Red Blooded (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-Six

When you’re a parent
,
you do a lot of things you never thought you would.
One rainy day when Jen and Peyton were supposed to have a
“
girls’
”
afternoon
,
with tea and crumpets and mani-pedis
,
Jen was called away to do damage control on a project at the firm.

So I baked with Peyton
,
getting bits of dough all over my fingers.
I
sipped tea with her
,
only messing up three of her dolls’ names.
I
even painted my toenails a bright pink and purple and orange.
Her silly seven-year-old smiles
,
as I tried to neatly get all the fluorescent colors on my nails
,
were worth it.

* * *

I know the campaign isn’t just going to let me hop to New Haven to let me stand in line and have Representative Roberts sign his book for me. Oh, and perhaps acknowledge I’m his bastard offspring. But, I’m more convinced this is the best way to get to him. I just need to get to New Haven, and soon.

I have to give them a reason, and I can’t let them be in a position to say “no.” I think for days about this. I think while I’m in anthropology class sketching out notes about tribes. I think while Dylan grabs my hand and pulls me toward him, his fingers slipping into my belt loops, when we’re at a party. I think while I’m washing my face and while I’m mixing crackers in my mac & cheese at Leo’s and when I’m picking out lime green rain boots down on M Street. I think, I think, I think.

I get nothing.

That is, until this morning, three days before the event, as Dylan and I learn we won’t just be attending a fundraiser in New York City this evening. Lisa says we’ll be a little late—I’m going to be on
Marie’s Corner
, a show where Marie Boucher talks with guests on pastel couches under big, bright lights about the latest viral videos and celebrity-laden rehab facilities.

“She’ll want to talk about you and Dylan,” Lisa warns as Dylan and I get in the shiny black car with facing seats in the back that picks us up from JFK.

Dylan shifts in his seat, but I say calmly, “I’m ready for questions about Dylan, but maybe I can shift her to some other, more important things.”

Lisa rubs her temple as she continues looking through her notes. “Mmm-hmm, like what?”

“Education reform,” I say. “I’d really like to talk about teachers’ unions and how they can reform in order to better educate America. I wouldn’t be the first kid of a candidate to deviate a little from the policy of the campaign. It’s just my opinion, after all.”

She looks at Dylan with piercing eyes. “What do you think, Dylan?”

Dylan squints into the distance, over Lisa’s shoulder, before finally focusing on her. “I think it’s a great idea. We’ve gotten some flak for her being a puppet for the campaign, right? If she voiced her own opinions, it would show she isn’t. She has her own issues she cares about.”

Lisa flips her pen nervously. “I need to talk to Bain about this.”

That’s more than I’ve ever gotten before. I breathe fast and smile big.

“But first,” she says. “We need to go over what you’ll say about Dylan. You have to convince them that this is real. Any whiff that this might be done for publicity would be incredibly bad.” She doesn’t need to say it. I know. We wouldn’t just get the slut comments like Bain suggested. It could be much worse. They could accuse the campaign of pimping me out.

Lisa sighs. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s been useful. And I’m also glad it isn’t authentic.” She looks at Dylan. “That would be inappropriate and it’d cause us other kinds of headaches.”

Dylan scratches the back of his neck and stares out the window.

“What do you mean?” I ask, because I often talk before thinking.

She folds her arms and rests her knees on her elbows as though we’re having a “talking to.” “Real relationships are precarious. They involve raw emotions that can’t be controlled. It’s not professional to bring that lack of control into a campaign.” Her eyes flit to Dylan. “Whereas fake relationships can be easily managed. Your fake relationship has been working for us, and that’s great. Let’s have it continue to work for us, okay?”

I nod. Dylan runs his hands through his hair.

Lisa points at me. “What did you first like about Dylan?”

Dylan turns his head, sharp, back to me. I can’t see him staring, because I’m looking at Lisa, but I can feel him staring. I can hear his breathing, soft and low. And I can smell him. That oaky smell gets me every time.

Lisa looks up, her arched eyebrows screaming. “We don’t have a lot of time, Peyton. What would you say if she asked you that?”

“Do we have to do this with him here?”

Dylan covers his mouth but I can tell by the way his cheeks rise over his fingers that he’s smiling.

God, I want to punch him. Or kiss him. And that’s the problem.

“Peyton, it’s going to take thirty minutes to get to the studio. This is the time we planned to go over this. What are you going to say when Marie asks you what you like about Dylan?”

I open my mouth, but the only things that come to mind are how good he smells, how well he kisses, and how fantastic it feels when he laughs at one of my inane comments. Like the other day when I told him I used to get chickpeas and peeps confused, which resulted in a rather odd Easter morning when I was nine. He laughed, even though we were alone. I was the only one around to hear his laugh, and he let me.

“Come on, Peyton,” he says. “I’m not a Neanderthal. There’s got to be something about me you like?”

“I like a lot of things about you,” I say, despite my better judgment. Or, you know, any judgment. I hadn’t really analyzed that comment before it spouted forth.

Dylan smiles but I’m ratcheted away by Lisa, who bonks my knee.

“Him,” Lisa says.

“Him?”

“Him. You like a lot of things about
him
. Remember, you’re talking to Marie Boucher, not Dylan. Tell Marie,” she points to herself and repeats the question. “What did you first like about Dylan?”

I cross my legs, leaning forward, trying to get into interview mode. “I didn’t realize how great Dylan was when I first met him. I mean, I thought he was cute.” I smile and can’t help the tingling feeling in my cheeks.

“That’s good,” Lisa says.

“But he was so helpful to me on the campaign. It’s hard. But he’s made it easier. He knows how to make me laugh when I’m crying, and when he looks at me, it’s like all the other problems dissolve into the background.”

“That’s sweet, Peyton,” Lisa says. “You can use that, but the more specific you get the better. Okay? What’s something specifically that you could—”

Her phone zings and she grabs it, holding her finger out to me.

“He said what?” Lisa’s eyes bulge.

One second turns into multiple seconds as she gets into a deep conversation. Apparently Ruiz made a joke about Baptists on a radio show. It was a nice joke, something about how they have great cornbread, but a Latino Catholic presidential candidate making jokes about Baptists isn’t exactly the best thing, so, of course, it’s a small firestorm that needs to be quashed.

I look out the window again at the traffic and the rain.

Dylan’s hand brushes mine. I flinch.

“You can just make something up. Say how you like that I’m dedicated and smart and driven, or something.”

“But that’s not what I like about you.”

He looks like I plunged my fist into his gut.

“I mean...” I say as I concentrate really hard on pushing up my cuticles. “I’ll figure something out.” I watch the droplets of water cry down the windows and hang desperately on the glass before being flung away by the wind.

All this is too much to handle, so I think instead about what I’m going to say about education reform. Lines I’ve held in my head for months now, just waiting for the green light and the right platform. I get ready to practice it in front of Lisa and Dylan, but Lisa’s fire takes the whole ride to put out. Soon we’re stopping and starting among the yellow cabs in New York and pulling up in front of a big image of Marie Boucher.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“
That’s you!
”
Peyton said
,
pointing at the screen so her nail covered my chest.
Well
,
my on-screen chest.

“
Yep
,”
I
said.
“
Back it up so we all can see.
”

She walked backward until she fell into my lap.

“
What are unions?
What are you talking about?
”
she asked.

“
They’re interviewing me about an article I wrote about a candidate from Missouri who thinks teachers are paid too much.
”

“
Are they?
”
Peyton asked
,
her four-year-old finger thoughtfully touching her cheek.

“
It’s complicated
,”
I
said.

“
Too complicated for me?
”
She asked
,
scowl ready.

I
lowered my gaze.
“
Too complicated for everyone.
”

* * *

Marie air-kisses her guests on both cheeks when they come out. On screen, I thought it looked fake, but with her kissing noises and her perfume right up in my face, it relaxes me.

We sit down. She’s wearing a light gray dress and a big, dangling string of pearls. “So, you’ve had quite a couple of months? College. New boyfriend. This whole presidential election thing.”

I nod along to the first two and pass my hand through the air at the “election thing.” “Oh, that’s nothing. Barely a blip on my radar.” I giggle and the audience mirrors me.

“Of course,” she says with a honey-colored voice. “But seriously, you do seem to be handling it well. There must be some moments when the pressure gets to you.”

I smile. It’s not perfect, but I can make it work. Lisa hadn’t exactly okayed the education thing, but she hadn’t said no either. It just dissolved into the air of everything else. So I’m going with it. “I’m not going to pretend that it isn’t difficult at times, but when I know all the good that my mom and Governor Ruiz can do, it’s more than worth it. Plus, I like the opportunity to connect with people. I met a woman who also lost her father, and she said my dad’s book helped her.”

I wait for the solemn nods to end. I had to throw that in there. And it’s okay. My dad wouldn’t mind being used as a lead in. He always wanted me to be the Joan of Arc for people with learning disorders, except for that dying-at-the-stake part.

“And I’ve also met parents of kids with learning disorders, like mine, and I’ve talked with them about the challenges they’re facing. While I want to be clear that I’m only speaking for myself here, I hope that our leaders will increase focus on education, specifically on using innovative ways to teach those who learn a little differently, like me. Our teachers and schools need our support so they can get the training and resources to do their jobs effectively. And teachers’ unions need to look at their practices and realize that protecting bad teachers hurts all kids, but especially those who need extra attention. While there are many extremely hard-working and talented teachers, like the ones I had, who can be lifesavers to kids with learning disorders, some union policies keep ineffective teachers in the classroom. We can better serve kids with special needs, and all of our kids, by making changes to those policies.”

I did it. I talked about teachers’ unions. I’ll get a lecture, or more, from Bain. But that’s okay. I can face him. I pause, realizing I’d been talking for way too long. But Marie let me. And it felt great.

“This issue must be very important to you,” Marie says.

“It is,” I say.

She smiles and looks to the audience. “Well, I don’t know how this election will turn out, but I have my money on any upcoming election where Peyton Arthur is on the ticket.”

I pull my hair back. “Thanks.”

She moves on to the succulent stuff. “So, we’ve all seen, I’m sure, the footage of you and this handsome man kissing in front of a gas station,” Marie says as she shifts the index cards in her hands. I imagine the card saying something like “Peyton. Kissing. Handsome.” Shorthand for one of the most sensual moments of my life.

It’s easy to produce a girlish blush because I don’t have to fake it. Marie points behind us, where a screen drops down from the ceiling. There are Dylan and me, next to the car. I’m explaining to him that too many people saw me in the store. But, of course, the audience can’t hear that. It just looks like we’re talking. I hadn’t watched it before. I thought I knew what it was about, and, according to Dylan and Lisa and my mom, watching too much coverage of yourself can be bad. But now I see how his hand reached snugly around my body, and how his other hand curved softly under my neck, and how his lips dived into mine, as though it was natural, as though it was pure.

I sigh.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I have a mic on. I look up, into Marie’s moony expression. My involuntary, not-on-purpose, not-at-all-devious sigh had been the exact right move. “It’s so magical to see two young people fall in love. Obviously, just seeing him up there, kissing you, has you remembering some wonderful things. Tell us about those things,” she says, closing her eyes, smiling, as though she’s about to get her first drink in a desert. “What’s he like? What first drew you to him?”

Lisa always knows what they’re going to ask.

I take a cue from my sigh and decide maybe I can be open, honest. Dylan said to say something about his dedication, his drive, but as much as I admire those qualities in him, that’s not what I really like about him. And I can feel of the audience, it’s like my finger is on the pulse of them—they don’t want to hear political spin.

I can give them something else. It reverberates in my heart.

“Well, this is going to sound horribly superficial,” I say, letting the pinkness tingle on my cheeks. Letting my embarrassment work for me. “But it was his eyes. I just...They’re beautiful. And I met him right before my mom was announced as the VP pick. I didn’t know anyone who was prepping me and I was so nervous about getting up on stage. And there he was, this cute intern, smiling at me and convincing me that everyone was going to love me. That everyone already did. Even if it isn’t true, the way he said it made me believe it.”

“He does have nice eyes.” Marie grins. “And when did you first know you wanted to be with him?”

“When he brought me gummy bears,” I say before thinking. Is that true? I’m not sure who I’m lying to.

Laughter ripples through the audience. I can practically hear Bain, if he’s watching this somewhere, say, “What the fuck is she talking about? Who told her to say that?”

Fuck him. He can live with a few innocuous, splashy surprises.

I proceed. “I was afraid I’d cry when I announced my mom at the convention. And once before when I cried, because, well, I’m a bit of a crier, I told him gummy bears helped. And he remembered.”

“Gummy bears?” Marie laughs and turns to the audience. “Flowers? Chocolates? Jewelry? No. Give women what they want, give them gummy bears.” The laughter rolls and I’m joining in. This is actually pretty fun.

“Yeah,” I say, pulling a strand of hair behind my ear. “It was just what I needed. He seems to always know just what I need.”

“And so, would you say you two are serious?” She leans forward and the audience hushes.

“I hope so.” My guard is down, the words spring out of my mouth. I smile at the ground.

Shit.

Marie opens her mouth to ask something else, but I need to bring this back to my plan. “We’re going to New Haven this weekend to meet some of his friends.”

She rests her head against her hand. “Well, that does sound serious.”

I cross my legs and wait. I’ve accomplished what I needed to do. I’m sure Bain’s vein is bulging as he shouts at the nearest cowering intern. “What the fuck are they going to do in New Haven? Did you know about this?”

But it’s done.

“So,” Marie says, turning to the audience with a knowing grin. “Dylan is actually backstage right now...”

Shit buckets.

“Yeah,” I say, slicing my hand in the air as casually as possible so no one knows my heart didn’t just speed the fuck up. “But he’s the kind of guy who’d rather be behind the camera than in front of it.”

Will this stop her? Will this cut her off?

She flips her hand at me. “Oh, I think he’ll play along.” She looks at the audience. “You want to meet him, right?”

My heart feels like it took a deep, long swim in an espresso. The applause and hoots and hollers storm in my ears.

Marie twists around. “Where is he? Can someone get him a mic?”

Dylan had been standing to the side. He wipes his face as he allows someone to set him up with a mic. The producer gives him a little push, and he walks on to the stage with an adorable wave at the audience. I move over on the too-small loveseat to make room. As he sits next to me, he puts his arm around me and looks at me a little longer than appropriate before turning to Marie.

“Thanks, Dylan, for being a good sport,” she says.

“Of course, Marie.”

“Now, let me ask you, when did you know you and Peyton had something together?”

I’m afraid. But I can’t look afraid. I should look playful. My boyfriend is about to talk about us. I should be happy, expectant. I try my very best to plaster my face with an expression that works and hide the anxiety drumming under my skin.

“It wasn’t any one moment. It was something that built and built, until I couldn’t deny it anymore,” he says.

The audience eats this up, of course, and I’m able to let my muscles untense. He’s playing it safe. Good.

“This is the thing,” he says, rubbing his knee and looking past Marie. “I’m a campaign and policy nerd.”

What is he doing? All he has to do is answer the questions. Why is he continuing on his own?

“Well, that makes sense,” Marie says.

“So, I like to talk about union activity in right-to-work states and why Franklin County in Ohio is so important to the election. Not a lot of girls want to get into that level of detail, and the ones who do are usually too much like me.”

“Oh?” Marie says, tilting her head.

I tilt my head too. What is he getting at?

“So, and I admit I didn’t realize this till I met Peyton.” He chances a glance at me before turning back to Marie. “I need a girl who’s passionate about politics, so she doesn’t get bored with me.” Marie nods, waiting. I wait too. Dylan swallows. “But I also need someone who forces me to realize there are other important things. I need someone who makes me play games or talk about ‘90s rap or watch movies that are so bad they’re good. I need someone who forces me to enjoy life.”

He moves his arm from behind me and takes my hand, wrapping his long fingers under my palm. He stares at our hands together before looking up. His eyes are like black holes, sucking me in. “And Peyton is that someone.”

I’m sure the audience awws. I’m sure Marie says something else. There are more questions and more answers from Dylan and nods from me. I’m sure she thanks us for being on the show before telling her audience what’s up after the commercial break, but I don’t sense it. It’s all a blur.

All I feel is Dylan’s hand, still holding mine. At some point, I squeeze it. At some point, he squeezes back.

But as soon as the director calls cut, he releases me.

Stage hands swarm in to remove our mics and move us off stage as Marie looks over her next batch of index cards.

Did he mean all that? I walk toward the green room in a daze. Dylan follows. Once we get there, he closes the door behind him. Lisa looks up. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you two were in love.”

Dylan swallows and puts his hand on his stomach.

“But I do know better, because that would be unprofessional.” She chances a look to me, before drilling back to him. “As I said, this thing’s been a great side story to the campaign. People are thinking so much about this that the dad story is basically buried.”

She takes two steps to us, but her focus is always on Dylan. “But it is just a ploy, right, Torres?”

“Of course,” Dylan says with a gruff voice. “I made it look like we’re in love. Isn’t that the point?”

Something clunks in my stomach and I have to blink a few times and look away. I can’t cry at that. I pull out an old strategy my dad taught me. I think about puppies. While I’m half in a fluff-infused reverie, Lisa nods, satisfied, and takes two steps back, focusing on me. “So, a trip to New Haven?”

“Yeah,” I say, locking eyes with Dylan. “I thought that might be a nice touch. I hope you don’t mind.”

She taps her teeth. “It was a nice touch. It just gets complicated. Do you stay in a hotel room? Do you stay with his friends?”

“My friends and I have a house,” Dylan says. “I knew I’d be moving back to New Haven in November, so my room’s just waiting for me. She can sleep there, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Lisa nods. “Okay, that could work.”

Her phone buzzes and she’s off, talking about the difference between green technology and renewable energy. Now’s my chance.

“That stuff you said, it was really sweet. I almost believed it,” I whisper.

Dylan rubs the back of his neck and looks at me with a hard face. “And I almost believed that you really wanted to meet my friends in New Haven, but I’m pretty sure something else is going on. What is it?”

I should be honest. But if he knew the real reason, he’d stop the trip.

“Don’t lie to me, Peyton. You promised me,” he says.

“I don’t want to lie to you,” I say. “But I can’t tell you why we’re going until we’re on our way there.”