on the table between us, turned upside down from Jamie so that I could read it.
“Am I opening this, then?” I asked. Jamie nodded. I could feel her legs jiggling in the seat of my chair as I ripped open the envelope.
“?‘Dear Jamie,’?” I read.
As you may know, my husband, Greg, has owned an independently operated plumbing company for seventeen years. From him, and from many other constituents like him, I’ve become deeply familiar with the challenges inherent to running a small business. That’s why, as a city councilmember for San Diego, I voted in favor of a “head tax” for massive corporations like Amazon, which would require those who benefit from such monopolies to give back to the city, allowing its elected officials to address vitally important local issues like small-business grants, affordable housing, and green energy.
As state controller, my role is to assess those areas of government spending that can be trimmed, as well as those that need more attention. The state of California is the sixth-largest economy in the world, and, in recent years, policy decisions at the national level have presented us with a number of challenges. While I wish I could attend to the needs of every business and organization our great state has to offer, my responsibilities are limited to those funded by taxpayer money. I believe that a healthy, equitable economy begins with an accountable government, and it is my honor to serve my constituents in that capacity.
Thank you for your interest in—and dedication to—small business, one of California’s greatest assets.
Sincerely,
Linda Weller
I finished reading and brought the letter close to my face, trying to decide whether the black inked signature was real or stamped. I licked a finger and dragged it across her last name, and the W smeared down the page.
“At least she really signed it?” I said.
Jamie blinked at me. “She didn’t even write the words Triple Moon,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“She didn’t even say coffee shop.”
“I know.”
“That could have been about anything.”
“I’m sorry, Jame.”
She took the letter from me and gave it a once-over, maybe hoping I’d missed a paragraph or two. She even flipped it over, just in case there was a secret message on the back.
“It’s not like I thought she’d send us a check,” she started. “But I expected something more than this.”
“I know,” I said. “Me too.”
“Like, I’m not ‘interested in small business,’ the concept,” said Jamie. Her expression was so adorably disbelieving, and her tone so aggrieved, that I couldn’t help but laugh. For an instant she looked angry, and then she started giggling too. “And who cares about Greg?”
“Not me.”
Jamie picked up the letter again, pinching her fingers at the top, poised to tear it in half.
“Wait—don’t,” I said. “You might want that someday.”
“For what?”
“Maybe in fifteen years you’ll run for office, and you can use it to show people how long you’ve been dedicated to small business.”
Jamie smiled, seemingly in spite of herself, and folded the letter in half, flattening the crease with her teal-painted thumbnail. Then she carefully placed it between the pages of her planner and pushed it aside. “Now what?”
It was obvious she was disappointed, more so than she was willing to talk about with me right now, but she was also determined, and if plan A didn’t work, I knew she’d scramble to find an alternate plan B that didn’t involve any suggestion of mine. Fortunately, I’d planned ahead.
“I may have asked Dee and Gaby if they’d let us do another Sweets show,” I said carefully.
“When, just now?”
“Yeah.”
“Before we even opened the letter,” said Jamie. It wasn’t a question. I realized then what I’d dug myself into.