“Do you think you’ll talk to him again? Do you think you’ll tell him? Or is it all lost?” Rachel asked me.
I shrugged my shoulders half-heartedly. “I honestly don’t know what to expect,” I murmured. “I think that—perhaps—the ship has sailed. But if I do decide to talk to him, I know that you have my back.” I reached out and grabbed her hand, holding it tightly for just a moment. “Thank you for everything.”
Suddenly, there was a great rapping on the door. My eyes widened, and Rachel’s snapped opened quickly. No one had ever come over, not in the many weeks since I’d moved in. “Did you order food?” she whispered to me.
I shook my head, my heart thudding quickly in my chest. “No. Is someone coming over? Could it be the mail?”
But Rachel was lolling up quickly, bringing her hands to her head once more. “Goddammit,” she murmured. “Coming!” she called, as a hand rapped once more. “Better not be that neighbor again, complaining about the loud television. I’ll kill him!” She winked at me.
Finally, she reached the door. I sat up, leaning against the chair while on the floor. I brought the blanket up around my neck, covering myself into near invisibility.
Rachel caught the door open and didn’t say anything. I peered around the chair, trying to make out who it was. But Rachel’s head was blocking the figure.
There was a great, hanging pause. My eyes searched wildly around the room as I panicked about what was going on—who had come over? Did anyone know I was here? Why wasn’t Rachel saying anything? Rachel—who always had something to say?
Finally, the silence broke. “Hello,” the voice said on the other side of the door.
My heart dropped into the acidic sea of my stomach. I crunched myself into a ball beneath the blanket. The voice was so familiar, spoken in a near-bedroom voice. Xavier.
Xavier Callaway, the President of the United States.
Rachel tipped her head to the right. “Hello, Mr. President,” she crooned, a bit of sauce on her lips. I was glad that she was standing up for me, even if she thought this man was right. “Do you remember me?” she asked.
Xavier paused. “I believe I do, yes. On the first campaign trail. You were good friends with Amanda. I believe she’s our mutual friend, these days.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Rachel said, her voice haughty. Suddenly, she spun her head to the side, placing her hand over her mouth. I brought my chin to my chest, worried Rachel was about to hack all over the president’s shoes. This hangover was nothing to mess aro
und with. “But what can I do for you?” she finally asked him, finding the words after her brief scrape with embarrassment.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked her then. “You don’t look so good. A little green, maybe.”
“A friend and I had a good deal of wine last night,” Rachel said offhandedly. “She needed a pick-me-up after a hard few weeks.” Her voice, again, was a challenge.
I peeked further around the chair to see him.
Xavier paused for a moment, still standing in the doorway. He turned to his right and spoke to who I assumed was a Secret Service agent. “Could you wait out here?” he asked this before he spun back toward Rachel. “Rachel. I’m sorry if this is too forward. But could I come in, please?”
Rachel took a step back, uncertain of what to do. My heart was beating wildly in my chest. I wanted to grab Rachel, to tell her I wasn’t ready yet! My mind had been a whir of emotion all throughout the morning. I didn’t see how I was ever, ever going to be able to pick myself up from this hangover and deal with the president. God, this was a disaster.
But Rachel didn’t have a choice, really. She bowed her head and told him, “Certainly. But only for a moment.” She closed the door behind him. I jumped back behind the chair. I could hear his fine shoes tapping on the wooden floor. I told myself not to feel sick, but my stomach kept flipping over. I brought my fingers over it, shaking my head. I knew I was concealed from view by the chair in front of the living room floor.
“Quite a place you have here,” Xavier said politely.
Rachel shrugged her shoulders. “It’s okay. All I can afford right now.”
“You left the political scene, I know,” Xavier offered.
Rachel seemed embarrassed. She searched for the right words. “I’m not altogether too upset about it,” she stated. “The stress was far too much for me.”
“I might join you very shortly, should I lose my campaign manager forever,” Xavier said. “Do you have coffee, by chance?”
Rachel paused before answering. The mere mention of me seemed to echo throughout the room. I heard her parse through her coffee filters and plopped one into the maker before filling it with water. I heard her hit the button and let the crackling begin.
“Thank you,” Xavier said again, bringing his voice into the mighty absence of noise.
Rachel grunted. “So. What is that you have there?” I peered around the chair once more, noting that Xavier had seated himself away from the living room, rather than toward it. In his left hand, I saw beautiful, brightly-colored tulips. My heart flip-flopped.
“Oh, it’s nothing. They’re just—they’re for someone, if I found her here.” He smacked the back of his neck with his free hand, looking a bit sheepish. “Doesn’t seem that I’m that lucky, though.”