Maya let out a huff and tapped her nails against her chin, her eyes narrowing. “Fine. I hereby call to order this week’s meeting of the DEI Dream Team.”
She swept her hand around the table like a QVC host presenting a product lineup, then dropped into her best Stefon impression, which was scarily accurate. “Portland’s hottest club has everything: a Black lesbian keeping us on point.” She batted her eyelashes. “A gay Mexican man holding down comms.” Hergaze slid to David, who offered her a lazy salute. She pointed at me next. “And our token straight white guy.”
“Gay,” I intoned, the correction leaving my mouth before I’d fully decided to say it. “But yeah. Definitely white.”
David took a slow sip of his coffee, his laughing eyes meeting mine over the rim of his mug.
I’d planned this, of course. Or something like it, anyway. This group was as safe as it got. Their lack of reaction told me I’d made the right call.
“Let’s talk about these new polling numbers,” I said, pulling up the data Michael had sent over last night.
“Uh-uh. No.” Maya slapped her hand to the table and spun her chair to face me. “You’re gay? For real?”
So much for non-reactions.
“For real,” I said, turning back to my screen.
She spun toward David. “Did you know about this?”
He caught my eye, and I gave him a small nod.
“Yeah.”
“How?” she squealed. “I haveexcellentgaydar, and I completely missed it. Zero clue.”
He chuckled. “A couple of weeks ago, I caught him getting out of his boyfriend’s car wearing the same clothes he left the office in, so …” David shrugged, and she pivoted back toward me.
“There’s a boyfriend, too?! Tell me everything.”
I curled my palm against the back of my neck, feeling it grow warm. “We might have broken up, actually.”
David’s eyebrow ticked up, and he set his mug aside.
“It’s always the quiet ones who are the most dramatic,” Maya mused.
“I’m not dramatic,” I argued. “Just … you know. Dealing with some shit.”
Maya opened her mouth—probably to crack another joke—then closed it, the playfulness draining from her expression. “Anything we can help with?”
I shook my head and stared at my computer screen. “It’s fine. Let’s get back to work.”
In my peripheral vision, Maya and David exchanged a look that was a whole conversation.
David reached for his laptop and cleared his throat, shifting back into work mode. “Merrick’s favorables went up three points in the western counties after that ‘Real Mainer’ ad blitz last week. He’s pulling support from independents and soft Democrats under forty-five, almost entirely men.”
“Shocker,” Maya muttered as she jotted down notes to share with the wider team later.
“What did Kendra say?”
David rolled his eyes, his frustration bleeding through his professional facade. “She wants to stay the course. Focus on policy. Let the voters see through him.”
“They won’t,” I stated, though he knew it as well as I did.
David rubbed his jaw. “She doesn't want them going after Gerald."
“I get that; I do. But we’re weeks away from the election, and I hate to say it, but there might not even be time to turn this thing around.”
I turned to Maya. “She trusts you. Is there anything you can do?”
