Jude was outspent almost three-to-one by Gloria Rush. His supporters came through with a lot of money, but she spent a record amount for a gubernatorial race.
I’m incredibly proud of Jude, no matter what happens. He took the high road at every turn, and he worked his ass off.
We agreed this morning after the quickest quickie we’ve ever had that we have no regrets. Whether it’s from the governor’s mansion or our home in Chicago, we know life has good times in store for us.
Tyson approaches us, grinning. “Cook County came in. You’re still up enough that a recount’s off the table.”
Jude lets out a breath and pulls me close, kissing the top of my head. Then he rests a palm on my back, exposed by the low-back red sequined gown I’m wearing.
The moment he saw me walk out of the bathroom of our hotel room in this dress, he told me he couldn’t wait to get it off me.
People come up to Jude to offer congratulations, some taking selfies with him. I can read his expression—he’s not ready to celebrate until Tyson tells him he’s been called as the projected winner.
I pass Jude my champagne glass, and he takes a swig, wrinkling his nose.
“Too sweet.”
Tyson looks down at his phone screen and then back up at Jude.
“CNN’s projecting it.” He breaks into a grin. “Congratulations, Governor.”
Jude embraces Tyson in a back-patting man hug. I can’t help the tears that fall to my cheeks. It’s not just because Jude won, but because I know what he’s been through to get here.
My husband’s road to the governor’s mansion started in the Middle East, where he served with pride and resolved to help his fellow veterans. A woman who lost part of her leg in service came up to him outside our polling place this morning and shook his hand, tearfully wishing him well.
When he sweeps me into his arms and holds me tight, my feet leave the floor.
“We did it,” he says, his voice quaking with emotion as he buries his face in my shoulder.
“I love you.” I put my hands on his cheeks and kiss away the moisture on his cheek. “Congratulations, babe.”
He sets me down and takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “Should I call Gloria?”
“No,she’llcallyou, remember?”
He grins sheepishly. “Right. I can’t even think straight right now. I can’t believe this.”
“Believe it, love. You have your speech, right?”
He pats the breast pocket of his suit. “Yeah. I want you up there with me.”
“I will be.” I finish the champagne and smile at him. “Probably a good time to call all the aides and interns together and thank them.”
“Right. I think Tyson got a room for us to meet in for that.”
Texts of congratulations start hitting my phone from family, friends, and colleagues. My mouth drops open in surprise when I see one come in from Andrea Matisse.
Andrea: Congratulations to your husband. Would love to discuss my job opportunity with you again.
Ha. I’m not even going to respond to her. Anyone who didn’t stand by us when the chips were down doesn’t deserve loyalty.
Besides, I don’t want to be a globe-trotter for Andrea’s foundation. As first lady of my state, I can choose my own advocacy projects.
If anyone had told me when I was in my early twenties that this daughter of a Democratic senator, who served as a Democratic state rep, would end up being the wife of a Republican governor and not wanting to hold a full-time job, I would have laughed hysterically.
Me? In love with a man of the opposing political party? Not blazing trails with an exhausting travel schedule, but wanting to be by my husband’s side instead?
Impossible, I would have thought.
