The Fade

38

The moment you've all been waiting for... the Friday update, lol.

Here it is, in all its glory!

ALSO: I don't remember what day I said I was resuming The Fade (obviously I resumed much earlier), but if you have not been reading this story since I went on hiatus, please make sure you go back to the beginning of Part 2 so that everything makes sense! Thank you!

*** ***

"This feels so wrong," Ori says as we step over the threshold and enter the private living quarters of the First Family.

"It's not like anyone else is using it," Jamison says, going straight to the kitchen.

I follow him, decidedly hungry.

"Wow, and I thought my mom had all the fancy kitchen stuff money can buy." He gestures to the gleaming appliances, the wide counters, the countless cupboards and drawers and organizational bins.

He walks around, opening and closing random cupboards. "Okay, I'm cooking us a real meal tonight."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Yes, I can cook. I'm practically a master chef."

"Right. I'll believe it when I see it."

"Prepare to have your taste buds rocked." He slides a hand across the spotless countertop as he walks toward me. "In the meantime, though, we have a White House to explore."

He grabs my arm and pulls me along behind him.

"Do you think anyone Faded here?" he asks after we've peeked into three separate rooms and each one is as immaculate as the last.

"Who knows? Last thing I heard about the president, he was flying to Dallas for a big conference. And that was months ago."

"So he's most likely gone."

I nod, jerkily, suddenly taken aback by the thought that even the President of the United States was not immune to the Fade. I've never even thought about it before.

"Shame. This place is rad."

I laugh. "Of course you would think so, you weren't living here every day. I'm sure the novelty wears off after a while."

"And I think that's a load of crap." He shuts the sock drawer, whose contents he was examining rather intensely, and returns to the doorway to grab my hand. "I meant what I said earlier," he says, suddenly very solemn. "I want you to be my First Lady. Even if... even though there's a good chance I won't be made President."

I can't help but smile. It's just so hard to take him seriously. "Jamison Monroe, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?"

He shrugs. "Girlfriend, primary travel buddy, whatever you'd like to call it."

I laugh, but only until the expectant look on his face makes me realize he's not joking.

"Oh. Um..."

"You don't have to," he says quickly. "I just thought-"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be!" I punch his arm.

He finally laughs. "Okay, I'm sorry, I just wanted to make sure..."