“Where you headin’?” my cab driver asks, brows arched as he looks at me in the rearview mirror.
“The airport,” I remind him.
“Naw, I mean, once you get there. Where you flyin’ off to?”
“DC.”
He scoffs as he cuts off the car next to us without even glancing in his mirror. “What’s a pretty thing like you goin’ to that hellhole for?”
“Work.”
The edge in my tone silences him. I’m in no mood to be called apretty thing. No one who knows who I am—or rather, who my husband is—would dare to say such a thing. Jude is charismatic and diplomatic, but he also lets it be known that his wife is hands—and eyes—off.
I’ve always loved that feeling, that he and I belong to each other. He’s careful not to be alone with young female staffers, not just because it can create trouble, but because he wants me to know no one’s eventryingto get with him and being turned down.
The cab driver glides to a stop, unloads my luggage, pockets his tip, and heads away. I’m walking into the airport, suitcase in tow, when my phone buzzes with a text. When I see my husband’s name on the screen, I glare at it.
Jude: WTF? You’re not scheduled to go anywhere.
I want to ignore him, like he’s been ignoring my texts, but I’m no good at that. Ialwayswant to respond. I sit down on a bench inside O’Hare and start to text back and forth with Jude.
Me: My schedule changed. And btw, you need to be home for the grocery delivery tomorrow at 10.
Jude: I’m leaving day after tomorrow for 2 weeks. This is how you want to leave things? Really fucking nice, Reagan.
Me: YOU LEFT THINGS THIS WAY, NOT ME. I’m not some doting wife who will just sit at home and wait for you.
Jude: I’d never mistake you for doting, sweetheart.
Me: Fuck you.
Jude: I’m under a lot of pressure right now. I’d think you of all people would understand.
Me: Shove that guilt trip up your ass, Jude. You shouldn’t have walked out on me.
Jude: For fuck’s sake…I didn’t walk out on you. Stop being so melodramatic.
Me: Stop being such an asshole.
Jude: Come back home.
Me: I’m going to DC for work.
Jude: Reschedule it. I need you with me.
Me: Says the guy who walked out and ignored all my calls and texts.
Jude: JFC, Reagan, I needed to blow off steam.
Me: Well, so do I. You don’t seem to get that I’m sacrificing for this campaign. I’m sidelining my work, having fundraising meetings and helping your dumb-ass communications girl every fucking day.
Jude: Of course I get it, but this is for us. We’re in everything together.
Me: Bullshit. You hopped in bed with Dominic Marino, knowing it would piss me off.
Jude: I’m not giving you my balls to keep in your fucking purse, Reagan. You know who you married.
Me: This is exactly why I’m not ready for a baby. You pawn off a bad decision by saying it’s just who you are, and you run away when things get hard. When I need you most.
