Well, it feels very domestic. Hell, Casey and I don’t even go shopping like this.
Normally, if I do the shopping for him, Casey gives me a list and hands me a credit card from the trust to take care of it. I don’t even know if he’s really given her input or if she’s just filling his fridge because she knows what he likes, or what he needs, if it’s something like toilet paper or dish soap.
When I look back over the past two years, George truly was barely functioning. It was all he could do to handle his official duties. Unlike the General Assembly, the governor has a year-round job and responsibilities.
To see him look so fucking joyful over a goddamned shopping trip…
It warms my heart.
Reminds me how, in some ways, I’m lucky. I can, for the most part, move about the city unrecognized, unless I’m in a professional situation.
George doesn’t have that luxury.
The officer and I are following him through the meat department when another shopper recognizes him and tentatively approaches to ask for a selfie.
George is all grace, and I offer to take the picture for them. He doesn’t just dismiss her, either. He takes a moment to chat with her, to ask about her, what she does for a living, to ask her about her concerns as a resident of the state. Where she thinks he’s falling short as governor.
This is where he shines because he genuinely cares about people. Even in this moment, in which he’s rightfully earned privacy, he still takes the time to just be…George.
Ellen always swore that, even if someone hated his politics, if they met George andtalkedto him for a few minutes, chances were they’d end up voting for him. Because peoplelikehim. He doesn’t come off as a practiced politician. He comes off as a real person, humble, gracious, and friendly.
Because that’s who George Forrester really is. He’s a nice fucking guy.
We continue shopping and he nearly fills the cart. Considering he’s grabbed items like Oreos and microwave popcorn, I have a feeling there might be some movie nights in our immediate future.
When we check out, several of the cashiers flock over and George makes the time to take pictures with everyone and chat with them. Once we’ve paid and everything’s bagged, I leave the officer with George and take the groceries outside to load them while George is…George.
The other officer gets out and helps me with the groceries. “Is he still talking to people?” he asks.
I nod. “You know how he is.”
The officer chuckles. “Yeah, everyone loves him. He’s too nice of a guy to tell people no.”
The bruises on my ass and elsewhere on my body would argue George isn’t nearly as nice as everyone thinks he is, but that’smysecret.
And I’m not sharing that part of him with anyone. Not even with Casey. Not likethat, at least.
I’m the only one in the world who gets to experience that side of the man, and I’d be lying if I said that didn’t fill me with smug satisfaction.
I’m sitting in my Jag with the heater running when George emerges from the store ten minutes later. I see him actually stop himself from leaning in to kiss me when he gets in, which reminds me that sometimes I might have to be the responsible one in this thing we have.
“Thanks,” he says as he fastens his seat belt. “Sorry I kept you waiting.”
“No problem. You probably just got us votes from everyone who works there, and their families.”
He sits back and stares out the window, his hand on my thigh again during the return drive to his house. One of the officers follows us inside the development as far as George’s gate, hanging back until it swings closed behind us.
George helps me unload and put everything away. When we finish, he stands there for a moment in the middle of the kitchen, the wad of plastic bags in his hands, staring at them.
I give him a moment before I speak. “Sir?”
When he looks at me, I realize he’s crying. “Thank you for that. I…Ineededthat. Everything that happened… I went from…”
He sniffles and I pull him in for a hug. “Life was normal,” he says. “And then it…wasn’t. I never knew I’d never go grocery shopping with her again. She used to get irritated at me because I’d buy the kids snacks she said were total junk.”
A haggard laugh escapes him. “We had this thing where I’d sneak stuff into the cart, and if one or more of the kids was with us, I’d make a big deal of pretending it was a secret. Then me and the kids would always laugh at the check-out line when she’d roll her eyes at me as she loaded it on the belt to pay for it. Co-conspirators, right? But she smiled, too, you know? That was the game. She knew I’d buy the stuff. She was Mom, though. She was the hard-ass about eating healthy. I was the soft touch about junk food. And I’ll never get to go shopping with her again. I used to gripe about going shopping with her, and now I’d kill to get to do that again.”
I close my eyes and hold him as he cries on my shoulder. A few weeks ago, after all this started between us, Casey told me during one of our private chats that she hoped George wouldfinallystart to heal. That he’d done nothing but apply a non-stop series of emergency patches to hold his soul together every time he cracked. That he’d cried, but never reallyworkedthrough everything. Never processed it. He couldn’t, because Ellen had been his true strength.
