I hesitate before answering. I want to tell her yes, but the three options I have still sit there, none of them compelling me to take a step. “Not really.”
“Okay. I have something that may interest you while you decide. Maybe. No pressure. I don’t want to influence your choices, but this just seemed—”
“Spit it out, Auntie.”
“I have a friend from college in Oklahoma, Jim Nighthorse,” she says, an eager note entering her voice. “Cherokee Nation on his mother’s side. He’s running for Congress.”
My mental antennae peak and I go still. My fingertips tingle.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Tell me more.”
“He’s amazing, Lenn. He’s a lawyer, and has represented several cases on behalf of Cherokee Nation the last few years.”
“That all sounds incredible. What do you want? How could I help?”
“You could work on his campaign. I can email you his file, but don’t take a long time to decide. He’s setting up interviews now to outfit his staff. It’s gonna be a tough race. His opponent, the incumbent, supported a company’s bid for a pipeline in Oklahoma a few years ago.”
As soon as she says the words, something clicks and settles inside of me like I was waiting to hear them. I’ve heard so little about this man and this opportunity, but already it feels right. That’s been happening to me a lot lately. I felt certain about last night, about Maxim, and for some reason, I feel certain about this.
“And you think I can help?” I ask, even though I already believe I can.
“Yes. He needs someone bold and young, but wise and wily.”
“And you think that’s me?” I ask with a huff of humor.
“Oh, I know it is.”
I straighten from the wall and start back toward the table where my best friends wait, still dipping fries in mayo.
“Send me the file.”
17
Maxim
“My mouth is on fire, Doc.” Lennix waves her hand in front of her pouty lips, her eyes watering. I laugh and lift my glass of water for her to drink. Between greedy sips and gasps, she grins.
“I told you to slow down.” I fork through the portion of daging blado on my plate, the spicy, tender braised beef singeing my tongue and setting my taste buds on fire.
“Well I, for one,” says Kimba, “am loving the hell out of this fish. It’s spicy, too, but so good. What’d you call it, Max?”
“It’s sate lilit,” I reply. “Glad you like it. How’s yours, Viv?”
The pretty brunette’s glasses are practically fogged from the heat piled on her plate. “Everything is delicious. Thank you for bringing us here.”
“Best rijsttafel in the city.” I glance around the table, loaded with more than a dozen dishes of meat and vegetables and rice. Lots of rice, which is kind of the point. “You can’t come to Amsterdam and not have rijsttafel.”
“It’s a lot of food,” Lennix murmurs, scooping up rice and sate kambing, the savory goat she agreed to try.
“This is one of my favorite places in the city for it,” I tell them. “We had some in Utrecht, but this one’s better.”
“So you studied climate change there?” Kimba asks, chewing goat meat carefully as if considering whether or not she likes it.
“Climate science is my degree, but climate change is certainly a part of it, yeah.”
“What will you do with it?” Kimba asks.
“E