We’d sat on the couch afterward and turned on the news, flipping through the usual twenty-four-hour cable news channels before landing on C-Span. After a few minutes of the bland, unexciting roll call vote onscreen, my chest had grown tight, my breathing shallow. I’d retreated, saying I wanted to turn in early, and that I’d like some time alone, but I’d barely been able to sleep. I’d tossed and turned that night, my dreams dark and confusing, filled with rain and shadows, and flashes of a face I wanted to forget.
The following day was slightly better. Shake and I finally had that much-needed conversation about the Texas seat. I hadn’t been able to deny that there were obvious advantages for both of us to run for Maryland state seats. That there was a congruency there. One half of a couple running for state senate, the other running for state house. Two Marylanders trying to serve their community.
But I also hadn’t been able to give up the idea of Garcia’s seat.
Ultimately, Shake and I decided to put the topic on hold until the meeting so we could see what the team thought. It didn’t make sense to make a decision about it when we weren’t even sure if it was a viable option yet.
Shake and I exit my office building and walk out into the sunshine. This part of D.C. is all concrete and history, and I love it. I love working here. I love living here. I always have. And why wouldn’t I? This is exactly where I was supposed to end up. This is where I’d toldmy parents I’d end up. And they’re so proud that it all came true. They’re so happy. Sorelieved.
I remember the day I’d gotten into law school. I’d been wait-listed at a few of my top choices, but this was my first true acceptance. When I’d come home and told my parents, my father had let out a loud cry, wrapping me in a hug. “Congratulations, ma,” he’d told me, before kissing me on the forehead. “You did it.” Later that night, I’d overheard him speaking to my mother in Tamil, his voice full of joy. “We don’t need to be worried about her anymore. She’s going to be fine.”
The sentiment had been sweet, and I should have been happy hearing it, but instead, I’d felt conflicted. Was this truly it? Was this all I had to do to ease my parents’ worries? To prove that I wouldn’t make the same mistakes as my sister? To prove that I was going to be okay?
My sister had sent me a “Congratulations” text that night, with no punctuation mark at the end of the word. It had stung, but the sweet hug my niece had given me the next day had made up for it. We’d hung out the rest of the day, my sister conspicuously absent. I can’t remember where she’d been.
“We’ll be a little early,” Shake says, with a bounce in his step. “But that’s better anyway. The more face time they have with you the better.” He glances over at me. “I think they want to start talking about timing and when we’d want to announce. I know there are a few things we probably need to figure out before then, but still, exciting, right?”
I nod, even though my stomach is twisting in knots.
There’s something I’d have to do before we announce, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet. I tighten my grip on my bag, adjusting the strap around my shoulder. The papers are still sitting down at the bottom, probably a little crumpled by now.
It’ll take me exactly two seconds to send them to my lawyer. I just need to scan and email them. Or I could even walk over and drop them off during my lunch break. His office isn’t that far away. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. Maybe for this meeting. Maybe I need a better sense of the plan before I take the first step. Maybe I need to talk to the advisory group first. Put faces to their names.
I wonder what they’ll say about the Texas seat. Garcia hasn’t publicly announced her retirement, so we’re technically still ahead of the game. I’d prepared some preliminary research. Nothing big, but information about the district, my ties to it, some ideas on messaging and outreach.
I’d run it by Shake, and he’d listened, asked a few questions, told me it all sounded good. He’d been supportive, but things between us haven’t fully returned to normal. It’s almost as if both of us are trying too hard, walking around on eggshells, working to keep the peace.
There are still things we haven’t talked about. He says he doesn’t need to know all the details about my time in Houston. He said he just needed to hear that I have the papers, that they’re signed, that it’s all over with and done.
I’d said those words with false cheer and a breezy smile, but I wonder if he knows the truth. I wonder if he knows how awful it felt to say “over” and “done.” I wonder if he notices how distracted I’ve been these last few days, memories flashing across my mind when I least expect them. I wonder if he notices how sometimes I’m just seconds from falling apart.
Either I’m hiding it better than I thought or he’s pretending not to notice.
When Shake and I enter the conference room, the half dozen or so people around the table rise from their chairs. After a brief round of introductions, Alexa Miller, the young Black woman seated at the head, begins speaking.
My first impression of her is that she’s much younger than I expected. Probably only in her late twenties. In fact, everyone in the room is younger than I’d expected. I’d imagined a room of old, wizened politicos, but nobody here matches that description.
She’s wearing a faded vintage campaign T-shirt, with an oversize black blazer thrown on top. Her hair is up in a loose, messy bun, and behind the thick, dark frames of her glasses, her gaze is direct. Her tone is cutting. She’s not messing around, and I immediately likeher.
“We’ve got a lot to discuss today,” Alexa says. “I’m sure Shake’s caught you up a bit, but we think a joint run is going to attract a lot of attention. We’ve already gotten some bites from a few outlets, but we haven’t been pursuing anything too hard. Just floating ideas. I know there’s some stuff you need to sort out before we go public with an announcement. Though Shake’s said you were wrapping that up, right?”
I resist the urge to glance at my purse, at the papers I should have gotten rid of by now. I swallow hard. I need to stop dragging my feet on this. Delaying it isn’t helping anything. It’s not making me feel any better. After this meeting, I’m going straight to my lawyer’s office. I’m going to physically hand the papers over, and be done with this. I can’t move forward; I can’t sit here and discuss the future if I’m still caught up in the past.
“That’s right,” I say. “Just need to dot thei’s and cross thet’s and get it filed, but it’s practically done.”
She nods crisply. “Great. So, let’s talk timing.”
One of her associates dims the light in the room, and a presentation begins to play on the large screen on the wall. It’s incredibly detailed. Thoughts on how and when we should announce, locations to do the announcement, reporters to invite, talking points for our speeches, strategies for fundraising, and proposed policyagendas for the two of us. We’d have shared core issues, but separate platforms with different areas of focus. It all sounds compelling.
As we go through each point, people around the table add their ideas. We ping-pong back and forth, and it’s exhilarating. For a moment, the strange, hollow sensation that hasn’t left my chest these past two weeks begins to fade, replaced by the energy and excitement in the room. Something that’s been a dream for so long is starting to feel possible. This group—theseexperts—think it’s possible. Finally, it all seems within reach.
The conversation turns to Maryland and the specific needs of the state, and some of my excitement wanes. Not all of it. I’d been drawn to this plan in the first place for a reason. Shake and I had both wanted to keep our jobs in the district, so our choice was either Virginia or Maryland. And based on the timing of seats up for election, Maryland had made the most sense. It had seemed like a great launching pad for our political careers. A stepping-stone for more.
Though now I know there’s an opening in Texas that might make sense for me. One that would let me run for the House immediately, instead of waiting for some indeterminate time in the future. One that would let me help people who live inmycity. My home.
I fidget in my seat, uncertainty building within me.
I’d planned to bring this up during this meeting. Shake and I had agreed that I would, but I’m not sure it’s such a good idea anymore. The team’s done all of this research. Shake’s made all of these plans. And I signed on to them and agreed with him that Maryland is the safe route. It’s the sure plan. It’s what makes sense.
