1. Jamie

"Jamie, what the fuck are you still doing here?"

The sound of my best friend and communication director's voice from the doorway to my tiny private office has me nearly jumping out of my seat. My head snaps up, and it takes a few slow blinks for my eyes to adjust to the relative darkness of the rest of my office compared to the bright lamplight I'd been reading under. Once they do, I see Mina leaning against the freshly painted white door jamb, her arms crossed over her black long-sleeved jumpsuit.

"I thought you left to get dinner with Chloe," I say.

"I did. Three hours ago."

"Shit, really?"

It's only Tuesday, and we weren't in session today, so in theory, I should probably be home by now. But since it was a light day, I thought I'd take the opportunity to catch up. Between the seemingly endless commitments and responsibilities that go along with being a congressman, I'm almost always behind. But I didn't mean to stay this late.

She clicks her tongue, then flips on the overhead light. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes and let out a soft whine at the sudden assault.

"Yeah, I was on my way home and had a sneaking suspicion you might still be here, so I checked your location," she says, pushing off the door frame to come closer. "And I'm glad I did because, honey, you look awful."

"Gee, thanks," I deadpan as she drops into the worn leather armchair across from my desk. "You do realize adding ‘honey' to something doesn't automatically make an insult sound nicer, right?"

Mina rolls her eyes and kicks her heeled feet up on the corner of my desk—one of the only places not covered in papers, legal pads, and open books. "I wasn't aiming for nice. I was going for tough love. Seriously, have you even moved since I left?"

My face pulls into a grimace. I honestly can't remember, but seeing as I didn't realize how long it's been since Mina and the rest of the office went home, it's safe to say I haven't. And now that I'm not in focus mode, I'm starting to feel it. My neck is stiff, my eyes are dry, and there's a dull burning in my chest—although that last one is probably more due to the slightly cold coffee that I had at 4:00 p.m. than me not moving from my desk for over three hours. It's that or the fact that I had to basically inhale my lunch while walking between committee meetings today. Both are surefire ways to set off my acid reflux—something that feels like I'm way too young to have at barely twenty-eight. My doctor suspects that it might be gastroesophageal reflux disease, or GERD, which is becoming increasingly common amongst people in their twenties. Still, I can't help but feel about ten years older when I need to pop an antacid before eating Italian or anything fried.

"I'll take that as a no. What even is all of this?" She gestures at the clutter on my desk, then drops her feet back to the navy blue carpet and leans forward to pluck the bound document I was reading off the top. "Is this the environmental bill again? I thought this was basically closed out."

"It was, but Johnson's team made some ‘minor grammatical tweaks'," I say, putting air quotes around it, "again, even though this is supposed to be introduced Thursday. So now, I'm going through the whole thing with a fine-tooth comb to make sure he didn't try to slip something in at the last second. I swear, that guy thinks that just because I'm in my first term that I'm na?ve or an idiot. I don't even know why he approached me to cosponsor this bill with him if he was just going to try to steam roll over me. But he has another thing coming because I'm not a—"

"Pushover," she finishes for me. "Yes, yes, I've heard the Johnson rant. I've heard almost all of your rants because you've been doing a lot of that recently. And do you know why that is? Because you haven't taken a fucking break."

I'm usually better at managing it, but as much as I hate admitting it, the stress of the last few weeks has been getting to me. I knew being in Congress would be a demanding job. Working as a policy writer for the governor of North Carolina gave me a glimpse at how fast-paced a career in politics can be. But I thrive in high-pressure situations, so I thought I could handle it. And I have been handling it pretty well, I think, given that this is my first term. I feel like I'm finally doing real good for my community and have managed to maintain a semblance of a work/life balance. Okay, maybe not a balance in the traditional sense, but I make time to see my parents for dinner at least once whenever I'm back in my district, spend at least twenty minutes outside every day when the weather isn't shitty, and listen to non work-related audiobooks on my drives to and from North Carolina. The thing is, maintaining even that small of a balance is infinitely harder when you throw in a re-election campaign.

"You're taking on too much. Like this—" she waves around the bill before tossing it back onto my desk. "Why are you taking the time out of your day to look for changes that might not even be there instead of passing it off to Ben to figure it out? He's your chief of staff. It's his job to make sure things like this get done—and done by one of at least five other people in this office that aren't you," she says with a pointed look.

"Ben was in a meeting," I say, although it's a flimsy excuse. In all reality, I could have given it to Riley in Ben's absence. As staff assistant, she's basically his right-hand woman. This office wouldn't run without her, so she would have figured it out. But I didn't even think about asking her to deal with it for me.

I just jumped headfirst into doing it myself because that's what I do when my stress levels are through the roof. My perfectionist and controlling tendencies rear their ugly head, and I take on too much. And based on the narrowed look Mina is giving me, she knows that too.

I expect her to call me out on it. Instead, she asks, "You were planning to go back down to Cary this weekend, right?"

"Yeah, I need to meet with some potential campaign donors." Which is the last thing I want to do right now. It's my least favorite part of being a politician—practically begging people for money so I can continue to do my job instead of actually doing the fucking job. But every time I have to do it, I hear Ben's voice in my head telling me to "grit my teeth" because it's a "necessary evil."

"Send Andrea or someone else from the campaign to do it. Tell them to make up some reason for you to need to stay in Washington. Because, honestly, you look exhausted, which, as your press secretary, is not the image you want to project to potential donors."

"But—"

"No. No buts," she says firmly. "I realize that technically you're my boss, but I'm putting my foot down. You need to make time for yourself, otherwise you're going to burn out. Actually, I'm worried you're already burnt out. You've been going non-stop since your birthday—which, if you didn't realize, is the last time I saw you outside this office or Ben's dining room to work on the campaign. That was October, and it's nearly February."

Shit, is that really the last time I did something other than work? No, that can't be right. "Wait, we went out for your birthday, didn't we?"

"We did, but you and Ben talked about the campaign in the corner for a solid forty-five minutes, so I'm not counting it."

"I didn't realize you could hear us." I sigh and shove a hand through my hair. "Fuck, I've been bad at being a friend, haven't I? I'm sorry. I'll be better."

"Of course that's what you take away from this," she says, leveling an unamused look at me. "I'm not mad, Jamie, and you haven't been bad about being a friend, just bad at being a human. You desperately need some self care at, like, the most basic level. You need a proper meal, some sleep, and to think about something other than work or the election."

She's right. I know she's right. But eating a proper meal is nearly impossible when I can't get my acid reflux to settle down enough to stomach anything more than toast or buttered noodles. So is sleeping when my brain feels like that scene in Elf where Buddy keeps running around in the revolving door. Once he's stuck in the door, it's hard to get out. And when he does, he immediately gets dizzy and throws up. Except in my case, the revolving door is my ever-growing to-do list playing on an endless loop, and the dizziness is a sexuality crisis that apparently couldn't wait until after elections. Obviously my brain didn't get the memo that there isn't exactly a lot of time to have a bi-awakening while working seventy plus hours a week.

"So, right now, you're going to text Daniel and get him to work his executive assistant wizardry to rearrange some things on your plate so you can make it home at a reasonable hour the rest of the week—including this draft of the environmental bill. Then, you're going to go home, eat something, and get some fucking sleep. And this weekend, we're going out because you need to blow off some steam. Axe throwing, wine and paint, anything that will get you out of your head. Got it?"

I nod, eternally grateful for Mina's take charge attitude. Usually, I don't really need someone to do that for me. I've always been proactive, not reactive. But lately, all I've been able to be is the latter. Between North Carolina's redistricting and the threat of that wrinkly, homophobic asshole Geoffrey Mitchell becoming the Republican nominee for my district, I feel like I have no control. All I can do is sit and wait.

So maybe she is right. I need to make time for myself, otherwise I'm going to burn out.

"What if we go to that place in Dupont that Chloe was talking about at your birthday? Lavender something," I suggest, hoping I sound casual about the suggestion rather than like I'm freaking the fuck out—because now that the words have left my mouth, that's what I'm doing.

"The Lavender Gimlet?" she asks.

"Yeah, that was it. The speakeasy-inspired place."

Mina gives me a long look, like she's trying to read my mind. "You realize that's a gay bar, right? Do you really think going to a queer bar is a good idea when we're less than two months out from the primaries? What if you're photographed?"

"Didn't Chloe say they have a no photography policy? Even so, I've been seen going into gay clubs. And drag brunches and pride," I point out.

"They do, and, yes, you have. But every time, you get questions about it—which you've always handled well, but that was before…" she trails off.

Before the answer to those questions about whether my dedication to LGBTQ+ rights is a personal issue was a possible yes.

"Okay, look, I know it will bring up questions if I get seen—which I don't think I will because it's not like I'm back home. But if it happens, we can just handle it like we always do. Drive it back to the issues. But—" I blow out a frustrated breath and lean back in my chair, tipping my head back to stare at the ceiling as I try to figure out how to put words to this.

In hindsight, my congressional office probably wasn't the best place to have this discussion, but it's past nine now, and we're the only ones here. I also realize that field testing my theoretical bisexuality wasn't included in the "anything" Mina suggested to get me out of my head. But now that I've had the idea, I'm not going to be able to stop thinking about it.

It's just that all I've been doing about my sexuality crisis is think. I've done research, taken anonymous quizzes, and read online forums. Mina and I have talked it out at length, occasionally with the support of her girlfriend. I've even dissected my past to find clues to support my theory. But I haven't put that theory into action.

I've barely had the time between work and the campaign to go out with any women, much less find a safe place for me to try dating a guy. It's not like I can go on a dating app because God-forbid anyone recognizes me. Plus, I wouldn't want to force someone to date me in secret until I'm ready to come out—which I don't really want to do until after the election because I just know that my sexuality and hypothetical relationship would become the focus of the campaign instead of the issues that affect my constituents.

I've been keeping this new part of myself in a little box, which feels a little hypocritical. Creating a country where queer people don't have to hide their identities for any number of reasons has been one of the cornerstones of my platform, even before I started analyzing my personal connection to the community.

And clearly, throwing myself into work and the election to distract myself from the effect of keeping this information locked up tight is having on me isn't helping. It's only making me more tense.

I take a deep breath before returning my gaze to Mina, who's been surprisingly patient as I sift through my conflicting feelings.

"I get your concern, I really do. I know I have a spotlight on my life, especially because of the election. But it's not like I plan on doing anything scandalous. You know I've never really been the one night stand or public hookup type," I say.

"No, it goes against your whole Southern gentleman vibe," she says, teasing a little to lighten the mood.

I can't help cracking a small smile, probably for the first time today.

"So, then what exactly is your goal here?"

"I just want to—I don't know. Test the waters?" I shrug. "Flirt a little. Let myself look. Not shut it down if a guy flirts with me. See how I feel when it's a real person in a real situation, not looking at a thirst trap on Instagram or a photo of Jonathan Bailey climbing out of a lake wearing period clothing."

"Okay, yeah, that's fair. That scene even had my lesbian ass questioning things," she says with a laugh.

The tension in my neck starts to dissipate as I laugh too.

After a long moment, she sighs. "Alright, fine, we can go. But I'm bringing Chloe. That way, if it comes to it, you can play the ‘my best friend is a lesbian, and we wanted to go to a place her and her girlfriend knew they'd be welcome' card."

"A card we wouldn't even have to play if straight weren't the default," I argue.

"Yeah, yeah, save it for the sound bite," she teases.

I grin, feeling my shoulders relax ever so slightly as she stands. She gives me an expectant look, and I cock my head.

She makes a motion for me to stand. "Come on, we're leaving. You're texting Daniel, and we're going home. And you're leaving everything here," she adds when I stand and reach for my bag to pack some documents.

"But—"

"Sleep, Jamie. Food and sleep."

I sigh, but ultimately give in, leaning over to shut my laptop and turn off my desk lamp. Mina gives me a satisfied nod and gestures for me to exit my private office first, like she's afraid I'll double back and sneak some paperwork under my blazer if she takes her eyes off me for a second. We walk toward the front of the office suite, her shutting off lights on our way, then stop at the coatrack by the door to bundle up to prepare for the bitter cold now that it's late January and DC has finally decided that it's winter. I help her into her coat out of the gentlemanly reflex my mom drilled into me from as early as I can remember, then slip into my own.

As we're leaving, I catch her elbow. "Hey," I start, wanting to thank her for, well, everything. But she shakes her head before I can continue, clearly able to read my mind.

"Yeah, I know," she says with a soft smile. Then she loops her arm through mine, flicks off the last of the office lights, and pulls me toward the door.