Chapter 1
I feel–at times–we believe we’re fixing one simple thing, when in reality we’re royally fucking everything up. But there’s beauty in asymmetry, right? There I go, bargaining with self-sabotage again. Seems to be the story of my life. Though, I guess I should be thankful today’s debacle is no more than a botched wing of my eyeliner. Maybe I just decide neither eye gets to be pretty. Who am I kidding? As my mother would say, conviction is baked into our bloodline.
“I will fix this stupid shit or die trying.”
“You had all the time in the world and you choose now to fix your makeup?” My darling Raf pokes at my attempt to regain the tiniest slice of agency over my unruly eyeliner. Shit, he’s already veering off I-5 into Seattle proper.
“I have a line on my face–” I poke and dab like it’ll help. “–that swooshes up, like, a millimeter higher than it should.”
“Sure, and we’re in the car. And unless the Cascadia Subduction Zone slips in the next few hours, I feel like outside the car is more stable.”
“Just…let me challenge myself.”
Do I fix the left side instead? No. Why fix perfection? My shoulders deflate; I jam the pen into my purse’s solitary confinement pouch. Serves me right for doing my makeup last minute; on our anniversary no less. I really hope he loves his present–ah! We’re close. A shock of jitters gobbles me up. His gift to me was a fishing trip to Alder Lake aboard his dad’s boat. I’d forgotten what peace and quiet sounded like. Where we’re going is far from peace and quiet.
“Okay Raf, sanity check.” I square up with Raf for a second opinion while the light’s still red. “What do you think? Erase it all and start fresh?”
Raf checks my work, inspecting each eye with care. Little does he know I’m swimming in his chestnut hazel gaze. His curly black hair looks particularly kneadable in this light. Why am I thinking of melted butter?
“If you’d have asked me back at your mom’s, I would not have noticed there was anything wrong. I would have scooped you up, just like I did and told you ‘Colleen, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,’ and that’d have been the end of it.” A playful snort escapes him as he proceeds through the green light. “And yet, here you are all ‘elbow-propped-on-knee, stern face’ with your makeup pen like you’re about to whack some goon down range.”
“I got a really nice present for you,” I grumble into the mirror.
“All right, I get it. See? I’m recoiling.” he takes both hands off the wheel for a moment with a jovial chuckle. “I–honestly don’t even know why I’m trying to tell you how to do your makeup. Do what makes you feel happy, and whatever that is, I’m right here with you.”
My thumb strokes his kneecap. Tan suit pants. We’re over dressed, but damn he looks good. The pen pokes out of my purse, staring me down, challenging my resolve. I concede and scoop his hand up, kissing his rich olive skin before plucking the pen. Goodbye idealized perfection, hello bland-ass symmetry.
“You know, it’s not about looking my best.” Once more, I pop the cap and prop my foot on the dash for stability.
“Flashback to how I even wound up in logistics.”
“Lieutenant Peterson has no business routing tricycles, let alone military convoys,” I chuckle with him, smearing away my shoddy makeup job. But I continue with a hesitant, even a little defeated sigh. “If something’s broken, and you can fix it…maybe you just fucking should.”
“Hey,” Raf says softly with a not-so subtle nudge of stop it, Colleen you’re being silly.
“I know,” I grumble through sealed lips making it more of a muffled blop. I sigh and enunciate, “I will try my absolute darnedest to not obsess over the mountain of shit the Senator left on my plate.”
“Good.” He sighs and turns off the tease. “Look, you earned this. Everyone deserves leave. You work ridiculously hard. Fuck him.”
Another hurricane of a sigh spills from my nostrils. “We both have.”
The rusty October sunset clashes brilliantly with Seattle’s most iconic feature, an iridescent river of emerald light carving the sky over Lake Washington stretching deep into the Eastern horizon. My mom used to tell me stories of how dad plucked strands of emerald light from the Aurora and wove them into my eyes so they’d shine so brightly they could always find me. Sometimes I wish I could ask him if that’s true, as childish, and silly as that may sound.
I love how the sun hits these pillars of glass and steel as it sets over the Olympic mountain range, combined with the dusking Aurora reaching across the sky like an elegant maiden. Evenings like these make me wish Seattle had some iconic tower–something bold to crown the skyline. The Ferris wheel is alright, I guess. But apart from The Aurora, nothing sets us apart from any other city.
I return to the perfection on my left eye, which I’m, regrettably, about to deface. I raise a cotton pad, but my purse buzzes. Shit.
“Head straight up Pike until Broadway, then find parking.” I point up past the Convention Center.
“Cap Hill? Be still my heart; do I smell live music?” Raf says with an intentionally melodramatic gasp.
“No, that’s weed.” I wink while I have his eye during the light, then check my phone. The one name I didn’t want to see. Again. Is he still pestering?
“Don’t answer it.”
I guess there’s no escaping it.
“I have to.” I sigh and compose myself. “Hello, Senator Hendrix!”
“Carlyle! And not blessed by your voicemail this time!” My boss–the vocal lovechild of oil, cocaine, and a Valley girl, Senator Simon Hendrix. “I was beginning to think you were ghosting me.”
It looks like I’m up to thirteen missed calls, my last conscious tally was eight.
“Oh! Hah. I’ve been a bit pre-occupied.” I say through gritted teeth and cap my pen. Eyeliner will have to wait. “Just a friendly reminder, Senator, I’ve had today scheduled for…”
“Yep, I’m looking at your calendar right here, says Anniversary PTO.” he groans, oozing oil and smarm.
“Yes, and I’m actually on–”
“So, problem,” Senator Hendrix cuts me off. “Mikael spotted a critical failure in Big Bill’s solar grid proposal–compliance flags, boring but critical, shit like that, so we’ve got a warroom call in five.”
“I’m literally in the–”
“You’re not needed for the call. But, I need you to compile whatever contingency wedge topics you’ve been working on and have them ready for tomorrow.”
I glance over at Raf, whose lips flatten into a line. Not that he can hear what Senator Hendrix is saying, but I’m sure my gaping mouth and slits for eyes give it away.
“I hear silence. We’re all in this together, Colleen, hell, I missed Malin’s graduation from WSU and of course Peyton didn’t show–”
I click my phone to speaker mode as he prattles on with all these typical corporate dad things. A classic dichotomy, rebellious older daughter and perfect younger daughter. Endless, opinionated stories are all I ever get. Raf gives an exaggerated eye roll, punctuated with a lovely, yet muted gagging sound. Shit, it nearly makes me want to gag as well, so I retaliate by poking him right in the tickle zone. Ribs. He just giggles and swats me away.
“–and, oh! Right! It’s Wednesday tomorrow. Remember? Nothing special going on; only our final election board meeting which has been etched into our calendar since, what, November of last year?”
“Yep! Fully aware, Senator Hendrix.”
I’m breaking probably a dozen non-disclosure agreements. Simon Hendrix has a dozen lackeys literally paid twice what I make to half-ass the exact shit he’s been pressuring me to handle on top of the other bazillion things on my plate.
“That’s…fantastic.” Simon falls into his temple-rubbing-tone. “Your noted awareness doesn’t help me become President of the United States.”
Just one fucking night off, that’s all I’m asking!
“Senator, I don’t have the resources, let alone the mental bandwidth to do what you’re asking, I’ve told you. I mean, I’m happy to help but, I’m not even a campaign advisor–”
“Excuses? Gross. I taught you better than that, right?” Those words scrape against the microphone. “Right?”
“I–”
“Colleen, either find me a campaign winning something, or do not find me campaign winning something. I’m not asking you to come into the office or join our call, but I need your creative mind on this.”
Raf’s fingers slide across my knee, steadying me. Though, I can practically smell Simon’s perpetually minted sigh through the phone.
“It’s been four months since I trusted you with planning contingencies, and we’re less than two months out from the biggest day of our lives. I don’t need to remind you of what thirty percent approval means to us Independents.”
I scream silently into the phone, I’M A FUCKING AIDE!
What the fuck does he expect me to do? Pull a literal miracle out of the Aurora? Shit, it’s beautiful tonight. Why can’t I just enjoy the anniversary I planned–which is beyond perfect for Raf? I try to release his poor hand, but he only holds tighter.
“Tell you what. Take tonight, fall on the grenade for me. After we win, I’ll fund next year’s anniversary. Anywhere you want. Deal?”
Oh, fuck off, Simon. Fall on the grenade? He only uses that phrase when he’s guilting his associates. Never thought he’d try to bribe me. And of course we’re only a few blocks away from our destination.
“I’m assuming this silent treatment is you texting Raf that you’re working late?”
Raf and I exchange the same defiant glance. I take a deep steadying breath.
“I’ll see what I can do.” There’s no fight in me. How do you pull four percent of voters to an Independent presidential candidate in less than two months? And what the fuck happened with Big Bill’s solar grid proposition? I thought it was air tight with regards to reducing consumer costs.
“You know what?” Simon’s tone brightens. “You’re resilient, you’re tough–and you see things. Right? You shit golden eggs while the rest are tip toeing on eggshells. Joint Lewis McChord? Where–the fuck–did that come from? Now all the military wives love me, and here I am still blown away by how many midterm votes we pulled.”
I look up at Raf. I guess all three of us came out of that little fund raiser with something. Hendrix won a re-election, and I met a guy.
“So why don’t you promote me?” My eyes scrunch so tight I’m seeing zebra stripes.
“Ehh–yeah, you know… we’ll talk after I’m President.”
Relief–right? Let’s face it, when am I ever feeling relief around Simon Hendrix?
“You’ve still got twelve-ish hours, and I’m late for a call. I’m sure a miracle will rain from the heavens. Mm-kay? I believe in you! Toodles!”
Click.
“FUCK!”
Admittedly I use a bit too much wrist to toss my phone into my purse–shit, I hope the screen’s okay. But my attention diverts to my makeup pen. I will fucking have control over one god damn thing in my life and it will be this stupid eyeliner.
“So that’s how he really is,” Raf sighs.
“Hendrix-Okonkwo, 2028,” I declare with forced enthusiasm.
Raf gestures wildly. “How the fuck do you put up with that? Shit, I got S.O.s that make him look like a poodle.”
My fingers massage the stress from my temples, I would love to say, “I have no idea, Rafael.” But that’s so far from the truth.
“To be honest,” I sigh, I think about this a lot but I don’t think I’ve ever vocalized it. Who would I tell besides Raf? “I want people to feel heard–connected. Able to be self-sufficient, but also to know that someone is listening.”
It’s implied, he knows exactly why this is so important to me and it shows as he strokes his thumb along my palm. If I ever told my mother I felt unseen, or unheard, she’d just scold me telling me to speak out more. Kinda hard to feel compelled to do that when she’s literally forced herself to remain at arm’s reach my entire life, and has never shown any warmth.
“I grew up knowing my feelings were an afterthought, and they still are.” Releasing a nuclear sigh, pluffing my bangs in the process, I allow every tensed muscle to melt into the seat. “I don’t want that for anyone else, and Hendrix–fights tooth and nail for unity, inclusivity, and working class prosperity. That’s gotta count for something.”
Did I just invent a word? To pluff. Who cares, I’m a drooling zombie.
“Yonder.” I point towards a miraculously empty street-side parking spot. With a second wind, I sit up and twiddle the eyeliner pen. Focus. Finish your work. You’re in control.
Raf’s voice caresses me. “The eyeliner is perfect.”
I like to think I’m not a superficial woman, but Raf sure knows how to lift me out of Despairville.
“Almost.” I brace my elbow and sigh, preparing to undo an hour’s worth of stress relieving obsession.
“Simon Hendrix is going to be the death of me, Rafael,” I grumble through gritted teeth as I complete a reasonably matched cat-eye swoosh. “I want to enjoy tonight, but–why does he do this to me? Whenever it comes to Hendrix, and right now this chicken scratch eyeliner–” I cap the pen and sigh. “–it always ends in a tragic compromise.”
“So, fuck it.” The hint of a wistful smile tugs at the corners of Raf’s lips, one only a trained eye could catch. “I’ve been saving sixty days of leave, this was on your calendar. He knew–I say you take it.”
It’s weird to think that he is the only thing keeping me going right now. I should feel content. I have a good job–for now. I don’t pay rent. Thanks, Mom: sincerely, your twenty-six year old daughter; and yet I’m stifling.
“Besides, if he fires you over it, he’s not worthy of your efforts anyway.”
Raf practically leaps from the driver’s seat the instant he unbuckles his seatbelt. Setting aside my pen, I grip the handle. He doesn’t need me to do this. It’s Big Bill’s job. I deserve this night.
“Alright Seattle.” I really need to get back to work... “I’m yours.”
NOTE FROM AUTHO:
When officially published, Chapter 2 will be a continuation of Chapter 1, and chapter 3 onward will shift down by one.
