“We’ll see you in the morning,” Kimba says. “Thanks for tonight, Maxim. It’s been great.”
“And I don’t think you’ve checked your phone once to see if Stephen called, Viv,” Lennix teases.
Vivienne instantly digs into her purse and retrieves her phone.
“He did!” She holds the screen for us to see, her face triumphant. “Two missed calls. God, that man loves me.”
They continue chatting while I settle the bill. Vivienne and Kimba are still nibbling from half-empty dishes and sipping their beer when Lennix and I slip out the door, rich aromas following us into the street.
“That was really sweet of you.” Lennix grabs my hand and pulls me closer until she’s pressed into my side. “Dinner for them, I mean.”
“Small price to pay for time with you. I was more than willing. Besides they’re great.”
“They’re the best. Kimba and I met at a voter registration drive on campus.” She chuckles against my shoulder. “We registered Viv to vote. We’re both public policy majors. Vivienne is journalism.”
“Nice. She and her boyfriend seem really serious.”
“Fiancé, and I can’t believe he let her out of the country. He’s as bad as my father. Stephen and Viv are joined at the hip.”
“That’s great, that they’ve found each other so young.”
“I guess. I do worry sometimes that it’s a lot. I mean, he’s out of school already. Living in New York. He’s in finance. She’ll move there when she graduates for sure.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“She’s turning down the LA Times to be with him.”
“And you don’t think that’s wise?”
“I wouldn’t do it. I mean, it’s New York, so she’ll probably find something else, but there’s no guarantee. Would I set aside my ambitions and goals to follow some man?” Her scoffing breath clouds in the cool air. “No way.”
“Good for you. You already know how I feel.”
“Yep.” She turns her head from my shoulder to consider the glimmering canal bordering the street. “No attachments.”
“Right.” I thread our fingers together and pull her closer. “No attachments.”
The silence deepens between us while we walk, and I wonder if I said the wrong thing somewhere along the way—if I’ve been too honest about how things need to be between us.
“So what about you?” I ask after a few moments. “Thought any more about which of the three opportunities you’ll take?”
“There’s actually a fourth on the table now. My godmother called today. Her friend is running for Congress, and she thinks I should be on his team. He’s Native and smart and has been doing great work for the Cherokee Nation in Oklahoma.”
“Wow. That sounds like it could be amazing. You gonna do it?”
Her shrug is quick. “Mena, my godmother, is sending some stuff for me to look at so I can see what he’s all about. This could be it, though.”
“It?”
“I feel like a missile ready to go, but waiting for launch codes and a destination. Poised, powerful, but not sure where to aim. Today when Mena was telling me about this campaign, I wondered if this is my target. Something seemed to . . . I don’t know, make sense. You ever thought about going into politics?”
“Hell, no.” I fake a shudder. “Dirty business, politics. You can’t have a soul and be a politician. Believe me, I have a family full of them.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, my uncle was a mayor. We’ve got a few congressmen in our illustrious family tree. And my older brother’s a senator. He’s gonna be
your president in about ten years, by the way.”