Leaning back against the cabinets, she said, "I got a job offer."
"You—what? When?"
She waved with the balled-up paper towels. "This afternoon. I got a call from a candidate farm and—"
"In English, Jasper. English."
Again with the paper towel, she said, "An organization that prioritizes races and develops a roster of candidates to take out incumbents or go after historically uncontested or uncompetitive seats. They raise money to grow candidates."
"And…" I couldn't finish that sentence.
"And they want me to fly out to California to meet with their team. They want me to run the farm."
As was always the case with Jasper, several things were true at once. She sounded happy but she was shaking, there was a proud, slightly haughty gleam in her eye but she'd been sobbing a minute ago, and she hated this stuff but clearly believed the offer was a step forward after taking a million steps back.
And she wanted me to share her enthusiasm even when this job was an airplane flight away.
"Where exactly is this job? This farm?"
"Northern California. The office is based in Sacramento but the work would include everything north of San Francisco." The way she said this told me it hadn't occurred to her that was the opposite side of the country. If she knew, she didn't care. "Comeon. Say something. You can't just stand there, staring at me. My day went from almost demolishing a bathroom—"
"You almost did what?"
"—to a political action committee wanting me to run their operation. It's been aday, Lin."
"I'm happy for you," I managed. "But, Jasper, babe, Peach, I didn't think you wanted to do that anymore."
A beat passed before she deflated, her shoulders dropping, her gaze falling to the floor. Even the hand clutching the paper towels drooped to her side.
"I have todosomething."
"No, you don't. There's no reason you have to do anything. You've said it yourself. You can swing a couple more months before you make any decisions."
"Just because I can doesn't mean I should," she replied.
"Maybe it does, Jas."
"I can't—I can't sit here all day, painting and repainting walls and organizing old junk. Okay? I can't do this. But I can go to California and raise some viable candidates. So what if I hate it?So what?Everyone hates their job. It's not special to me. It's everyone. And I'm good at it! I am good at this, even if I hate it. It's the best I've got. Okay?"
I shook my head and that was not the right response, not by a mile, but I wasn't going to watch her lie to herself. "Then stop repainting walls. Do something else. Do whatever the fuck you want but only because you want to do it."
"Maybe I want to run a candidate farm. Have you considered that? Maybe I want to shake up Northern California. It's a lot less progressive than people expect."
I crossed my arms over my chest. "Is that right?"
"Very much. I can't ignore the opportunity to do something important."
"It's interesting how you can't ignore this but you can ignore your own needs and interests indefinitely."
An irritable sound rattled in her throat. "Why can't you just be happy for me?"
"Why can't you stop punishing yourself?"
The look on her face—I thought I'd seen every shade of Jasper's fury but I was wrong. Irrevocably wrong. "You have no clue what you're talking about."
"No? Really? You're sure about that?" Her only response was a glare that reminded me of the day we met—and how my first impression was that she could destroy humans without breaking a sweat. "You worked for Timbrooks to spite your backward family. You stayed married to a guy after he left the country. You forced yourself to stay in Midge's cottage despite the squalor over there, and you've chosen to be a victim the past few months rather than the hero everyone who's fed up with the bullshit political games thinks you are."
"Once again, you know everything about me."
