Despite his sexily mussed hair a serious air swirls around him while dark knowledge makes his hazel-green eyes look like evergreens hidden in the depths of a secret forest only we inhabit.
“Keep today light, El,” he says. Make no mistake, though, his tone is all Sir, not Leo’s beloved baby boy. “Let your present to yourself today bestayingpresent in the moment. Enjoy your parents’ company and relish the peace without Stella’s bullshit. We’ll take videos and pictures for personal use and have fun.”
“What he said,” Leo teases, kissing the top of my head. “Although I certainly wouldn’t turn down a Christmas Day blowjob in the Oval later this evening, if POTUS wanted to give me one as a present.”
And that absolutely destroys my mental funk. I laugh, feeling it to the depths of my soul and loving the way my reaction prompts matching smiles in Leo and Jordan as they share another knowing glance.
* * *
“Jordan, honey, that was absolutely wonderful,”Mom says as she stares at the remains of our Christmas lunch on the kitchen table. “But I really wish you’d let me help you. I feel guilty that I’m notdoingsomething.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but I have this under control. Besides, you’re our guests.”
Mom looks to me as if I’m going to invoke presidential powers to make Jordan relinquish his spot at the kitchen sink but I smile and hold up my hands. “I don’t argue with him. That’s why he’s perfect as my body man—because he can stand up to me and isn’t intimidated by me.”
Leo slides his chair back from the table and stands. “I’ve got it, Mrs. Woodley,” he says. “You two enjoy your time with Elliot. Please?”
I stand and hold my hand out to Mom. “Let’s go back to the living room,” I say. “Watch some TV.”
Dad stands. “I could go for that.” He pats his stomach. “That was delicious, Jordan. Thank you, son.”
Jordan casts a smile back over his shoulder. “You’re very welcome, sir. I’m glad I’ve been able to cook for you while you’re here. I miss not cooking every day.”
Mom stands and hooks her arm through mine. “You’ve been absolutely amazing, Jordan.”
“Absolutely,” Dad echoes. “You’re a fantastic cook. Well done.”
A wistful pang slices through my soul as I lead them back to the living room, where we spent most of the morning unwrapping presents, snacking on breakfast pastries, and watching TV.
I wish my father’s words of praise came that easily for me.
Let. It. Go.
I remember Leo and Jordan’s earlier loving admonishments to remain centered and focused in the moment. Admittedly, that’s been relatively easy this morning, until now, without Stella’s shrilly acerbic presence attempting an emotional coup.
I haven’t had a PDB yet today. I left orders to wait until after my parents have departed, absent any emergency, obviously. Not just for my sake but for the sakes of the staffers who’d have to leave their families this morning and come talk to me.
Not to get too morbidly sentimental but I’m fully aware that I have fewer Christmases left to spend with my parents.
Once we’re settled in the living room, I hand the TV remote to Dad and let him start channel surfing.
“It’s a shame Jordan’s not closer to his family,” Mom notes. “He seems like such a nice boy.
If only she knew.“He doesn’t like to talk about them.” That’s absolutely the truth, no hedging needed whatsoever. “I’m hoping once I leave office that I can talk him into staying on with me as my assistant.” Okay, so that is straying a little from the truth, but not completely.
“You’re running for re-election, right?” Dad asks without taking his gaze from the TV. “That’s what everyone’s saying back home. That you should.”
“Yeah.” Then, I desperately dive for a possible out. “I mean, I haven’t officially announced yet, so I could always change my mind. There’s plenty of time to front a Democratic primary field if Ciro didn’t want to run.” I swallow hard and try not to get my hopes up. “I know how tough the past few years have been on both of you and your privacy.”
Mom smiles. “It would probably make Stella upset if you didn’t run. I think she enjoys bragging about her brother the president.”
I’m certain that it would upset Stella but not for any reasons Mom currently groks. “I honestly don’t give a crap about Stella’s opinions when it comes to my life, Mom.”
And that is absolutely, one hundred percent the truth.
“We’ll be fine, El,” Dad says, setting aside the remote when he lands onA Christmas Story. “You don’t need to worry about us. I’m voting for you again.” As he settles in and stretches out with his feet propped on the hassock, I know he’s ready for a short post-holiday-feast nap.
Mom fishes her latest crochet project out of the bag on the floor next to her. “He’s right, sweetie. I know I can’t wait to vote for you for a second term. Everyone loves the job you’re doing.”
