“Thanks for getting him,” she says.
“Not a problem,” he replies.
Elizabeth steps back, clasping Nikhil’s upper arms. “You’re a good egg, you know? We’re lucky to have you on our street. And I hate to do it, but I’m going to be asking you for more help soon.With Building Better? I know you’ve already given us a ton of your time, but with the storm we’re going to be busier than ever. So many homes are going to need gutting and repairs, and we could use your expertise.”
Nikhil nods. “Of course. No need to ask. I’m happy to do it.”
She beams, then turns to me, taking my hand in hers and pumping it firmly. “And thank you too, Meena. I appreciate everything you both did for Alan.” She gestures toward Nikhil. “You’ve got a good friend over here. Even with how busy he is, with that huge project ofhis own, he still finds time to volunteer and help us out. I don’t know what we’d do without him. I mean, we get a lot of people who sign up, but most of them are only equipped to paint houses. Not a lot know how to do the real structural work, so he’s an incredible asset to our nonprofit.”
“Yeah,” I say, shooting a glance toward Nikhil. “It’s nice to meet you too.” Nikhil never mentioned that he actuallyknewElizabeth Jeffries, but they must talk often. She sounds up to date on everything happening in his life. This huge project of his? All this volunteering? The Nikhil I knew was so bogged down in work he had very little free time for anything else.
It’s strange to think that she knows this new version of Nikhil better than I do.
The back of my neck prickles, and I rub the spot.
“Where’s Kim?” Nikhil asks, looking around the living room. “Is she working?”
Elizabeth invites us to sit down and grabs some water bottles and snacks from the kitchen. Alan reaches for a packet of pretzels and tears into them before I can blink.
“Yeah, she’s working.” Elizabeth looks in my direction. “My wife’s an ob-gyn,” she tells me. “She’s one of the more senior ones over there, so she always volunteers to be at the hospital duringstorms like this. She’s worked through a bunch of them, so she feels like she should be there, and I can’t blame her. I used to work through every storm too.”
“I know,” I say. “I remember.”
She inclines her head, and the gesture somehow conveys acknowledgment and humility at the same time. It’s clearly a practiced move from a career in politics, but it still manages to come across as sincere. I make a mental note to try it out sometime.
“I used to watch local news all the time as a kid,” I continue. “City council sessions and local policy votes. It’s what really got me interested in public service as a career.”
“Meena works in D.C.,” Nikhil adds.
“Oh.” Elizabeth’s eyes spark with interest. “On the Hill?”
I shake my head. “Public interest lobbying. I’m on the Hill a lot though. Just not working there myself.”
She watches me for a long second, then smiles. “But you want to,” she says.
“Oh, I…”
“You want to,” she says again, her voice clear, leaving no room for disagreement. “I see it in you too. Running for office, it draws the kind of people who crave what it can give. Power or recognition or influence. Or control. I’m not saying everyone starts that way necessarily, but even the people with good intentions…All of it can get warped after a while. I mean, just look at most of the people representing us.”
My skin grows itchy. Or maybe it’s just all the ant bites on my arms making their presence known. But Elizabeth’s words…they make me uncomfortable. I’ve been so sure about this plan, I’ve been trying to work toward it for so long, but is that all my desire to run for office is? A quest for recognition?
I’d thought running for office would allow me to advocate forthe causes I believe matter most. I thought it would be an opportunity to make a difference, but is Elizabeth right? What she’s describing, I’ve watched it happen. I’ve watched people abandon their principles when they realize sticking with them might cause them to lose their seats. And Shake and I have been so busy strategizing, trying to figure out timing and the right races that would give us the best chances of success. We’ve talked about policy, but only in dry terms, making sure our platforms are compatible. I can’t rememberthe last time we spoke with the kind of sincerity and passion Congresswoman Garcia had that day.
“Meena’s not like that,” Nikhil says, and my head snaps in his direction. Elizabeth’s expression reveals that she’s just as surprised as I am, but as she watches Nikhil, her surprise morphs into something else.
“I didn’t say she was,” Elizabeth replies, a touch of amusement in her voice.
“To be fair, Betty,” Alan says around a mouthful of pretzels, “that is what you basically implied.”
Nikhil’s eyes meet mine, his expression slightly abashed. “I only meant that’s not how you used to talk about it,” he says, and something pinches in my chest.
“Yeah?” Elizabeth asks.
“Yeah,” Nikhil says, still watching me. “You talked about the local leaders you admired, the ones you grew up watching. People pushing for change, for policies that made people’s lives better. You said they inspired you, that they were the reason you went to law school, the reason you wanted to work in policy and be in D.C.”
That pinching sensation twists and grows as I remember the many conversations Nikhil and I used to have about this. The way he’d listen, retaining everything I said, and reminding me about itwhen I had a bad day with bar prep. Reminding me why I was doing this, what I was ultimately working toward.
Elizabeth smiles faintly. “See, I wasn’t done before. If you’d let me finish you’d have heard me say that there are also people who run for office because they’re hoping to subvert things. Hoping they can change things from the inside. Maybe it’s optimistic or just plain delusional to think it can be done, but I’m willing to admit I’m one of those people. And it sounds like you’re one of them too,” she says, looking at me.
