Page 101 of See You Next Tuesday

Anya [3:24am]: Did you really say that? I’m taking my pants off

Gabe [3:25am]: Are you actually

Anya [3:25am]: No I’m too tired to reach that far

Gabe [3:25am]: Why aren’t you sleeping?

Anya [3:25am]: I’m nervous

Gabe [3:25am]: About the debate?

Anya [3:26am]: Yeah

Anya [3:26am]: We shouldn’t talk about it

Gabe [3:26am]: She’ll be ready

Gabe [3:26am]: And you guys have so much upside, we have nowhere to go but down

Anya [3:27am]: From your lips to god’s ears (KIDDING) (sorta)

Anya [3:27am]: Why aren’t you asleep? Still working?

Gabe [3:27am]: As ever

Gabe [3:27am]: I can’t believe I get to see you tonight

Gabe [3:27am]: Thank god the media team bought that crap about me needing to be onsite to do spin

Anya [3:27am]: It was only decent of them to let us kiss the night before our birthday

Anya [3:28am]: I’m bringing your present btw

Gabe [3:28am]: To the presidential debate?

Anya [3:28am]: No, to the Concord 4H Annual Pancake Breakfast

Anya [3:29am]: Which starts in four hours and thirty-two minutes

Gabe [3:30am]: You’re wonderful

Gabe [3:30am]: I wish I was there to protect you from the cold snap

Anya [3:31am]: I wish you were here to keep me awake all the way until breakfast

Gabe tended to keep a cool head no matter what crises he faced on a campaign. Every problem had a solution, and getting rattled wouldn’t help him find it. But tonight was a nationally televised debate in a presidential race where he was managing the front-runner’s campaign, and Gabe’s nerves were jangling (though he suspected that was due at least in part to how impatient he was to see Anya). Wheeler’s debate prep had gone well, but one of the media consultants, an aggressive guy named Lev, kept telling the senator to go negative. Gabe had been able to stave him off so far, but now the debate was starting in just over two hours, they were all gathered in Senator Wheeler’s hotel suite, and Lev was still pressing his argument.

“All the other candidates are gonna take shots at you, sir,” Lev asserted. “You don’t want to look weak.”

“Senator, getting into a dogfight with a bunch of no-name candidates is what will make you look weak,” Gabe countered. “You’re leading the field by double digits, and the podiums are arranged based on polling, so you’ll be right at the center of the stage. You don’t want to be swiveling your head back and forth like you’re fending off invaders. You’re calm and steady, the eye of the storm.”

“And you’re not worried I’ll seem like I’m incapable of leading? Like I’m ignoring the problems right in front of me?” Senator Wheeler asked Gabe. He was tall and trim, with perfectly coiffed dark hair, a complexion that was tan enough to seem healthy but not vain, and the sort of strong jaw Americans always liked to vote for. The outfit they’d focus-grouped for tonight’s debate—a navy suit with a white shirt and deep red tie—was hanging from a coatrack in plastic draping.

“Not at all,” Gabe said confidently. “Your opponent won’t be on that stage tonight—he’s watching this debate from the Oval Office. I promise you, every other Democrat wants to drag you down to their level, but your job is not to let them. You’re the presumptive nominee, and they’re none of your concern.”

Gabe’s phone chimed with a calendar notification.

“I need to get down to the stage for the walk-through,” he told them. “Are we good here?”