Page 107 of See You Next Tuesday

After more than a decade working in politics, Anya thought she knew quite a lot about how thrilling campaigns could be: She’d met celebrities and world leaders, flown on private jets and stood in the room as election results rolled in and candidates’ lives changed forever. But she’d never experienced anything like this past week; she wasn’t sure many people in campaigns ever had. The audience at The Tonight Show screaming for Jo, donations flooding in online, crowds cheering for them on the tarmac when their plane landed in New Hampshire the next morning (Anya’s birthday, and a great goddamn way to start the day at that), lines of people snaking around blocks waiting to get into Jo’s speeches and town halls, house parties so packed with activists who wanted to meet Jo that Anya and the rest of the road staff had to wait on the back porch because there was no room to stand inside.

Today was their first stop back in Nevada since the debate, and it was wall-to-wall mob scenes. Anya couldn’t believe they were in the same city where she used to send out multiple emails a day begging people to donate and volunteer to help Jo reach the Senate. She didn’t have to beg anymore. She felt like the rest of the country was finally starting to see what she’d always known about Jo: She was the real deal. She was the kind of leader you spent your whole life waiting for.

She was also, at the moment, solidly two hours late for her next campaign stop. That was the problem with a candidate who genuinely cared about each and every person who came to her events—it was impossible to get her off the rope line.

“Is she almost done?” Anya asked Nicole, the senator’s body woman. “I need to get her on the phone with Kira and Simone.”

“She asked for more time. Maybe we can cancel our next stop?” Nicole bit her lip as she flipped through today’s schedule. “Dinner at Lotus of Siam? What’s that?”

“That’s local union presidents. We can’t cancel that,” Anya said.

“Can’t even be late to that unless we want to see some steelworkers have a conniption—not that I’m saying I wouldn’t,” their digital staffer, Hugo, piped in. Hugo was Black and chubby with freckles, glasses, a scraggly beard, and a great sense of humor. He was the only man on the road team, and so totally chill about it that they all adored him. They’d named their group thread “Hugo’s Harem,” and at least once a day someone on it requested that Hugo buy tampons (he always did).

“Hugo’s right, no steelworker conniptions today,” Anya joked. “Just get her off the rope line ASAP.”

They were outside the Las Vegas convention center, near the north end of the strip. They’d rented a meeting room big enough to seat a thousand for Jo’s town hall this morning, and it had been standing room only. The Strat’s tower loomed high in the background—Anya’s breath caught as she saw two bungee jumpers leap from the side.

“Hi, Mom,” she said softly. She found that when she looked for signs of Judy, she saw them all around her. Then her phone started buzzing, and she burst into a smile when she saw Gabe’s name on the screen.

She picked up immediately. “Hey! You’ll never guess where I am.”

“Outside the convention center, looking extremely attractive in a tight red sweater?”

“What?” Anya looked around. “Are you here?”

“No, MSNBC is running live footage of the rope line while they talk about your candidate’s meteoric rise, supposedly of Jo, but I think they’re trying to juice their ratings by putting a hot staffer on TV.”

“Ha ha,” Anya fake laughed, but she flushed with pleasure. “I didn’t even realize there was national press here.”

“Of course there is. You’re the biggest story in the country.” Gabe sounded so proud of her, but there was a note of strain in his voice too.

“Is everything okay?” she asked. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I can see the Strat from here, and two crazy idiots jumped off of it. It made me think how happy my mom would be.”

“About Jo?” he asked.

“Yeah. And about you and me.”

There was a second of silence. Anya wasn’t sure if he’d cut out.

“Gabe?” She put a finger in her other ear so she could hear better. “Are you there?”

“I’m here.” He sounded perfectly clear—weird. “Listen, can I take your temperature on something?”

Something in his tone made Anya feel anxious. “What’s up?”

“It’s about this weekend,” he said carefully. “They want me in DC to do the Sunday shows.”

“Oh.” Anya’s whole body felt hollow. “And you— Are you going to?”

“I don’t want to.” His voice was low but urgent. “I can’t tell you how much I don’t want to.”

Anya already knew what was coming next. “But…”

He sighed. “But they’re not making it seem that optional.”