IN RETROSPECT, THAT COULD’VE BEEN A LOT WORSE
Cady and Cameraman Max drove past the bare trees and bleak gray landscape of mid-February to the address on the Hill. Their show was, she had discovered, perpetually short-staffed so she’d decided she might as well just go herself to interview Parker. Plus, it was nice to get out of the office and begin to find her way around the city, now that it was really hers too and not just a place to visit on weekends. She fidgeted, tapped her fingers the whole way there, occasionally glancing at that thing on her ring finger: her long-lost engagement ring.
Jackson had texted the day before, something about a surprise, and she’d arrived home to the 3-carat asscher cut set in platinum. “Some guy dropped it off in an envelope at the office early in the morning,” he’d explained, presenting it to Cady on bended knee in the living room of their apartment. “Left it on Michelle’s desk out front and walked away without a word. He was gone before she put together what was going on.”
“Yay and also, that kind of creeps me out,” Cady had admitted. “I wonder where he found it and when and how long he had it.”
“Well, we had promised no questions asked if it was returned, right?” He shrugged.
“Not the easiest concession for someone in the news business, but I’ll take it.” Cady laughed. Then it dawned on her: “Hey, we’ve gotta tell Jay!”
“Why?” he asked flatly.
“Why?” she asked rhetorically. Was he kidding? “He’ll be so excited! Remember, he said he wanted a follow-up story if—”
“Do we really need to do that?” Jackson asked.
“Define need,” she said.
“I just think it’s a little much is all,” Jackson said, tentative, with a sigh. “We’ve got the ring. The whole world doesn’t need to know how we got it back.”
“I’m kind of…confused.” She shook her head. “I thought you liked Jay.”
“I do.” A hint of frustration crept into his voice. “I just don’t think we need to be the subject of any more articles.”
She didn’t understand, but she let it go for the moment, not wanting to ruin one of the rare nights when he wasn’t traveling. It was actually proving harder to have him away now that they were living together—she missed him even more. Somehow she had already forgotten how to be in a long-distance relationship. So they opened a bottle of wine celebrating the ring’s return and she secretly vowed to email Jay before too long.
She was anxious for any excuse to keep close to these new acquaintances she had been fortunate enough to make, and she wasn’t about to miss this opportunity. She had somehow happened upon this group that felt at the epicenter of the city, and they had, for some reason, welcomed her into their circle. To a transplant like Cady, still navigating her new position, new city, searching for some social life beyond just friends of Jackson’s, meeting these people seemed like an incredible gift.
Cady stole quick glances at the ring now as she and Max reached the building. The sparkly bauble made her whole hand look like it didn’t belong to her. But even if it didn’t quite feel right yet, it was undeniably gorgeous.
The bar occupied the ground floor of a row house, just a stone’s throw from the Hart Senate office building. The sign reading PREAMBLE was up, but the windows still appeared papered from the inside, concealing what she expected was still a construction site. Finding the door locked, she worried she had missed an email. Parker had written that morning attempting to cancel, then changing his mind again and telling them to come by in the afternoon. She imagined he just had a lot to do and was in crunch time before opening—she was still hazy on their official grand opening date. The bar’s website promised simply: Opening Soon! She had optimistically slated the piece to air this week as part of a package previewing upcoming openings and she didn’t feel like scrounging for a replacement.
Eventually Parker unlocked the door:
“Sorry, I’m all over the place today, not so much geographically as just mentally,” he said, the words pouring out.
“Hey.” Cady held out her hand to shake his. “You’re about to open a restaurant, that’s kind of major, thanks for making time.” She introduced Max, and he began setting up. “Glad you were free, we’ll make it fast.”
“No, yeah, no problem.” He ran his hand through his hair, agitated. “I just, I wasn’t going to today because it’s not the best day or whatever.”
“Oh, sorry, if there’s a better—”
“But then I couldn’t imagine a good time—” he just kept talking “—like, ever, anytime soon. So, yeah. Sorry. Great to see you, this is the place.” He nervously turned his watch around and around on his wrist as he spoke.
“It’s really…nice,” she said, wondering if they should go, how messy it might be to pull the interview from the show’s lineup. Parker had seemed fun, chatty, easygoing at Birdie’s party. In short, he had seemed like he would make for good TV. “This is a great location,” she went on.
“Yeahhhh, I know, it’s really, really expensive. I’m freaking out a little bit,” he said.
“I kinda sense that,” she said gently. Worst-case scenario, they could edit it choppily to mask his discomfort, right? “But, you know, nothing wrong with that. Being…genuine…works great on camera…most of the time. Let’s get you some bar patrons with this, right? Pay that rent!”
She wandered around the dim space. Max was tinkering with the lighting and camera near a red vinyl booth in the back.
“Love the graffiti,” she offered, pointing to the phrases adorning the walls, among them “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”
“An artist friend did that. I did the bar though.” He slapped his hand against the mahogany bar covered in penknife carvings.
“All of this?” She bent down to study some of the designs, names, dates, hearts with couples’ names, swirls, peace signs, four-leaf clovers. “How did you do this?”
“Little bit every day. It’s pretty much my only talent.” He smiled.
“Well, it’s a good one,” she said. “I bet you messed up a lot of desks in high school.”
He chuckled once. “I wanted the place to look lived in and, loved, you know?” he said, lost in his thoughts. He walked over to the center of the bar, traced a carving with his fingertip, then slapped a napkin on it as though killing an ant.
“But hey, you guys need drinks, what’s your poison?”
“Well, we’re working so—” Cady started.
“What’s on tap?” Max piped up.
* * *
Parker set down drinks for the three of them at the booth—a Diet Coke for her, beers for him and Max—and while Max miked him up, Cady reviewed the list of questions on her phone once more, slowly sipping her Diet Coke. When she looked up, she noticed Parker intently watching her hand that held the glass. The left one.
“Hey, so that’s nice,” he said somewhat bitterly, nodding. “What’s that three carats, cushion cut? No, asscher?” He knocked back the rest of his beer.
“A man who knows his diamonds,” she said. “Yeah, asscher.” She studied it herself. Wow, it was weird to have a rock like that.
“That’s awesome,” he said flatly. “Can you take it off?”
She thought he was kidding, but he looked too agitated. “This?” She laughed, a single unsure laugh. “Really? Should I, like, put it in the dish with the nuts?”
“Is that an option?” He held up the bowl. “Yes? Wait—” he dumped the nuts out onto the table “—maybe?”
“Uhhh…” She looked at Max, who appeared to be taping already.
“No, sorry, that’s…never mind… I just.” He took a deep breath, hung his head. “So, yeah, Melanie broke up with me. And gave me back the ring and all, not unlike that one, and I’m not sure if I can get my money back or what. I guess it’s good she gave it back, but now I have to deal with it. Hell, I could probably upgrade the bar stools or something with what I paid for that sucker. And this place, what the fuck? It’s like she left me with our kid—this bar—and ran away, and I don’t know how the fuck to raise it.” It all came out like one long sentence.
“Wow. Okay.” Cady nodded. She looked back at Max and made a motion to stop rolling.
“Yeah. Sorry. I tend to just expel…stuff… Am I talking too much? Still freshly wounded here. My filter is off. Way off.”
“Yeah, no, no, I get that. I’m really sorry. That’s awful. Okay, first.” She slipped off her ring, held it up for inspection and made a show of tucking it into her bag, nestling it into a small, zippered pocket.
He exhaled. “Thank you.”
“Next, total unemotional, fact-gathering question. What’s the deal legally with the bar? Any kind of joint custody situation or really you’re a single dad to it?”
“Single dad. Bought this place with my money. We were just gonna run it together.” He said it wistfully, and she felt for him.
“Okay, so let’s do this thing.” She clapped once, like a coach. “You just need an angle on this.”
“Right,” he said. And a second later, “What?”
“You know, do you want to go into the whole…thing…about what happened with Melanie? Go for, like, the sympathy vote to get people here?”
He was expressionless.
She was glad. “Because if I might make a suggestion…?”
He nodded.
“Let’s just rewrite history now. This is the first press you’ve done?”
“Yep.”
“Good. Pull down what’s on the website and write your own story, right now. New start.” She sensed this was going to take more work than anticipated and settled in for the long haul. As she spoke, she wound her hair into a bun and secured it with her pen, then nestled back into the booth. “Edit her out. Tell me why you, Parker—just Parker, not Parker of ‘Parker and Melanie’—wanted to start this place. Why does DC need another bar?”
He nodded as she spoke, looked into her eyes as though for hope, like he was getting revved up to play a game his team wasn’t expected to win, but he would sure try to beat the odds.
Parker took a deep breath and said, “This town needs a place for people to remember we’re all in this together, to make this country a better place. Right? Gotta remember the core values that got us all here.” He pointed to the graffiti on the walls, and Cady eyed Max, signaling to start taping again. “Get back to the time when folks who might not have entirely agreed, could still throw down some drinks and hammer out some deals. Congress is broken, right? Let’s fix it one drink at a time.”
Half an hour later, Cady had everything she needed, but she inadvertently kept Parker talking just because it was so easy. He leaned back in the booth like it was just the two of them, answered her questions with stories, a dream interview subject. He squinted when he was telling a good story or when he was listening, as though trying to figure it all out right then and there, unrehearsed. Her original instinct had been right.
“Growing up in Wilmette, Illinois, I was always that kid setting up lemonade stands, like way past the point of it being cool, my friends were practically driving over when I finally stopped.” He laughed at himself. “I just liked providing a service, something folks needed, being useful. And then in high school, I started interning for my local congressman. So this was in a way born out of all that work experience.”
“That’s perfect. And I think we’re actually all—” She was about to wrap up when she realized. “There’s just one thing. So you’ve taken a big gamble on this. Was it hard to leave the Hill? You said you loved it there, working for Senator Welling.”
“I’m an all-or-nothing kind of guy. I like to devote myself to one thing and do it really well. I loved working on the Hill. There are days I wish I hadn’t left. I still watch C-SPAN late at night when I can’t sleep. Not because it’s boring, but because it’s comforting to me. That’s the official answer. But, between you and me?”
“Sure.” She nodded.
“I just needed a break. It’s hard. It weighs on your soul when you feel like not enough is getting done. It’s all-consuming work, and sometimes it feels like you’re running in place, running really hard, like a marathon, in place. I was the intelligence committee guy, homeland security, weapons, those were my issues…”
“Heavy stuff, not the kind of thing you leave at the office at the end of the day,” she said.
“Yeah, so…” He began to darken.
“Maybe if you had a place like this to go at the end of the day…”
“Exactly, see, you get it. Make sure to tell everyone, half-price drinks if you bring someone with you from a different political party.”
“You just did. I guess you need an ID and voter registration to get in?”
“Now that’s a great idea, can I steal that?” he asked seriously.
“Sure, my consulting services are free of charge. I think we’re good here, thanks, Max.” She turned around to wave. “And thank you.”
“Yeah, sure, sorry for the…therapy session.”
“Just put the check in the mail,” she joked. “All we need now is some B-roll, you know, you walking down the street, arriving to work. Pouring drinks or something.”
“I have an awesome idea, just got this thing,” he said, smacking the table, excited, and disappeared into a back room. He returned with a hoverboard.
* * *
In no time they were set up outside the bar, dusk falling on the chilly evening, Massachusetts Avenue illuminated by car lights. Before he climbed aboard, Parker explained, off camera, that he had envisioned being that cool neighborhood business owner who rode to work on his new hoverboard. He had broken down and Amazoned one just hours after Melanie left. When the camera started rolling, he glided ten feet then the board shot a spark and bucked him off. He landed with a thump against the sidewalk pavement.
Cady gasped and ran over.
“Are you—?”
“I’m fine,” he said from the ground in a growling tone that suggested otherwise.
She gave him her hand. A few pedestrians leaving work veered around them, with pained expressions. “In retrospect, that could’ve been a lot worse,” she offered. “You could’ve, you know, totally gone up in flames.”
“Hard to tell, but I was actually a kick-ass skateboarder back in the day,” he said, massaging his elbow. He picked up the board. “Clearly this should be filed somewhere between ‘cry for help’ and ‘early midlife crisis.’”
“Good to get that outta the way early.” She laughed. “Maybe try that again, just walking in this time?”
* * *
“You have got to come, Rea! I am dying—dying!—of loneliness!” Jay pleaded into his phone.
“I don’t think, medically speaking, you can actually die of loneliness.” Reagan laughed, and in the background, Jay could hear the twins screaming joyfully. “Fuck. Guys, stop! Sorry,” she said to Jay.
“I have some case studies from respected medical journals I can send you,” Jay went on. He had attempted to keep every evening busy and bustling with dinners, plays, concerts, cocktails; he had never been so attentive to his wide circle of friends. Anything to keep from missing Sky in such a debilitating, annihilating way. So when he got Cady’s email about finding the ring, it seemed a perfect way to pass the evening hours. “Come on, you know you could use a night out. I need a writer for this story, you need—” More screaming came from the other end. “I’ll add babysitting expenses and cab fare into your fee. Or we can even meet at your place first.” He wasn’t above paying people to come out on a school night.
He knew it was self-serving. He could easily have assigned this to another writer, had it done over the phone, but he selfishly wanted to talk to Reagan about Sky, again, and have her set his mind at ease. Again.
“I’m in.” Reagan laughed. “You had me at babysitting expenses.”
* * *
Cady, Reagan and Jay, had already commandeered a leather booth at 2 Birds 1 Stone, the tucked-away basement bar in Logan Circle, when Jackson breezed in, five minutes late. It had taken so much convincing to get Jackson to agree to this, so Cady had been anxious. But as he greeted Cady with a kiss and them with a wide smile and warm handshakes, all her nerves fell away.
It didn’t hurt that Reagan introduced herself with, “I’m Reagan and you’re fantastic. Stellar job on the bling.”
“Stellar,” Jay repeated sincerely. He had grabbed Cady’s hand the moment he saw her, before even saying hello, to inspect it. “Check that out, power of the press, baby!” Then he’d added wistfully, “Awww, it’s really pretty.”
Cady noticed Jackson instantly ease up. “Thanks, relieved to have it back,” he said to Reagan. “You’re the one with the twins.” He snapped his fingers, as though putting it all together.
“That’s me. And I’m equally grateful you’ve got your ring, it means this one—” she nodded to Jay “—is subsidizing a rare night out for me to update your story.”
“Oh my God, I’m terrible, how are you feeling?” Cady asked now. She had been honored to be among the first Reagan had told about her pregnancy.
“Fine, fine,” she said, not completely selling it.
Cady gave her a questioning look, but Reagan only repeated herself, slightly more convincing this time.
“Congratulations,” Jackson said. “I can’t even imagine three kids.”
Cady shot him a look.
“I mean, right now, you know.”
“No, I know, believe me.” Reagan laughed. “Your fiancée, here, is my hero, by the way.” She nodded toward Cady.
“Yeah, she can be pretty heroic.” He grinned.
“Seriously, how many girls would say yes without a ring? Hello,” Jay joked. “So let’s hear it all. Go, go, go!”
Nestled in their cozy booth, Cady recounted the story of the ring’s return, amping up the drama as best she could. Jackson sat back, arm around her, polishing off two beers and offering only little nuggets. “Nope, no idea who the guy was”; “Yep, it was in perfect condition.”
At the end of the evening, before hopping in her cab, Reagan—who had only had to excuse herself to throw up once all night—pulled Cady by the arm, whispering, “Love him, he’s supercute!”
Cady was glad for the positive review. Jackson had actually been a bit quiet as the night wore on, and she felt like she’d done all the talking.
As they walked home in the chilly air, they held hands, and when they reached the apartment, Cady threw her arms around him. “Thank you, they love you. And so do I. And this thing ain’t so bad either,” she said, holding out her hand, admiring the diamond again. She could get used to the ring, she’d decided.
“You’re welcome. And you’re welcome,” he said, kissing her twice.
Reagan’s story posted the very next morning and reached No. 2 on The Queue.
* * *
“Someone is certainly getting grumpy in his old age,” Birdie cooed into the phone, sounding perfectly upbeat though quietly seething. This was no way to start the day. She hung her head over the back of her desk chair. She had at least worked out a time-share with Buck, allowing her to use her beloved home office from nine to five while he was over at Georgetown.
“You know me, Birdie, I always like to keep everyone guessing.” Bronson laughed on the other end. “Arnold needs to bring in young voters. Let’s have the kind of party they would like.”
“Well, that would be a cheap party. Maybe you’d like to lower the threshold for getting in the door?” She was kidding; it was a fund-raiser for God’s sake.
“We’re getting there. I like that! Done,” he said. “Now pick a place to match. The fat wallets will still come. Talk tomorrow.”
She threw her phone across the room, instantly regretting it. She missed landlines sometimes; it was so much more satisfying to slam a handset into its cradle.
She was beginning to feel like she’d lost her touch. Was Bronson just being prickly, as perhaps he always could be (and she was just usually not on the receiving end of it), or was it her? Buck leaving had set her off balance. She didn’t like this cold war that had settled between them, but she particularly didn’t appreciate that he had been the one to initiate it. It made her furious. This was a busy time for her, an exciting time for her business, and she didn’t have the time to be consumed with any personal drama.
She had been the one originally wronged; it wasn’t fair that the power balance had shifted this way. Though she could monitor his comings and goings and could easily declare a truce, all she wanted was for him to be bothered by this new arrangement. Really, all she wanted was to be missed and needed and wanted.
She turned the volume back up on the TV and flipped through the channels to clear her head. She passed the local news network and paused, recognizing the voice: that woman who had interviewed her, Cady. She’d always admired the crisp, clear tones of those who worked in broadcasting. When she was just starting out, Birdie herself had hired a speech therapist to mimic this intonation before deciding that there was something disarming about her drawl.
As the camera panned a dive bar, zooming in on quotations from the Declaration of Independence, a photo of Mount Rushmore with the presidents donning Ray-Ban Wayfarers, Birdie pulled up an old email and found the phone number. “Cady, love, it’s Birdie Brandywine…” As she spoke, Birdie kept one eye on the TV and another on her laptop, conducting a quick search and finding a new, freshly posted story on The Queue of Cady with her fiancé. “Hi! So I’m watching you, as we speak, and I have a question for you…”