Life With Nia | ONC 2020

Chapter 8

July 30th, 2019

I was one misplaced footstep away from losing my mind when I heard the knock at the door.

"Mara, I don't have your notes," I said, exasperatedly, as I swung the door open. I expected to see the lithe, young Chinese woman standing on the other side, looking nervous and doing something I despise. But it wasn't her.

"That's good to know, but I'm not Mara," Jake said, with a grin.

"Jake!" I jumped into his arms and held on tight while he closed the door behind him. Then, I stood up on my tiptoes and kissed him.

He was still grinning when I pulled away. "I take it you're happy to see me."

"Extremely," I said, and I kissed him again. "I thought we were seeing each other tonight."

"We are." He tightened his arms around me. "I couldn't wait." And just like that, we were kissing again, our bodies melding into one another.

Standing there, holding onto him, I remembered what comfort felt like; what safe felt like. I've been on the campaign trail for three months now, and every few weeks I have a mental breakdown. I don't think I would have made it this long if the senator hadn't allowed me to make some adjustments – taking a car instead of the campaign bus whenever possible and getting the aisle seats on cross-country flights, to name a few.

But while those adjustments have been helpful, they haven't changed the world around me. I still interact with campaign staffers and voters every day, playing the role of the Totally Normal Woman Who Definitely Isn't Obsessive or Compulsive while they do the things that make my heart palpitate. Every few nights, I find myself in a hotel room in a different city, calling Jake or Leo to sing them a song of grievances with a chorus filled with sobs.

It was Jake's turn to hear it two nights ago. Mara had dropped something on the floor of the campaign bus, and I recoiled at the sight of it. It was just lying there on the floor, waiting for me to step on it. I did my best not to cry when I told Jake I was losing it and I wanted to go home. He talked me down in part by reminding me that he would be in town Monday night to prepare for the debate, which is exactly what I'd been doing until Jake showed up at my door.

Now we were on the couch. His hands were under my shirt, and his lips were on my neck. My hands were on his shoulders and had just moved down to his back when I saw a notification light up my watch. I gently pushed him away and pulled out my phone to read the message. It read: 'Fitzgerald Conference Room 109. 10 minutes.'

"What is it?" Jake asked. He sounded annoyed, and I didn't blame him.

"I have to go." I touched his cheek and got up from the couch.

He sat there with his shirt half-unbuttoned, looking dumbfounded. "Seriously? It's not even 6 AM."

"Seriously." I walked over to the bed, fixing my hair, my shirt, and my skirt as I went. I took my blazer off the bed and shrugged it onto my shoulders. Then, I picked up the satchel I'd left lying next to the bed.

"Debate prep?" I looked over my shoulder to find him still sitting on the couch. He'd fixed his clothes, but his hair was as messy as ever, and he was threading his fingers through it.

I nodded. "I get to play Governor Llewelyn again." Governor Llewelyn is the Democratic front-runner, a moderate who the senator has to distinguish herself from in tonight's debate if she wants to break out of the crowded field.

"You don't strike me as a middle-aged white man, but maybe I'm biased," Jake said, wryly.

I laughed and walked over to the door. "Speaking of bias, you should get out of here before someone sees you." I opened the door and looked pointedly at him.