“So,” Tristan says, setting his fork down and sounding more businesslike. “About the Senate Committee?”
“Real smooth. Such a natural change of topic.” I roll my eyes but can’t stop the smile creeping on my lips.
Tristan chuckles as he clasps his fingers together and rests them on the edge of his table. He setshis chin on top.
No gloves this time. And no wedding ring.
God, I can’t even imagine what a Mrs. American Guy Fawkes would think of his hobbies. Maybe she’d be a serial killer too—one who kills rapists and pedos. She’d have her own list, her own agenda, and she’d take care of them without his help.
That’s someone I could imagine Tristan being with—a fierce and strong badass who doesn’t take shit from anyone—a real vigilante justice power couple.
Meanwhile, I take so much shit, I might as well be a Congressional toilet. Well, I used to take so much shit. I don’t have that job anymore.
“The Committee’s meeting next Thursday,” I tell him. “And they have a majority, even with Furt gone.”
“Fuck,” he snaps, loud enough for me to jump in my seat. His tone drops back down to normal volume. “I thought Furt’s death would slow the Committee down. With one Member gone, maybe they’d put it on hold for a few weeks.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what I have to be sorry for, but I was raised to apologize for any little inconvenience people around me suffer, even when it’s not my fault.
I don’t know what else to say, so I take another sip of wine.
Hawkeye treads over, gazing lovingly up at the table where my food sits. He still hasn’t learned not to beg, so I ignore him when the whining starts.
“Is he alright?” Tristan asks with a note of concern in his voice.
“He’s fine. He wants F-O-O-D. I’m trying to train him not to beg at the table.” Hawkeye’s little paws reach up on the edge of the table as he stands on his hind legs, and I make sure the food is too far away for him to reach.
And I continue to ignore him.
“It’s hard being pissed when you have a puppy looking at you like that,” Tristan says with a grin.
“He’s pretty good at calming me down.” Hawkeye’s too adorable sometimes. It’s impossible to ignore him, especially with his snout twitching as he sniffs towards my food.
“So, why Hawkeye? Funny name for a dog.”
“Have you ever seen M*A*S*H?”
Tristan shakes his head. “No, we usually watched movies or whatever sport was playing. Dad was really into sports, and a bit disappointed that none of his kids really picked up any interest.”
I can picture a fuzzy image of a child-version of Tristan sitting on a couch watching a baseball game. Mismatched eyes struggle to stay open as a commentator drones on about a pitcher’s stats. Dark hair tousled on his little head. Wearing cartoonish pajamas like Spiderman or colorful dinosaurs. And that fleeting image makes my heart pinch.
At one point, the killer on the other end of the phone was a child. So what had happened to make him do what he does?
I clear my throat to completely sweep away the image from my head before I speak. “M*A*S*H takes place during the Korean War. There’s a doctor they call Hawkeye. He used humor as a way of coping with tough situations. He’s kind of the main character. Hawkeye and Hot Lips were my favorites.”
“Hot Lips?” Tristan’s eyes widen in surprise.
I laugh. “Yes, my book account is HotLipsandHardcovers because of Major Houlihan from M*A*S*H. Her nickname’s Hot Lips, but she’s the head nurse, and most of thecamp still had a lot of respect for her. She was never afraid to be herself. And people loved her for that.
“I loved M*A*S*H,” I say. “Dad and I used to watch it when I was a kid. We didn’t have much in common, but it was the one TV show we bonded over.”
Tristan pauses. “You know, that’s the first time you didn’t sound like you completely hated your father.”
“I don’t hate him. I wish I did. Believe me, my life would be easier.”
“It couldn’t have been easy to have the President as your dad.”
A scoff of a laugh escapes me. Hawkeye finally sits back on his haunches, his whining slowing to a stop.
