“This wasn’t about the candidate. A member of your focus group goes to my church. You asked whether Rachel was an appropriate fit for a US congressman.”
Hailey’s eyes were on Rachel now, pleading. Alesha spun around and positioned herself between them, blocking Hailey’s view. “You didn’t know about any of this, did you?”
“You’re mischaracterizing it,” Hailey sputtered. She sidestepped Alesha with an outstretched hand. “This was nothing. A last-minute addition to our regular polling. The feedback was disappointing, but we can pivot a little. Find a new direction.”
Rachel realized that Hailey expected some sort of life raft from her. Did she really think they were friends? “So, I’m the wrong direction?”
Hailey’s neck snapped back and her eyes widened. “Absolutely not. You are incredibly impressive. Stunning is a word that was used, more than once.”
She’s pretty like a picture. That’s how these people thought of her. Vapid. Boring. Useless. “So, they like my face, but not me.”
“You know how this works.” Hailey was all-business now, her clipboard angled toward Rachel like a weapon. “People need to know what box to check. It’s human nature. You can be difficult to categorize.”
Rachel had heard this complaint before. She was a homemaker who wasn’t domestic enough. A socialite that was too introverted. A Black woman whose struggle-bus backstory included studying art history at one of the best HBCUs in the country. But at least she was pretty. She could stand in front of the cameras and give them something nice to look at while they searched for the least offensive box to stick her in.
Mia raised her hand. “Okay, I think everyone needs to take a deep breath right now. This sounds like something that should be between Rachel and her husband.” She looked at Alesha. “And off the record.” Her voice was different, like that night when she found Rachel sitting in the rosebushes. It was probably the same tone she used to keep abusive husbands from becoming unhinged.
“The public has a right to know that Matt Abbott is doing sketchy shit behind his wife’s back,” Alesha said. “Rachel deserves better. That man is going to humiliate her and then—”
“Stop! All of you, just…” Rachel’s breathing was shallow and erratic. She closed her eyes and tried to regain control so it wouldn’t become a full-on panic attack. But she could still sense them hovering. Watching. She was tired of being around people who borrowed pain for a living. Mia’s contrived handholding. Alesha’s greedy outrage. They thought they knew her, but really, they only knew which vulnerable spots they could exploit to get their way.
Rachel walked away, ignoring Alesha’s protests. She had just reached her car when her phone vibrated.
Nathan: Saw this. Thought you might like it for your next burger.
It was an ad for an adult bib—a big napkin that snapped at the neck. Rachel smiled. And then she was laughing, so loud and hard that a woman passing by stopped to stare. He always seemed to show up just in time to undermine her misery until it vanished.
Rachel: Does this mean I’m on your mind?
Nathan: All the time.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It had been a while since Nathan accepted Dillon’s offer to get high, and it had been even longer since Bobbi joined them. Earlier that day, Joe had dropped off an invitation to their parents’ anniversary party. The envelope sat on Nathan’s coffee table, currently being used as a coaster. Bobbi grabbed the card and pinned it to his refrigerator with a magnet. “Forty years is a big deal,” she said. “Try to be happy for them.”
Bobbi viewed his parents the way everyone else did—as the Mexican Obamas, an untouchable power couple who still engaged in socially acceptable public displays of affection. But Nathan had seen the ugly side of his parents’ marriage more often than anyone realized. At sixteen, he’d overheard them arguing about a pregnant woman who had shown up at Beto’s office. Nathan didn’t stick around long enough to know whether his father had denied the baby was his. Secrets that big were parasitic. Life was easier when you kept it small: girls, parties, rinse, repeat. His parents taught him that he wasn’t built for marriage, or mortgages, or any other notarized lifelong commitment; not when he’d spent his whole life feeling like an obligation. He’d rather spend the rest of it being chosen.
Dillon slipped a vape between his lips and inhaled. He held his breath, speaking in tight bursts. “What about Forged in Flames?”