside it, with a big window overlooking the ocean.
Then she opened the door to the room across the hall.
“Or there’s this one, which is, you know… ”
“The kids’ room.” Gabe grinned. “We’ll take it.”
The room was big and airy with glass walls facing dense jungle foliage. There were three pairs of bunk beds and huge bookshelves filled with toys and games.
“Risk?!” Kira grabbed the game. “Oh, I’m so about to own your ass.”
“Kira, you’re so funny,” Jill giggled, even though Kira had not, objectively, made a joke. “Okay, everyone’s at the pool. See you guys down there soon?”
“Count on it.” Gabe gave Jill a high five.
The entire house was incredible, but the pool was unreal: an infinity pool with sweeping views of the jungle and the beach below it.
Everyone was hyped to see one another, but also exhausted from their various elections, so the vibe was pretty muted as they drank margaritas and beers and lazed on teak deck chairs or pool floats, jumping in the water when it got too warm.
Around 5:30, Gabe heard a flurry of activity inside the house.
He looked up from the chair where he’d been dozing.
“Sounds like Simone’s here,” he said to Kira.
“Cool.” Kira nodded. She’d been napping too.