Alan gives a loud, long-suffering sigh. “Yeah. That’s how everyone reacts.”
“How did I not know y’all were related?”
Alan shrugs. “Different last names. And we don’t talk about it much.”
I remember Elizabeth from before, but her full name…Something about it is so familiar. I search my memory, trying to place it, but come up short. “Who is she?” I ask as I settle into my seat and grab my paddle.
Nikhil looks our way, confirming we’re all situated before untying the rope connecting us to the gate.
“She used to be county judge,” Alan replies.
Oh. Right. She wasn’t actually a judge, but for some reason that’s the title the county uses for its version of a mayor. I remember her name was bandied around a lot during the last big storm we had. She was on local news constantly, telling us to either evacuate or “hunker down.” But that would have been years ago. Back when I was in high school.
“You ready?” Nikhil asks, lifting his own paddle, and I nod. He begins counting, but after a few strokes, we don’t need it anymore. We’re sailing across the water smoothly.
“What is she up to now?” I ask Alan.
“Betty? I’m not sure. She went back to her old law firm after her term was up, but she’s also involved in a lot of nonprofit work. Still, I don’t think she wants to do that forever. I’m sure now that Congresswoman Garcia’s retiring, she’s thinking about that seat, but Betty doesn’t exactly share her future plans with me.” He sighs. “I should have remembered she’d be tuned in to the neighborhood frequency, but I was so panicked I wasn’t thinking straight. She eventually interrupted and asked if the two of us could switch to a different frequency and then…we talked.” He pauses. “We’d never talked about any of that stuff before, but it was good, I think.”
We’re halfway down the street, moving so much faster now that the wind’s died down and the rain’s let up. More light is breakingthrough the clouds, and it gives me hope. That the worst of the storm has passed. That the worst is almost over.
“I guess it’s true what they say,” Alan continues. “That communication is key.”
Nikhil casts a sidelong glance in my direction, and I pointedly ignore it.
“She asked if y’all could take me to her house, so we could keep talking, but I’m not sure—”
“Oh, it’s no problem,” Nikhil says quickly. “We can take you there.”
The eagerness in his voice almost makes me laugh. He’s obviously thankful to have an alternative to being stuck in the house with Alan chattering away. But me? My feelings are mixed. I’m not exactly a fan of Alan’s stories, but at least he’d provide some kind of buffer. Something to cut through the tension between Nikhil and me.
I chew my lip, anxiety growing as I think about it going back to being just the two of us. With the storm on its way out and Alan close to safety, there’s nothing to distract us anymore. Nothing to distract me from my purpose. From the reason I’m here.
My brain whirs, thinking about possible ways forward. Negotiation tactics. Strategies I can try. Different scenarios. I play them through in my head, trying to envision one that gets Nikhil to sign off on the paperwork in the quickest way possible.
It’s only when we reach Alan’s sister’s house that I process an important piece of information Alan just shared.
Congresswoman Garcia is retiring.
9
Congresswoman Garcia, like so many Texas politicians, represents a thoroughly gerrymandered district. It’s a sliver of downtown Houston and a large chunk of a couple surrounding suburbs, but the area is all still firmly within Harris County. And like most of Harris County, the district consistently votes blue. Despite the occasional competitor, Garcia’s held the seat comfortably for years.
I met her once at some breakfast fundraiser a few years ago. She was an absolute powerhouse. Her exterior had been deceptive, a frail frame, with a light pink shawl draped over her slightly hunched shoulders. But when she spoke, the whole room snapped to attention. No one could resist the command in her voice. The fervor. A decade-long leader on immigration and refugee policy, she spoke about human rights abuses at the border and fighting to increase refugee admissions. By the end of her speech, I’d wanted to rise to my feet. I hadn’t heard anyone talk about public service like that in so long, and it had made me really think about what could be possible.
I want to talk to Shake about all of this. We’d planned on my running for an open state representative seat in Maryland—in conjunction with his state senate run—but this could change things. My long-term goal has always been to run for Congress, and Congresswoman Garcia’s seat is in my hometown. I have a connection here that I don’t have in Maryland, and I care deeply about the work she’s done. It’s a legacy I’d like to carry forward. Even if local hero Elizabeth Jeffries makes a play for the seat, these kinds of races can be unpredictable. When a long-term incumbent voluntarily steps aside, sometimes things break in favor of a wild-card pick. We could at least run it by our advisory group. See what they think. That is, if I can get Nikhil to sign off on this divorce. And if Shake still wants to get back together, wants to run together, once all of this is over.
As Nikhil and I tie off the canoe and follow Alan into his sister’s house, I remember that my phone is broken. That even though I want to talk with him, I won’t be able to share any of this news with Shake until I get home.
“Alan, is that you?” a woman calls, and Alan increases his pace.
“Betty, hi!” he says eagerly. “It’s me. And I’ve brought friends.”
“Friends?” Nikhil mouths at me behind Alan’s back, a teasing glint in his eyes, and I fight the urge to laugh.
A tall, middle-aged white woman with short brown hair comes out to greet us, and I recognize her immediately from all the times she came on local news when I was a kid.
She goes up to Nikhil first, her arms spread out wide as she wraps him in a hug.