Double Team

"I just can't believe you flew to Colorado to lecture me about something so stupid," I snap. "I'm an adult. Even if I were in a relationship with Vi, which is obviously silly, it wouldn't be any of your business."

"Not my business?" she huffs.

"My personal life is no one's business," I protest, suddenly more filled with bravado than I ever have been. "No one's. Not yours, or dad's, or the press, or anyone's. And if I were seeing Vi, it would be my relationship."

"So you are seeing Vi." My mother's eyes go wide.

"I'm not seeing Vi," I say, exasperated. "But if I was, I wouldn't stop just because you didn't think it was politically expedient."

Look at me, all brave and… full of shit. Brave enough to talk about what I wouldn't do in the case of dating Vi, not brave enough to come clean about Noah and Aiden and I.

"You're not seeing Vi," my mother repeats, her voice skeptical.

"I'm not seeing Vi," I sigh, rolling my eyes. "She kissed me on the cheek. It's not like we were making out at the event. The whole thing is more than ridiculous."

"Grace Monroe Sullivan," my mother cries. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but your language ill-befits a woman of your breeding."

"My breeding?" I laugh. "I'm not a horse."

She ignores the comment. "Brandon Redding. Harvard and Yale. He's going to be seen in public with you. You've been dating for three months, keeping things quiet so as not to distract from the campaign. You're hopeful about where the relationship is going and you can see a future with him. He's already been briefed. He'll pick you up at seven o'clock tomorrow night. Paparazzi are on notice."

"I'm not going out with some guy you've hired to play my boyfriend," I protest, appalled.

She waves at me dismissively. "He's doing it for free."

"I'm not going out with him, mother."

She ignores me. "He'll take you out this weekend, and he's already been told to clear his schedule for the Fourth of July. That will be your introduction to the Washington crowd."

"I'm not–"

She's out the door before I can even finish my sentence.

Later, my father calls me. “Gracie, I heard about your mother’s visit.”

"Your wife is insane. I'm not being set up with some guy for PR purposes, Dad."

"You know your mother," he says. "She thinks it'll be good press. It will be good press. You're not seeing anyone, are you? She swore you weren't seeing anyone. Brandon is from a good family – he's even attractive, too. It’s not like she set you up with an ugly man."

"No. I'm not seeing anyone," I lie.

"So what does it matter? It's one date, Gracie. Do it for me and I'll owe you."

"You'll owe me," I repeat flatly.

"I'll owe you," he says again. "The President of the United States will owe you a favor. What do you need? Does the foundation need more donors? Is there another event I can attend?"

"Yes," I say, thinking of the quarterly report and the decrease in donations. "I mean, no. I don't need you to attend functions or lean on one of your corporate buddies."

"I'd never do that," my father says, his tone the same one he uses when he talks to the press. "In fact, I'm shocked that you'd even suggest something like that."

More of my dad's ass-covering in case the NSA is listening in, even though this is a secure phone line. I think he does it without even thinking about it now, his self-preservation instinct. I roll my eyes hard. "I'm not doing it, Dad. You can figure something else out."

"Why are you being so difficult, Gracie?" he asks. "It's not like you. You've always understood that we all do what it takes to help the campaign. The campaign is the important thing."

"Yeah, it’s always the important thing," I blurt out, before he can stop me, or before I can chicken out and just go along with his grand plan. "Dad? I have to go.”

36

Aiden

“I can’t believe she’s doing this,” I whisper to Noah.

“I can hear you,” Grace whispers back. “I’m literally standing right behind you.”

“We just can’t believe you wanted to come to West Bend for the Fourth of July,” Noah says. “Or that you didn’t have something to attend at the White House.”

A look of irritation passes across her face, but I can’t tell if she’s irritated at us or at the mention of the White House. The First Lady showed up at her house the other day, I know that much, and Grace was grumpy as hell afterward. It took three orgasms before she was less stressed out. Then when Noah mentioned the Fourth of July celebration in West Bend, Grace agreed immediately, surprising both of us. She shrugged off any mention of the White House celebration, saying that her parents didn’t decide where she could spend the holidays.

Noah and I stayed far away from that topic of conversation ever since.

"Boys!" Bess calls. She walks from the living room to the entryway, her arms outstretched wide, drawing Aiden and I in for hugs before she turns to Grace. "And Ms. Sullivan, we are just so honored to have you here."

Grace blushes as Bess hugs her without blinking. "Mrs. Ashby, call me Grace," she says. "And I'm the one who should be thanking you for letting me join you for dinner. I hope my security wasn't too much of an imposition."

"Well, it's not every day my house gets swept for bugs," Bess says, putting her hands on her hips. "At least not the listening-device kind of bugs anyway. And call me Bess, everyone does – or Mama Ashby. No one calls me Mrs., though, not even Paul."

Paul pokes his head out of the living room. "Get in here, now."

"Holy shit, Dad, are you wearing a tie?" Noah asks.

"Language, Noah Ashby," Bess snaps. "I'm sorry. My boys weren't actually raised by wolves, although they act like it."

Grace covers a smile with her hand. "It's all right. I've gotten used to it."

Bess stops for a second midstride, and I can't see her face because her back is toward me, but I know exactly why she stopped. She just caught what Grace said – I've gotten used to it.

If there's anyone who would see right through all of this bullshit and our "just acquaintances" story, it's Bess. She's sharp as hell.

I clear my throat. "Where's Annie? I thought she'd be all over Grace the second she stepped through the door." I turn to Grace. "My sister is really into politics, so be prepared. I'm pretty sure she thinks you're a real celebrity."

"What are you talking about?" Grace grins. "I'm totally a real celebrity."

"It's nice how you've remained so modest and unassuming," Noah quips.

"The backyard is all set up," Bess says. "Now, I know you said it couldn't be a big thing, what with Grace coming and all, but you know Annie. It's just a few of her friends. We tried to keep it to a minimum, though."

"Mom," Noah warns. "It can't be a big thing."

"It's okay," Grace says.

"Noah Ashby, give me a little bit of credit," Bess says, shaking her head. "You said this needed to be private, so your father confiscated cell phones and locked them up. No cameras, no phones."

"Oh, you shouldn't have to go to all that trouble," Grace says.

"Trouble?" Bess asks. "I've been wanting to take cell phones from that kid and her friends for years. All the kids have those stupid phones in their faces all the time, with their selfies and their twittering and their chats and snaps. I want to see my Annie before she flits off to Europe for two months – and I want to see her face without a phone blocking my view. So, taking their cell phones away from them was my pleasure."

"Well, then, I'm glad I could be the excuse for cell phone confiscation," Grace says, smiling.

As we follow Paul and Bess inside, Bess puts her arm around Grace's shoulder. "Now, my boys tell me that you're neighbors. They're not being rude and inconsiderate neighbors, are they?"

Noah groans. "Mom, do you think she'd be here if she hated us?"

"Grace, you don't have to answer her questions," I tell her.

"I'm not interrogating her, boys," Bess says, smili

ng sweetly. "Why don't you go on and get some pie and let me chat with her. This is the first time I've ever had a real celebrity in the house."

"We're real celebrities, too, Mom," Noah says.

Bess pinches his cheek and his face goes dark red. "Oh of course you are, sweetie," she says.

I stifle a laugh. If anyone else in the world dared to pinch Noah's cheek, they'd be laid out on the floor faster than you could say the words ass kicking. But he just stands there like a good son, letting his mom talk to him like a five-year-old.

Grace covers her mouth with her hands and pretends to sneeze, but when she comes back up, she has tears in her eyes from laughing.

"You boys go outside and find Annie," Bess orders. "Lord knows she'll be back here in two seconds, accosting Grace before you can stop her."

"You mean, the way you are right now?" Noah asks.

"Oh, hush your mouth," Bess says. "I'm your sweet old mother."

"Don't let her fool you," I warn. "She's younger than she looks."

Bess swats me with a dishtowel. "Get your smart-asses out of here. You too, Paul. Go see if anyone needs anything outside. Grace here can help me in the kitchen with the pies."

"If you need help, just yell," Noah says.

"I won't need any help," Bess replies.

"I wasn't talking to you, Mom. I was talking to Grace," Noah says. "Your father's best CIA interrogators don't have anything on my mother. She wheedles more gossip out of people than –"

"Oh, get going before I pinch your cheeks again."

"I'll try not to reveal any state secrets." Grace turns to give us one more look over her shoulder as we head out the back door to the yard.

Outside, I pause for a moment. The whole yard is decked out – folding tables set up along the side covered in bowls of barbecue and side dishes and enough of Bess' home-baked pies to serve a small army. White lights are strung overhead, criss-crossing across the yard from one side of the fence to the other and bathing everything with a soft glow. Some of Annie's friends play corn hole in the corner of the yard, and some hang out in Adirondack chairs drinking beer.

Mama Ashby went all out on Annie’s going-away party, which isn't surprising in the least. Annie was in junior high when our mother died, and that first year after she died, Annie was heading in a real bad direction. But Bess just took it in stride, the way she does with everything in life, and pulled her back from the brink. I adore Bess, but she and Annie have a special bond that goes deep.

I stand there for a second, soaking it all in. Fourth of July in West Bend is one of my favorite times of the year. Granted, we've never done it this way before, hanging out in the backyard. Usually we're downtown for the celebration. Main Street shuts down and there's a carnival right in the middle of town. That's what all of my memories of July Fourth involve – eating cotton candy and riding carnival rides until I puke.

"Your mom did a real nice job of this," Paul notes.

"She did," I agree. "I'm sorry that we came in with Grace and she missed out on going into West Bend for the Fourth, though."

Paul shrugs. "I think she was tired of the pie-baking contest anyway," he says. "Shit, I was tired of hearing her complain about how it was rigged every year and how Marla Johnson was going to win the pie-baking contest no matter what because she sweet-talks the judges."

Noah snorts. "Mom takes the pie-baking contest way too seriously."

Paul chuckles. "So do most of the people in this town."

"A-hole!" Annie runs over and hugs me with all of the force of a freight train running at full speed.

I let out an umph. "Shit, girl, you really should have been the pro football player."

"Where is she?"

"Yeah, hello to you too, sis," I say sarcastically. "It’s really nice to see you. I’m going to miss you when you go to Europe for two months and I’m glad I get a chance to hang out with you before I leave. I love you, too.”

Annie hits me on the arm. "Don't cry, loser," she jokes. "I'm going to go find her."

"She's inside with Bess," I tell her.

Annie's eyes go big. "Why did you let that happen?"

"You know mom, it's not like telling her no was going to stop her," Noah says.

"Oh my God, you guys, she's probably showing her our baby photos right now."

"She probably is," I groan. “Good thing I was a cute-as-hell baby.”

"Nope," Paul says. "I already thought of that – locked up the baby photos with the cell phones in the gun safe.”

Annie puts her hand up to high-five him. "You're wiser than you look."

Paul shakes his head. "Don't be a shit, girl.”

"I'm going to tell Bess you're cussing," Annie say, grinning.

"Tell Bess I'm cussing and see if I let you set off fireworks," Paul says gruffly.

"Do I look okay?" Annie asks, tucking a strand of hot-pink hair behind her ear.

I pretend to evaluate her thoughtfully. "Is your hair supposed to be that shade of pink?"

"Shut up. I'm going to talk to her."

"Don't freak her out, Annie."

"I'm not going to freak her out! Honestly, you act like I'm crazy or something."

"You're a little… intense when it comes to politics, that's all."

"I am not," she protests, taking out a notepad. "But I knew you would take our cell phones, Paul, so I made notes."

I rip the pad out of her hands. "You're not interviewing her."

"These aren't interview questions. They're questions from a college student who’s concerned about the future of our country."

I shove it in my pocket. "Nice try."

"Noah, tell him to give it back!"

"You're not interrogating the President's daughter, Annie." Noah shakes his head.

"Fine. I already have my questions memorized anyway." Annie bounces off toward the house.

"Between Annie and your mother, that girl is going to run out of here screaming," Paul mutters, shaking his head.

37

Noah

I love West Bend's Fourth of July celebration, but to be honest, the one in our backyard puts it to shame. We eat until we're stuffed, shoot the shit with Annie who finally agrees to leave Grace alone after Aiden and I threaten her with a restraining order – (only half-jokingly), and set off fireworks right before the city ones that are still visible from our house out on the edge of West Bend.