serious. Dad practically packed my bag for me. I had to get Madison to cover at the library for me on such short notice, we’d ended up having to cancel two of the kid’s reading circles we’d had planned for the week.”
“Surely, they won’t mind rescheduling those.” She shrugs as if it’s an afterthought.
“They might not, but I do. I have a job, I run a library. I mind when I have to move things around, not only because it creates scheduling nightmares, but because it means I’m breaking my word. All because I’m a grown woman who has to take mandatory trips with her senator father!”
Mom sighs and I take a breath, surprised at my sudden outburst.
She takes a seat on a bench as we come to the Schuylkill River Trail, and pats beside her, signaling for me to sit down.
“Sweetheart … I’m sorry. From day one, you’ve been our pride and joy. And we only ever wanted to take you everywhere with us. I know you’ve grown up being watched, in the press at times, and made to feel like everything you do is judged.”
Her breath catches, and when I look over, she’s pressing a hand to her chest.
“Oh, Mom …” And now I feel bad, because I’ve made her feel like a jerk. “I didn’t mean … I grew up with a wonderful childhood, a wonderful life …”
And I meant that. I’d always had everything I’d ever wanted or wished for. They’d been great supporters and my parents had always told me they loved me.
She waves me off. “Just listen, okay? Maybe your father and I didn’t take into account how much this world can affect a child. We were young and naïve when he got elected, we didn’t know anyone else in government. We were just trying to live the life we thought would give you and the citizens of Pennsylvania the best future. We’re your parents, but we’re also just people, Lily. People are flawed. They make mistakes. Just because we raised you doesn’t mean we were always right.”
It’s humbling to hear her admit that.
“Your father … I think he demands you be here because he’s proud to show you all he’s accomplished. You drive him, motivate him to work harder. But if you really don’t want to be a part of this public life, of this government family life, then tell your father. He will understand, I know he will.”
She said it with such confidence, I almost thought it was true. And while I believed that Mom thought Dad would respond well to this talk, I had my doubts.
Five hours later, and we’re well into the second course of dinner at a charity event honoring the cancer institute in the city.
The event is honoring many small-town politicians, from state senators to local assemblyman to mayors, who have helped raise funds and passed bills for the institute. It’s a wonderful cause, and I’m especially grateful to attend this event because there are actual pediatric survivors in attendance. Each of the survivors and their families are being given a week’s stay in a vacation location of their choice.
While it might be my preference that they open college funds for each of them, lord knows there is money to go around, it is nice that these families who have been through so much get to spend some quality time relaxing together.
I’ve spent much of the night talking to the children, who are easily the most interesting and intelligent people here. I’m not kidding either … half of my father’s colleagues are blowhards going on about their privilege in unironic ways, and the other half are just trying to get a better look down my dress. They skeeve me out, and I realize that I should really stop coming to these.
My knife is halfway through my roast duck when Dad speaks up.
“Lily, I have someone I want you to meet,” he says casually from the other side of Mom, who sits between us.
We’re surrounded by other Pennsylvania politicians, and no one is really paying attention to us. But I know … this isn’t a request. And it’s not a setup.
He needs something.
How do I know this? Because he’s done it before. Introduced me to some junior politician who will probably think I’m pretty and listen to me about my father’s policies. The first time he did it, I hadn’t even realized I’d just been prostituted out for politics.
Not that I ever had to leave the ballroom with them,