Chapter 20 #3
Had he known about Wheeler’s crimes, or had he found out on the news along with the rest of the country?
If he had known, when did he find out? Anya couldn’t believe Gabe would knowingly work for a candidate who committed federal crimes—but then, she’d never really been able to understand how Gabe could work for someone like Wheeler in the first place.
Still, she couldn’t imagine he was anything but devastated right now.
Was he still in Maryland? Had he gone home to LA?
Was it possible he’d be coming to the convention, here in Chicago?
She tried googling his name to see if there was any news, but there was too much news to be of use—Gabe’s name was mentioned in thousands of articles about the Wheeler scandal, and none of them said whether he would be in Chicago, let alone how he was feeling about his ex-girlfriend.
Ex-girlfriend. She hated thinking of herself that way, and she could never think of him as her ex either.
The idea that they had once meant something to each other but didn’t anymore?
It was too upsetting to contemplate, even if it had been entirely her own doing.
Or maybe because it had been entirely her own doing.
She could always call him and ask how he was.
She knew that was an option. He might not want to hear from her, but he’d always reached out to check on her, even when she didn’t want to hear from him.
She was desperate to know if he was okay.
But she didn’t know what to say if he asked her a single question in return, and she was too crazed to figure out how she was feeling on her own, let alone what to say to Gabe about it.
So she didn’t call him. She just kept working.
At around eleven on the night before the convention, Jo came into the living room and ordered them all to get some sleep.
It had been a long week already, and they had an even longer one ahead.
She needed them rested and ready to go. Anya expected the staff to protest, but they were all so exhausted that they were grateful for the reprieve.
So they filtered off to their crooks and corners of the house, and Anya shut herself in her room, turned off the light, and went to sleep.
Well, she tried.
She was nervous about the convention. She kept running scenarios in her mind of the different ways it could play out, delegates breaking this way or that, all the paths momentum might take and the things she could do to shift it.
She closed her eyes, tried to force her breathing into something steady.
Thought about falling asleep on Gabe’s chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat.
The warmth of his arms around her, how safe he made her feel.
She couldn’t take this; she had to do something.
She didn’t even think, she just picked up her phone and opened her texts with him. There’d been no communication for months, not since April.
Are you okay? she sent. And then, I miss you so much.
She put down the phone. Fuck. Fuck! She shouldn’t have done that, she should have thought about it more before she did that.
Except, all she’d been doing was thinking about it, so maybe it was better that she actually did it?
She looked at her texts—no response, not even the dot-dot-dot of a text in progress.
Damn it. There was no way she was getting to sleep now.
She couldn’t stay in this bed, and she couldn’t go anywhere either.
She couldn’t even go down to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea––there were half a dozen sleeping colleagues in the way.
But she remembered her dad kept a little electric kettle and some tea bags in his bedroom; he liked to make himself a cup when he woke up in the middle of the night and worked on briefs.
So Anya shoved her phone under her pillow and tiptoed down the hall, relieved to see a crack of light spilling out from beneath her father’s door.
“Kiddo.” He looked up over his reading glasses as she stepped into the room. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She carefully closed the door behind her. “Can I trouble you for a cup of tea?”
The room was exactly the same as when Judy had been alive, warm wooden furniture and peeling floral wallpaper in autumnal hues, mustards and maroons.
There was a bed with a Shaker frame and a burgundy bedspread, a couple of dressers and big bookcases, and a round table with chairs in an alcove with a bay window.
Walt was sitting there now, a mug of tea already beside him, a few photo albums open on the table.
He got up to plug in the kettle. “Chamomile or mint?”
“Chamomile, please.” Anya walked over to the table and took a seat in the chair next to Walt’s. “What’s all this?”
“Simone wanted to see some more pictures of your mom, so I dug out the albums.”
“I haven’t looked at these since…” Anya didn’t finish the sentence.
“Me neither,” Walt said. “Look, this is your mother and me in college.”
Anya smiled at him. She’d seen this picture a thousand times—Judy talking animatedly in a bar while Walt gazed at her, completely besotted. “You were so in love.”
“With your mother?” Walt gave her a crooked grin. “How could I not be?”
Anya picked up the next album—their wedding album.
Judy hadn’t wanted a whole to-do, so they got married in a little park on the lake, up by Montrose Beach.
They had the ceremony in a field of black-eyed Susans, with Lake Michigan and the city skyline in the background.
Walt wore jeans; Judy wore a simple white sundress.
Anya had never seen anyone look so happy.
“Was it scary?” Anya asked. “Loving her that much?”
“Yes and no.” The tab on the kettle popped, and Walt poured Anya’s mug of tea. “It was like a perfect circle of emotion, if that makes sense. The thing you’re afraid of is the same thing that comforts you. So then you don’t feel afraid.”
Anya nodded tightly. Walt handed her the mug of tea; it was warm in her hands.
“Dad, do you think—” Anya started, but her voice caught.
“What is it, hon?”
“Do you think Mom would be disappointed?” she asked. “If I don’t end up like you guys? I mean, if I don’t have a family?”
“Anya!” Walt looked taken aback. “How could you think that?”
“I don’t know.” Anya shook her head, blinking rapidly. “Forget it, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Walt looked at Anya for a long moment, like he was weighing something.
“Dad, what?” she prompted.
He sighed. “Your mother wanted you to be with Gabe.”
“She did?” Anya felt an ache in her chest—and a desperate urge to run back to her bedroom to check her phone. “When did she say that?”
“After Passover, when he came to seder. She could see how much you loved each other—we all could. Then he left, and you were so miserable about it, like a lovesick teenager.” Walt smiled sadly at the memory.
“She wanted to tell you to confess your feelings, to go be with him, but I talked her out of it. We knew it was a complicated situation, and we didn’t want to hurt you any worse than you already were. ”
Anya stared at her dad. It felt so strange and precious to learn anything new about her mother, let alone something that pertained so deeply to Anya.
“But then—why didn’t you tell me later? When he and I were together?”
“I didn’t want to pressure you. I wanted you to make your own decisions about your life, not do anything out of obligation to your mother.”
“And do you…” Anya swallowed. “I mean, do you agree with her? About him?”
“I didn’t then,” Walt admitted. “But after he had the idea for you to go to Orcas Island? I came around.”
“Dad, no, that was Kira’s idea.”
“No, hon,” Walt said gently. “It was Gabe’s.”
Anya’s head was spinning. This was too much to take in, on top of everything else this week—
“I ruined everything,” she murmured. “Dad, I really fucked up.”
“Not forever.” He gave her an encouraging smile.
“And Anya, not for nothing, look around this house. It’s full of people who’d do anything for you.
The next president of the United States is sleeping in our guest room, and she loves you like a daughter.
Whatever happens with Gabe, I promise, you have a family. ”
—
Anya walked back to her bedroom filled with purpose, five different plans already in motion.
She needed to find him, that was the first thing.
If he didn’t text her back, she’d call, and if he wouldn’t pick up, she’d figure it out some other way.
She’d make Kira ask, or Preethi, or she’d call his assistant, Hannah—someone had to know where he was.
Then she’d pack a bag and go to him, even if he’d run off to Antarctica.
She hated to leave Jo and the team when they needed her so much, but this was more important; they’d understand.
And then—she didn’t know. She’d figure something out.
She’d do whatever was necessary until he took her back.
But when she walked into her bedroom and picked up her phone, she realized she didn’t need to do any of that. She dropped the phone and tore downstairs and out the front door, not caring who she woke.
Transcript of notifications from Anya Katz’s phone
[11:48pm] Missed call from Gabe Hunt
[11:49pm] Missed call from Gabe Hunt
[11:51pm] Missed call from Gabe Hunt
[11:55pm] Missed call from Gabe Hunt
[11:56pm] Text from Gabe Hunt: Anya? Are you there?
[11:56pm] Text from Gabe Hunt: I’m coming to you now, I’ll be there in twenty minutes depending how long it takes to get my car out of the garage
[12:13am] Missed call from Gabe Hunt
[12:13am] Text from Gabe Hunt: I’m downstairs, I don’t want to ring the bell and wake everyone
[12:13am] Text from Gabe Hunt: I’ll be here whenever you see these