Page 80 of See You Next Tuesday

Anya backed out of the post-election trip to New Orleans. Kira and Simone wanted to come to Chicago instead, but Anya told them they deserved a real vacation. Senator Sessego sent a beautiful letter about how much she appreciated Judy’s service as a teacher and a perpetual volunteer for every good cause she’d ever believed in. Walt had the letter framed and put it on the mantel, next to a photo of Judy in college at a protest.

December passed, and then January and February, and it was too cold to leave the house, which was fine because Anya didn’t want to. She ordered groceries and cooked warming things, stews and casseroles. When Walt got home from work, he and Anya would sit on the couch, eating whatever she’d made, watching season after season of reality TV.

In March, the calls started coming in. They were nine months out from the Iowa caucus, three months from the first debate, and eight Democrats were getting into the presidential race. Despite the Kincaid loss, Anya had a sterling reputation, and everyone wanted to meet with her. Anya sent polite texts and emails explaining that she appreciated the interest but had no plans to join a campaign this cycle. She kept expecting that one morning she’d wake up and be bored, or crave interaction, or anything different. But she only ever felt tired. At least cooking for her dad gave her a reason to get out of bed.

Kira and Simone called regularly, and Anya picked up when she could. It was good to hear their voices, to listen to them talk about their jobs, about the campaign offers they were weighing. They were both experiencing something akin to the massive indifference Anya felt about the race—or at least, the same lack of inspiration. They were all getting older; the prospect of working brutal hours for no money for some long-shot candidate (or worse, some political machine preordained nominee) wasn’t nearly as intoxicating as it used to be.

And Gabe? He texted every day.

It started as a reliable hello: It’s Monday, and I’m thinking about you, or It’s Saturday, and I hope you’re doing okay. But as the weeks and months wore on, the texts got longer, more involved—became funny little news reports: It’s Thursday, and I just rode a city bus with an entire daycare class. It turned out we were on our way to the same museum, where I was planning to look at art and I can only presume that they were plotting an elaborate heist. In line for our tickets, one of the boys in the class started singing “Let It Go,” and then they all started singing “Let It Go,” and they did not stop for a solid thirty minutes, which is the story of how I spent my entire afternoon at one of the best art museums in the country humming like a Disney princess.

Anya soon began to doubt whether the reports were even true, but she looked forward to them all the same. She would reply haha or send a heart emoji, or sometimes they’d joke back and forth for a couple of lines, but never more. Anya knew from Simone that Gabe and Tallulah had broken up and that Gabe hadn’t gotten the job managing Wheeler’s presidential race. Simone said Gabe was in a pretty bad funk himself. But he still sent the texts every day.

Sometimes he’d text something like, It’s Tuesday, and I’m looking at flights to Chicago for this afternoon. Should I buy a ticket? But Anya always said no. She’d had so many feelings for and about Gabe over the years, and at a time when she could barely bring herself to shower, the idea of figuring out where they stood felt too exhausting to contemplate. She liked the way things were now. It was simple and dependable. It didn’t require too much.

Anya’s life stayed more or less the same until June, when Kira called to ask for a favor.

“It’s my aunt Sierra,” she said. “She lives on Orcas Island, off the coast of Seattle?”

“Right.” Anya nodded, vaguely remembering. “The aunt you and Gabe went to stay with after Vieques?”

“Yeah, exactly!” Anya could hear Kira’s smile through the phone. “She’s going through this big life transition. She retired a couple years ago, she used to be an ob-gyn. And she’s been so fed up with everything happening with women’s rights, so she decided to run for local office. San Juan County Council.”

“Does she think the San Juan County Council has a lot of impact on women’s rights?” Anya asked.

“Honestly, they probably will if Aunt Sierra gets elected.”

Anya laughed. “Okay, so what’s the favor?”

“It’s kind of a big one,” Kira admitted. “She’s been calling every day, asking questions about every little thing about campaigning. And I can’t not take the calls, you know? But we’re in the middle of an open primary and I work at the DNC, so it’s not exactly a good time for me to be spending hours on the phone explaining how to cut turf.”

“So you want to tell her to call me instead?” Anya asked.

“Actually…” Kira took a breath. “Actually, I was thinking maybe you could go out there?”

“Oh.” Anya’s throat felt tight.

“So many of her questions are such easy stuff, like accessing the VAN. But it takes forever to explain, and then the next day she needs it explained again anyway,” Kira said. “It’d be so much simpler if she had someone in person.”

“Is it, like, a job?” Anya asked.

“Not technically,” Kira hedged. “More of a volunteer position. But Sierra’s house is incredible, it’s right on the water, and you’d have her guest cabin and a car, and Orcas in the summer is unreal. It’s like the most beautiful place on the planet.”

“It sounds nice,” Anya said, “but—”

“I know the timing is bad,” Kira plowed forward. “And I mean, if you’re not ready, or your dad doesn’t want you to go, I’ll totally understand. I wouldn’t even ask, it’s just—Sierra was the one who got my whole family in line when I came out, you know? I’d do anything for her. And her wife passed last year. I think she really needs this.”

There was something desperate in Kira’s voice—something that called to Anya’s anguish in kind.

“I have to talk to my dad,” Anya said softly.

“Really?” Kira sounded so relieved. “Anya, I would owe you so hard, you have no idea.”

“Come on, Kira.” Anya smiled, just a little. “You know damn well I could get your entire bloodline elected to Congress and I’d still owe you.”

“All right, who’s calling this meeting to order?”

“I think you just did, Trish,” Anya joked.