11. Adrian

It's been a little over an hour since Jamie texted that voting closed.

I'm glad that Casey and Sophie offered to come over and wait for the primary results with me, otherwise I'd be out of my mind. I've never been good at waiting for news. Without fail, my brain will always supply the worst possible outcome, even if it's entirely illogical. And right now, even with the distraction of my friends, that's what it's doing. It doesn't matter that, according to Jamie, the most recent poll results looked pretty good, that he's the incumbent and still has the support of the Democratic National Convention despite the scandal, or even that there's only one other Democratic candidate. I can't help assuming the worst, and apparently, no amount of platonic cuddling with my friends and cats under throw blankets and tea can prevent that.

And if I've been anxious, then I can only imagine how Jamie has been feeling all day. He's been understandably on edge the past month and a half since we started this fake relationship. I haven't actually seen him since that lunch. But we've been texting pretty consistently in an effort to get to know each other, and even staged a few phone and video calls in public where he could be "overheard" talking and organizing a date night by one of the reporters that hang out around the Capitol Complex in hope of catching a story. And every time we've talked, his worry has come through loud and clear.

But I hardly know him well enough to know what to say to make him feel better. I have no idea if there even is anything that could comfort him. But I should at least try, shouldn't I? He also might know something that MSNBC doesn't. But I also don't want to bother him when he's almost certainly busy. I almost always wait for him to text me first for that reason. Tonight is different, though. He said to send positive energy his way. Maybe I should just send something that lets him know I'm here—something easily ignorable if he is too busy.

Before I can overthink it, I pull out my phone and snap a picture of Joseph spread out on my lap, the flickering spell candle and crystals Sophie set up for good luck in the background.

Only a minute after I press send, my phone buzzes with a reply.

Jamie Montgomery

Mar 15, 8:32 PM

I'm jealous

Understandable. Joseph is the best cat

Oh I meant of Joseph. What I would do to be curled up on that cozy blanket right now

Thank you. I needed that smile

3

It's nearly 10:00 p.m. before we finally get any news on primary results.

"Oh, hold on, I think this is it," Sophie exclaims, reaching across me to hit Casey since he's been in control of the remote tonight. I brace myself as a map of the country pops up on screen highlighting North Carolina, Oregon, Kentucky, and Idaho.

"Polls have closed in four states holding primaries tonight: North Carolina, Oregon, Kentucky, and Idaho, each hosting congressional and Senate primaries, and three of those four states also hosting primaries for governor," the 9:00 p.m. show host says. She goes into some details on the governor's race in Kentucky, which has been getting some attention, before turning things over to a political analyst and correspondent.

I don't really pay attention to it, though. I'm too busy holding my breath waiting for any mention of North Carolina. As if she can sense my anxiety—which she probably can since it's practically rolling off of me and has been all evening—Sophie takes my hand and laces our fingers together. And now that she's seen me in full on panic attack mode, I just let myself accept the comfort, squeezing her hand.

"One other race to tell you about," the correspondent says as he swipes on the monitor behind him to a screen with Jamie's picture on it, "something that has been getting a lot of social media attention in the past few weeks. Jamie Montgomery, the current representative for North Carolina's thirteenth district running for re-election. There's been some debate on how he would come out of tonight given the recent leaked photographs of him and his apparent boyfriend at a DC nightclub. His post on Instagram coming out as bisexual following the leaked pictures went viral, gathering support from the queer community all over the country. And tonight, he has won the nomination in North Carolina's thirteenth district."

"Oh, thank God," Casey sighs next to me.

The tension I've been holding in my shoulders all day dissipates immediately as I let out an audible sigh of relief. And that's what I'm feeling. Relief. I honestly wasn't sure what outcome I was hoping for more going into this, as awful as that may make me sound. Obviously, the altruistic part of me hoped he'd win because that gives him a shot at keeping his job in November. But I can't say the thought that, if he didn't win, the amount of time I have to pretend to be his fake boyfriend would be drastically cut short didn't cross my mind.

"What does that mean?" the correspondent asks, swiping again to bring up a map of Jamie's new district and a photo of a generic gray haired white man somewhere in his fifties or sixties. "He will face Geoffrey Mitchell, the Republican nominee and a current North Carolina state senator. This district has been redrawn as part of the state's overall redistricting, and now slightly favors the Republicans. So, his path to re-election will be tough. However, tonight he won the more suburban areas outside of Raleigh. So there may be some energy behind Montgomery in those areas of North Carolina where Democrats have struggled with voter turnout in the past."

The camera pans back to the host, but I'm no longer paying attention as I search for my phone in the couch cushions and blankets so I can text Jamie congratulations. However, just as I go to unlock it, his contact photo pops up on the screen. Why is he calling me instead of celebrating with his staff and parents?

"Give me a minute," I say before quickly extracting myself from the pile of blankets, friends, and cats and walking to my bedroom for some privacy.

"Hello?" I answer tentatively, realizing it's been a while since we've done anything but text since he's been so busy going back and forth between here and Cary.

"Hey, darlin'," Jamie's voice comes through the phone. In the background, I can hear his friend Mina letting out a celebratory whoop.

"I just saw the results come in on MSNBC. Congratulations." My tongue stumbles over the first few words as my brain recovers from the way that stupid pet name catches me off guard. I thought I'd gotten used to it over the past six weeks, but apparently not. It must be the accent that makes it feel like the word curls up in my chest.

He lets out a sigh, and even though I can't see him, the image of him running a hand through his wavy hair immediately conjures in my mind.

"Thanks," he says.

I expect him to say more, to be more excited. But he just sounds… tired. After a quick glance toward the short hallway leading to my living room, I decide to close my door. "Jamie," I start carefully, "is everything alright?"

"Sorry," he says, followed by another sigh. "Yeah, everything is fine. I think I just needed a minute and calling you was my excuse for that. Sorry, I know you're with Casey and Sophie right now."

"No, it's okay. I'm here if you need to talk." The assurance is out of my mouth before I can truly process it. I can't even explain the offer other than that we've kind of struck up an unlikely friendship under the guise of making our fake relationship more believable.

"Thank you," he says. "It's just—" he blows out a frustrated breath. "I know I should be celebrating right now. But I couldn't be around everyone right now, and I don't know why."

"There is nothing wrong with stepping away for a moment if you need it," I say.

"I know, I've just never really been a person who needs to, ya know? I'm your classic definition of an extrovert. I've also never gotten easily overwhelmed. I thrive around people and under pressure. But lately…"

I sit on my bed and lean against the headboard, anticipating that this may be a longer conversation than I initially assumed.

"Lately I feel like I'm in a fight, and I'm constantly waiting for the next hit to come. Except I'm not, and I know I'm not, but I have no idea how to get it to stop. I also can't help assuming that the worst is going to happen. Like tonight, I think I was actually anticipating that I'd lose, even though I was still ahead in the polls—I mean, less than I was before the pictures, but still ahead. But there was this little voice in my head that kept saying that polls are wrong all the time, and eventually, it was all I could hear. And I don't know how to get that voice to shut up or how to stop feeling like I'm being fucking chased or something, and it's exhausting. God, I'm so damn tired," he says, all in a rush.

God, if that doesn't hit me at my core. "It sounds like what you're dealing with is anxiety."

"Really?"

"You basically just summarized how I feel on a daily basis—constantly bracing for whatever often unrealistic worst-case scenario my brain has come up with," I say, surprisingly without any hesitation even though I almost never go into the details of how loud my brain can be. "You're right. It's exhausting."

"But you said you have an anxiety disorder. I don't have that. This is the first time I've ever felt like this. I didn't just suddenly develop an anxiety disorder, did I?" he asks, his voice pleading.

"No, probably not," I say, and I hear him let out an audible sigh. "Anxiety on its own is a normal reaction to life changes and stressors. It's one of our internal warning systems that alerts us to danger or other threats, and when there's a reason for it, like a job interview or something, it's perfectly normal."

"Yeah, I mean, I've experienced pre-test anxiety, and the day of the election two years ago I was like a cat on a hot tin roof. But it's been weeks—no, months. I've been feeling like this for months now. You can't tell me that's normal," he snaps.

Although I know he probably doesn't mean to yell, I can't help recoiling a little.

He seems to sense it, too, because he immediately apologizes. "Shit, I'm sorry, darlin'. God, you've been nothing but kind and helpful to me, yet here I am biting your head off for it."

"It's okay," I say. "I wasn't trying to minimize what you're feeling. I understand how you're feeling right now, believe me, and it's exhausting and makes you think you're right about to completely snap. When I said it's normal, I didn't mean it in the sense that it's totally fine, but in the sense that I don't think it's like mine. I have generalized anxiety disorder, which yes, means that I experience a lot of anxiety. But what makes it a disorder is that it's often for no real reason, and Jamie, you have understandable reasons to be anxious right now. The photos, coming out, your re-election—those are big stressors, so having situational anxiety, even long term, isn't unexpected."

For a long moment, I don't hear anything on the other end, and I wonder if maybe our call got disconnected. But then I hear him take a deep breath, then let it out slowly. When he speaks again, he's back to sounding defeated. "Yeah, I guess you have a point."

For a brief moment, I can't help regretting not deciding to go down to North Carolina with him even though he made it clear he didn't expect me to go. But if I was there, I could do a better job of comforting him. I could maybe soothe his anxiety better by talking in person, or even just by holding his hand like a good fake boyfriend would do.

But I'm not there, so I have to rely on my words. "It doesn't make you weak or any less capable," I say with emphasis. "It just means you need to take care of yourself."

"Now you sound like Mina. She says I suck at taking care of myself," he says with just a hint of fond annoyance.

"Yes, well, based on the number of times you've texted me from your office at ungodly hours of the night, I think I'd have to agree."

He huffs, but it sounds good natured, so I smile.

"Are you feeling any better?" I ask.

"Yeah, I think I am. I should probably get back in there. But thank you. This helped," he says.

"You're welcome. I'm glad I could help, even if it was just a little."

"You helped a lot, Adrian," he says seriously.

"Go let yourself celebrate this win," I tell him. "You deserve it."

He hums. "G'night."

"Good night," I echo before hanging up.