31. Kurt

Johnny and I go back downstairs, and my momther gives me one of her looks that makes me feel like a specimen under a microscope. "Kurt? Can I speak with you a moment?"

"Sure," I say.

"I'll go show Johnny the backyard," my dad says. Did he and Momther discuss what's on her mind already, or is he just picking up on her cues? Either way, Johnny, after a silent "Are you okay?" with me, strolls outside with my dad, leaving me and my mom in the TV room.

Once we're alone, she studies me. Really studies me, so much so that I want to squirm.

"What's going on, Mom? How are you?"

"I'm busy helping run the state, but right now I'm more interested in how my only son is doing."

"I'm fine," I say. I think that's true.

"I'm not so sure. You married someone on the spur of the moment, and he's distracted you from the election." She pauses. "To be clear, I care more about you than any election."

While I know she loves me, sometimes that gets lost because of her political ambitions. The idea that she would choose me over the White House is nice, although I'm not entirely sure it's accurate. Maybe she thinks she can have it all.

"Thanks. I love you, too. But he's important to me."

"That came out automatically," she says. "How do you really feel?"

I catch her eyes, then look around the room. It's the most comfortable one in the house. The furniture is older and shabbier than the other spaces, which were put together by a top interior designer. But this room's the real us. Dad's old Barcalounger, which he insisted on keeping when they moved here, still holds pride of place.

"It's complicated," I finally admit. "But I'm not pretending. I really, really like him."

"Good. In that case, let's talk about the campaign. You know I'll back you all the way, but I have to ask, are you sure this is the right path for you?"

I take a long breath. "I don't know. But I'd be letting everyone down if I didn't keep trying. I have the time, the money, the interest, the ability to be a politician."

"I agree that you have all those things, but there are many ways to affect public policy. You don't have to do it from Washington." She tilts her head. "Sometimes just having a one-on-one with someone can do more good than a speech before thousands or even millions."

Her words remind me of what I told Johnny about choosing to take care of him even if it might damage my campaign. And thinking about the fact that—apart from Johnny—the things I've been spending my time on are things I'm doing more out of a sense of duty than passion makes me realize that everything I do is about trying to take care of people.

I've been judging Johnny for going to extremes to care for his mother. Am I doing the same thing? Focusing my whole life on trying to make up for the person I didn't save?

And even if that's a valid choice, should I maybe be doing it in a way that fits my personality better than politics?

While Momther doesn't know what's going on inside my head, she can tell I'm putting some pieces together.

"So that's something to think about," she says. "Whatever you decide about the campaign, you'll have my support. Now, back to your husband. He seems very nice. But I imagine whatever he was being treated for when you first got together isn't the sort of issue that goes away overnight."

"I'm not going to betray his confidence," I say. "He's had a tough life, and yes, he's dealing with some challenges right now. But he's somehow stayed soft and good despite everything."

"Is he good for you, though?"

I don't hesitate. "Yes. I know it seems rash, but he and I clicked from the moment we met." I pause. "I don't usually believe in this kind of stuff, but I think sometimes that he's the one."

Her eyes widen. "Oh, wow. That's not the sort of thing I ever expected to hear from you."

"I wouldn't have expected it, either."

"You do seem happy with him. Well, I'll support you all the way if he's the one you truly want."

My mom's my mom. She loves me and has always been there for me. But now she's explicitly saying that she's willing to risk her squeaky-clean image—and her dream of the White House—for my happiness. My heart feels like it's crammed tight in my chest. "I know we haven't been together long, but he is."

When Johnny returns from the garden tour, he gives me another questioning look: Are you okay?

I smile and nod. Even with everything that's on his mind, plus the stress of meeting my folks, he's concerned about me. That's how I know that what's between us is real.

Johnny's having dinner with his lawyers to go over some details about his case, so I go to Jules and Sam's beach house for dinner on Tuesday. They've decorated for Christmas with tiny white lights everywhere and a tree hung with seashells. It looks magical.

"I have news!" Sam says. "We investigated and discovered that the utilization department for Johnny's mom's insurer had been doing illegal cost savings. That's why they denied her care when they should have approved it. We brought a complaint, but because it's such a strong case, their attorneys already contacted us to offer a settlement. She should be getting enough to pay for her care and then some."

My jaw drops. I'd hoped for some good news, but I hadn't dreamed it would be so simple or so fast. "That's wonderful. I can't wait to tell Johnny."

Just then, my phone buzzes with a text.

Johnny

Mama's gonna get insurance coverage! Noah just told me!

Kurt

I know, babe! Sam just told me too. Congrats!

Johnny

If only we can find a donor.

Kurt

Maybe my mother will be one.

Johnny

I hope, I hope.

Over dinner, I mention I'm questioning whether politics is the right career for me.

"Not everything that sounds good on paper proves to be what we want," Jules says. "I'd thought a traditional record deal was the ultimate goal, but going indie and doing my own thing has been so much better than I could have imagined. You'll find what's right for you, too."

"Yeah, I guess. Are you working on a new album?"

"Always. I just need a spark," Jules says. "I'm thinking of trying something new. I like contradictions—happy music with depressing lyrics, or vice versa. Or the juxtaposition of modern and classical. Like violins with a drumbeat."

"You should get Johnny's sister to play for you," I say.

"Oh? What does she play?"

"The violin. She's very good."

Jules raises an eyebrow. "Does she have a website? Or a demo I could listen to?"

"I doubt it. She's had to back-burner the music in favor of earning a living. But she played for us when we were there for Thanksgiving, and she blew me away."

"All right. I'm intrigued. Put me in touch with her so I can hear what she sounds like?"

"I'll do that," I say, and make a note to get her number.

"How's Johnny doing?" Sam asks. "Better, I hope?"

"I think so. He has good days and bad. The intensive therapy definitely helped, but he's not all the way … I don't know if he'll ever be fully recovered."

"Those sorts of things take time," Jules says. "I think it's possible."

Sam nods. "Though maybe also, no matter how much we've dug, no matter how many therapists we've talked to, no matter how far we've come or overcome, there's still always more to do. More to dig. More shit to clear in our psyche. I don't know why we make such a big deal about needing to talk about what's on our mind."

"Yeah, I suppose."

Eventually the conversation returns to the subject of the campaign.

"I'm so far behind," I say. "I'm pretty resigned at this point to the idea that I'm not going to win. I'm just wondering whether I can still do some good if I stay in the race until election day, or whether I should concede and be done with it."

"There's no shame either way," Jules says.

"My mom pointed out that politics isn't the only career where I can help people," I admit. "It just seemed like the obvious one."

Sam clucks thoughtfully. "She's right, though. There are plenty of things you can do to that same end. Ways you can help without having to cater to voters."

"What are you thinking about?"

"How about working for a nonprofit? Noah and August started one to help LGBT+ youth, and they could likely use some help. It's small now, but it could grow."

I raise an eyebrow. "Nonprofit work?"

"Sure. I think you'd be good at it, and it could be good for you. You've got all this drive and energy, and you care about our community. You could see the results of initiatives a lot faster there than in the Senate. It would be on a smaller scale, but … a kid who has a bed for the night. A teen who doesn't hurt themselves. Those are important, too."

Visions start swirling in my head. Helping people individually rather than through lengthy attempts at legislation. Working with colleagues who share my values. That sounds … not awful. Satisfying, even. "Hmm. Interesting idea."

"I'll ask Noah about it next time I see him," Sam says.

"I mean, for now, I've still got the campaign," I say, shifting in my seat. "But, yeah, let me know. I'll see what Johnny thinks, too. He might have an opinion on it."

Sam tilts his head. "Sounds like you two have more of a relationship than ‘We met in Vegas and whoops, I fell on his wedding ring.'"

"Yeah. We do. I mean, I liked him before I met him, because I thought he was damn sexy—I don't need to tell you guys that?—"

They both grin.

"But the real him is more complex. Sweeter. I … I think I might love him."

Sam's smile goes all soft, and his eyes instinctively go to Jules's. "Does he know that?"

"He knows I care about him."

Sam leans forward. "But have you told him that it's … more?"

I shake my head.

"Then tell him, mate," Jules says. "I bet he needs to hear it."