“For Niles’s sip and see. Did you forget?”
Of course she had. Mainly because she had planned to avoid it. But her cousin was the head chef at his future father-in-law’s new restaurant, and this would be a good networking opportunity for Faith.
Rachel assured Faith that she’d be attending, disconnected, and immediately moved away from Matt. If he noticed the slight, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he glared at her dress.
“I know you do the signature color thing for parties, but you can’t wear red to my fundraiser.” He propped his hands against his hips, forcing his suit jacket to flap behind him like wings. “It sets a tone. I’m running as a progressive Democrat. I can’t have my wife parading around in Reagan red.”
“That’s not an actual color.”
“Come on, Rachel, you can’t phone it in. That is not what we agreed to.”
“I agreed not to file for divorce.”
“And maintain the status quo. Which includes not humiliating me in public. You look like you’re headed to a singles bar.” The laziness of his insult stole her breath. So this was who they were now. Petty. Bitter. He used to preen in public whenever she wore something revealing on a date. Now he glared at her low neckline like it was a thong peeking out of her jeans.
“Why does it bother you so much?” She pressed a hand to her chest, over her pounding heart. “I like my body. I look good in red.” Since Matt’s confession, wearing the body-conscious clothes at the back of her closet had become an affirmation instead of a constant source of anxiety. They hugged every curve the Abbott publicity machine had tried to hide. “Is there something wrong with people finding me attractive? Does that mess with your poll numbers in some way?”
“Everyone knows you’re a beautiful woman.” He sighed, and his voice softened as if he were explaining things to a child. “You don’t need all this.” His gaze dripped with pity. “I know you’re hurting, but trust me, this isn’t the attention you want.”
She opened her mouth to speak but closed it quickly so she wouldn’t tell him it was too late. That Nathan had already proved him wrong. A laugh bubbled inside her throat and escaped her pressed lips.
He glowered in silence until she finished. “So everything is a joke to you now? Is that why you’re playing these games? I know you’re the one who broke my car window, by the way.”
Rachel shrugged. “You should be more careful about where you park it. You are up for reelection. Maybe it was a dissenting voice.”
“This is my career, Rachel. Forget this mayoral bullshit. I’m a year and a half away from Washington. Don’t ruin this for me.” He inhaled and his voice softened. “Please.”
She grabbed her purse and walked to the door. “Your tie is crooked.”
He looked down at the awkward knot. “Damn Windsor. I can never get it right. How do you—”
“Fuck off,” she snapped, stunning him silent as she left the room.
Whenever Nathan walked inside the Oasis Springs Country Club, he felt like he’d traveled back in time. It was opened in 1964, the same year Tomás Vasquez opened his first coffee plant a few miles away. The floor was still covered in the same ugly shag carpeting, so thick it was a tripping hazard. When he brought Dillon, they used to sneak into the supper club between the lunch and dinner crowds to steal leftover desserts and half-empty wineglasses from neglected tables. They would bake beneath the sun with a buzz they struggled to hide from their parents. Sofia and Beto never noticed, but Joe would catch him almost every time.
Today, the dining room was filled with potential donors for Matt’s congressional run pretending they were there to support his mayoral campaign, though most didn’t live inside the city limits. A popular cable news host held a plate filled with shrimp and stood next to a woman who was recently named CEO of one of the biggest social media platforms in the world. Nathan wove through the sea of designer suits and heavy jewelry, catching snippets of conversation along the way. “What we really need is universal pre-K, like Matt is saying. It’s all about food insecurity. Did you read that piece in The Atlantic? Black Lives Matter unless they’re four-year-olds who need a carton of milk.”
Growing up, Nathan would be forced to sit through dinner parties with conversations like these—virtue signaling from people who had never used a social program in their lives. Even when he was young, he understood that it took more than caring about an issue to form an opinion on it. They’d whine about access to mental health care in one breath and complain about a panhandler obstructing traffic with his wheelchair in another: “If you give him anything, he’ll just keep doing it.”
Nathan had finally made it to the bar when he saw Matt Abbott smiling broadly, with his hair flattened into a Leave It to Beaver part. Matt’s voice projected over the low buzz of the crowd, who listened to him babble about billionaire tax brackets with the smug smiles of people who paid their bills with capital gains. It was the first time Nathan could glimpse what might have made him appealing to Rachel. He was telling animated stories with the same intensity that struck a nerve in that viral video. Nathan could imagine her being seduced by his passion.
Last night, Nathan had googled her in a moment of weakness. The first result was a tabloid headline speculating about the identity of Faith’s biological father. Another, shorter article mentioned an art project Rachel did in college that was banned for being obscene and damaged the department due to the scandal.
Reading it had made him want to call her. Instead, he had closed his computer and lied to Bobbi about being hungry so she’d come over to hang out and make dinner.
Nathan had just placed his drink order when Sofia appeared, and leaned in for air-kisses, steeping his lungs in bergamot and jasmine.
“You look so nice.” She ran approving eyes over his outfit. “I know you hate dressing up, but it’s such a good look on you.”
She was in full-on mothering mode, and he appreciated the attempt to make him feel better about standing out in the crowd. They were surrounded by clean-shaven men in dark blazers and light-colored pants, with solid ties. Nathan wore dark pants, no blazer, and a five-o’clock shadow because he’d been too preoccupied with Rachel to shave.
“I don’t hate nice clothes.” He accepted his drink and tossed a twenty into the bartender’s tip jar. “But I only own two of these shirts. Got to space them out so no one notices.”
Sofia gave him a familiar you’re adorable, but please behave look and guided him away from the bar. “You should make more of an effort with your father. I know he’s difficult. But you do things to make him angry.”
“My breathing makes him angry.”
She stopped walking and rounded on him. “You’re not a teenager anymore, Nathaniel. Your father is flawed, but he’s also human. And like you, he makes impulsive choices without thinking about how they affect the people who love him.”