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"Now," Sunday says, taking her first sip of wine. "Honey, Jack is gone. He's not coming back. And he has no right to sit in judgment--wherever he may be--about how you live the rest of your life. I knew the man for a lot of years, and you know I had no bad feelings towards Jack Hudson until this whole situation went down," she motions at the window as if this somehow indicates his entire second life in France, "but I have to say that things changed a little. I think you have every right to live your lifewithoutregard to his memory--hell, go sleep with his brother if you feel like it, nobody would judge that--"
Ruby chokes on her wine.
"But if all you want to do is find someone smart, funny, interesting--"
"And young and hot," Ruby interjects, smiling for the first time.
A wicked smile spreads across Sunday's face and she glances at Banks. "Sorry, we have to appreciate those facts, hon," she says to him with a shrug.
"No apology necessary." Banks lifts his wine glass in a small toast and then takes a drink.
Turning back to Ruby, Sunday grows serious again. "But if all you want to do is simply move on, in a totally honest, real way, then sweetheart, you need to do it. Let a man kiss you. Let yourself feel moved by romance and desire. Maybe even let yourself fall in love," she says, sounding hopeful. "You're not even fifty yet--you've got years and years left to live, and no one owns you or your heart. You're nobody's wife, and you aren't living in the White House under a microscope. From this day forward, you get to be you, okay?"
Ruby's eyes have filled with tears, and she swipes at them with her fingertips, one elbow still resting on the table. "Okay, Sun," she says. "Okay."
"I think we should finish that pasta," Sunday says, nodding at the mess on the island. "I bet the three of us could turn that into an early dinner in no time."
And they do. With more music, more wine, and some teamwork, they cook up a batch of spaghetti carbonara with chunks of crisp bacon, tangy bits of heirloom tomato, and a light but creamy sauce. Banks mostly takes a backseat, watching the women work in tandem to cook and whip up something worthy of a photo, and when they're done, they take their pasta bowls out to the front room where Ruby turns on the television and they all settle in on the couch.
"Movie? TV show? What are we feeling?" Ruby asks, pulling her feet under her as she points the remote at the television set. It springs to life with an array of apps on the home screen.
"Gilmore Girls," Banks says without hesitation, surprising even himself.
The women turn to look at him, then glance at each other.
"Didn't see that one coming," Sunday says. She reaches over and puts a hand on Banks's thigh as they sit next to each other on the couch. "I love a man who's full of surprises."
Ruby chooses Netflix and finds the show, clicking on episode one, which instantly fills Banks with nostalgia and a warm feeling of comfort. He's here, on the couch with a woman he's possibly falling for, sitting across the living room from a woman he deeply admires, eating homemade pasta and watching a show that is the equivalent of comfort food to him. In this moment, he feels as if he quite literally could not be happier.
As they settle in to watch the show together, twisting pasta around their forks and then washing it down with wine, Banks realizes that for the first time in forever, he feels like he's at home.
Chapter15
Banks
Ruby's called in a replacement for Banks for a few days and given him time off to accompany Sunday to D.C. She's got an appearance to make for the National Council for Adoption, and her daughter, Cameron, is having a baby shower to which Banks has been roped into attending. For both events he's meant to be her date and not her protector, and this is a role that feels somewhat foreign for him. Attending an official event on the arm of the beautiful wife of a politician--even an ex-wife--rather than as her bodyguard is going to take some getting used to.
Not that Banks minds--he absolutely doesn't. Sunday wants to introduce him to people as her boyfriend, and that makes him feel good. Important and good. Like he matters to someone.
"What do we think of this?" Sunday asks as he sits on the bed in their hotel room. She's pulled two dresses out of her suitcase and put them on hangers, and now she's holding them both up for his inspection.
"You'll be stunning in either one."
Sunday blows him a kiss. "Yes, sweet man, but are they both appropriate to the occasions? I still have time to shop, if necessary."
Banks flexes his bare feet on the bed and leans back against the headboard. "I assume the blue one with polka dots is for the baby shower," he says, pointing at the one that's lightweight and less formal. "And the red one is for the adoption event."
"I think red sequins might be a bit much for a baby shower," Sunday says, holding the dazzling red dress with the slit up one thigh in front of her body and doing a little shimmy. "Cammy has just started talking to me again recently, so I don't want to show up to her big day wearing a dress that would stop traffic."
Banks knows that Cameron was hard on her mother, and that it took her some time to come to terms with the way Sunday lived her life and conducted her marriage, but in his eyes, it was never Cameron's business anyway. Staying married to the Vice President had come at a personal cost to Sunday, but it had also been the life she'd married into, and she'd honored her agreement to be on his arm throughout his term in the White House, which is something that Banks admires. Of course he also admires the fact that she served her no-good ex-husband with divorce papers basically the same day that his time as V.P. expired, but it took Cameron a bit more time and mental wrangling to understand that her mother had done what she felt was right.
"So we have the Adoption Council event Monday night at the Whittemore House, but the shower on Sunday afternoon is...where?" Banks uncrosses his bare feet and recrosses them as he watches Sunday hang both dresses in the closet.
"Apparently Cammy's friends chose a content creation studio as the backdrop for the shower." Sunday's voice is slightly muffled as she disappears into the walk-in. She comes back out looking vexed. "And don't ask me what that is, because all I know is that young women call themselves 'content creators' and make images of themselves to post on line, which is the 'content.' From there...I'm not sure. I guess they get famous?"
Banks frowns. "But how? And are we talking content of themselves in bikinis?"
"Oh, god, I hope not!" Sunday laughs. "Not that they aren't all gorgeous ladies, but a woman who is eight months pregnant should probably not be posting photos of herself strutting around in a bikini. Or wait--maybe she should?" Sunday puts both hands to the sides of her face and shakes her head. "I'm so confused about what's okay to say these days, and if I'm even allowed to voice what I think is right and wrong!"
