She gripped my hand. “No, this is what it looks like when you’ve got the ammunition to start over without owing anybody a goddamn thing. Especially him.”
As Jenny slept beside me that night, I grieved the fractures I’d allowed to cut through our relationship ever since I’d first brought Barnes home in 2004. As children, Jenny and I had been inseparable, as much by choice as necessity; until I met Imogen and Arjun, my sister was essentially the only friend I had. Which is why her initial reaction to Barnes stung so much.
“You never said he was a Republican,” she hissed in the garage after that first family dinner, the August humidity only intensifying her mood.Mitch was due to start a new round of chemo, so Barnes had insisted on accompanying me to Charlotte as soon as we wrapped Season 2 ofEndeavor. Given the bills since Mitch’s diagnosis earlier that year, I couldn’t help but resent Jenny for attacking my new boyfriend. Did she not remember that myEndeavorwinnings were not only keeping our family out of medical debt but also freeing me to nurse Mitch while she got to hide away in grad school?
“For your information, he considers himself pretty moderate, but since when do you care about that?” I asked. “Everyone in Charlotte’s a Republican.”
“First, Kerry will probably win our county this year, and second, you’re forgetting how often Mitch listened to Peter Gabriel in our childhood,” she retorted. “It’s not a big deal toyou?”
“I mean, I appreciate fiscal conservatism—”
“Bullshit, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Otherwise you’d have thrown him in a taxi after his little paean to Karl Rove over dessert.”
“He could make a difference, Jen. A young gay Republican? There are so many bridges he could build, and he’d totally get lost in the shuffle if he ran as a Democrat. Everything you hate about the Republican Party, he could change from the inside,” I recited, parroting Barnes’ talking points. “He’s already famous fromLobby BoysandEndeavor. In two years, when he runs in the midterms, he could become a superstar.”
“Or he’ll be a joke. And drag you down with him.”
“Do you have to be so fucking cynical? Can’t you just be happy for me this once?”
“Luke, you started dating him two months ago ona reality show, and now he’s here pontificating at dinner? That doesn’t feel fast?”
“I’m going back inside.”
“Hey, stop.” Her voice softened as she grabbed my arm. “I just mean you don’t have to rush this, okay? I know it feels like the whole world is speeding into a wall right now, but… you deserve more than someone simply choosing you.”
“Not in my experience,” I replied coldly before marching inside.
The next week in Charlotte was polite at best, forced at worst, but still I waited for Mitch’s verdict on Barnes. Even though he was slipping badly, the cancer clearly winning, I knew he’d voice concerns if he had them.
“So you like him?” I finally asked while driving home from chemo.
Mitch cleared his ragged throat. “He’s a sharp kid, no question.”
My hands tightened on the wheel. “Jenny’s not a fan.”
“You’re old enough to have your own opinions.”
“Still, I want you to like him.”
“All I want from any man you date is that he love you,” he said, lips tight against his teeth. His forearms had become so thin, veins and loose skin pooling atop the bones like fabric. My eyes had snagged on them when the car behind us honked. “You’ve got a green light, Luke,” my father sighed, his head against the window, eyes closed.
6
2003
SEASON 1, EPISODE 2:
“Greta Expectations”
In retrospect, I’m still surprised how nice everyone was that first season. It never devolved into the piranha pit Barnes predicted. Maybe that’s because he went home on Episode 1. The only person who missed him was his one actual ally: Greta Hendricksen.
Ever my reality TV tour guide, Arjun explained that Greta headlinedBeverly Blonde, a “docu-soap” about aspiring starlets/bartenders in Hollywood. “Though I question what talent she has beyond whining,” Arjun said dismissively. What Greta did possess was a knack for weaseling into any conversation, a ubiquitous vacuum of chunky highlights and caked lip gloss.
“Lukey, be my personal trainer,” she’d cooed the first night, clinging to my arms. “Or maybe just liftme! More fun for us both!”
Across the communal bathroom, Arjun glared. “You don’t follow football, do you?”
She laughed coyly. “Gosh, I don’t know athingabout sports.”
