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He sighs. “To be honest, I can’t wait to tell you everything. Facetime tonight?”
“I have a late dinner. After?”
“Shit. I need to be on my A-game tomorrow. Early night.”
I say, “West Coast/East Coast; Light/Dark; Coming/Going. The story of us.”
He sighs. “Call me when you can. This putting a pin in things is getting harder.” I switch our call to video.
I’m looking at his adorable face. We’re both in airports, very apt.
He winks at me. “What color are they?”
“Not here.”
“Come on. For later.” He looks insanely gorgeous with his three-day scruff.
I lick my lips. “Chocolate brown, satin.”
He bites his lip, and he nods his head quickly. “Fuck, woman. If I didn’t have a day, I’d most certainly be taking those off of you.”
“I know, but we both have a day, and we’re worlds apart.” I sigh.
29
Alex
She’s sipping her wine and packing up her things. I watch her do these normal things through a screen. “It’s only getting harder.”
She shakes her head as if to erase the moment and refocus. It’s adorable when she does that. As if shaking her head wipes the slate clean. “Go. Concentrate. Throw yourself into your mystery thing, Alex Bishop.”
“I’d like to make a harder joke here, but I think I’m too depressed about being smacked with reality,” I say.
“Someday.” She winks at me, and I’m the biggest fucking sap in the world for her.
“Someday.” Someday is my prayer I’ll have the time for her. That someday, work will settle, and we can be everything to each other. But for now, we choose.
The next couple of days are immersive and career-defining. Dallas airport feels hollow, knowing my time here was supposed to belong to her. But I shift my focus.
I see Texas as a microcosm of the whole American problem. If we find common ground for the political parties there, there might be hope. Not that I’m uniting shit, just doing my part. I’m interviewing people on both sides of the aisle to figure out how we got to this place. I’m meeting with former President George W. Bush tomorrow for an hour on-camera interview to be featured in my documentary. I’ll end my week with a quick interview with Ted Cruz, and then visit El Paso to chat with Beto O’Rourke. I called in every favor in the world. Mikey and the camera crew, who’ve all been vetted, are the only ones who know.
I’m not sure how I can miss her this much and still believe we can fucking figure it out. But I do. I miss her all the time, like she’s always been a part of my life. As if we’re always working out schedules and planning for our future. The reality is we’re too busy to even find a time to plan out how to be a couple. I keep holding onto election night like it’s a starting line. But for now, I dive into a sad room service burger, then take matters into my own hands and imagine they’re hers.
30
Tess
I played doubles and singles on my home court yesterday. Fuck, I’ve missed tennis. I’m still in disbelief that he sat down with the former President. He said he was incredibly funny, insightful, and kind. He sits down with John Kerry and Condoleezza Rice the week after next. His goal is to get Obama, the Clintons, and John Boehner next. All while prepping the election pods. I bought notebooks and played tennis. That’s it. I thought I was driven, but I’ve totally met my match.
I’m typing away on my laptop perched on Joan’s couch. My train back to Philly is in an hour. Our schedules are fucked right now. Alex texts or calls to say goodnight. I respond in the morning, but no real contact for the last four days. Joan interrupts my flow by barging into her own office.
“Hiya, Doll. Got a surprise.”
In walks the second sexiest man on the planet. His incandescent smile lights up the room and bores right through me. “The charming and elusive Tess McGuire.” I pop up, extending my hand.
“Carlos! Wow! Hi. Delighted to see you again.” Carlos Gardenia is sex on a stick. I don’t want his stick, I like the stick I have, but someone should get on that ride.
“My darling, you should know my Latin blood won’t accept a handshake. Especially since I’ve had the privilege of your lips before.” My face goes flush.
