to suppress it. “If it means helping you, Mom, I’m willing to take one for the team.”
Dre
I DIDN’T HAVE to fake being annoyed when Dad woke me up at three thirty in the morning to catch our flight to Louisiana by playing a clip of the kindergarten chorus he’d had to endure listening to the day before. If my aim in the dark had been better, he would’ve had to explain to reporters how a flying tennis shoe had broken his nose.
You’d think that being the Democratic presidential candidate would mean flying all over the country on private jets, but you’d be wrong. We had to go through security and deal with the TSA getting handsy and crowd around the gate, waiting to get on the plane, even though they were gonna call us by group just like everyone else. The only upside was getting to fly first-class, which I’d never done before. Usually I flew coach and was wedged into a middle seat between people who didn’t understand the concept of keeping their elbows to their damn selves. The only reason I’d gotten to ride first was because Jose had traded seats with me so I could spend time with my dad, and both he and my dad told me not to get used to it.
Dad had been surprised when I’d finally taken him up on his offer to spend some time with him on the campaign trail. Happy, but surprised. We’d gone to a rally in Kansas on Monday and a town hall meeting in Minnesota on Tuesday, but it was Baton Rouge on Wednesday that I’d really been waiting for. My parents and Jose had thought the idea of me building houses with Dean for Habitat for Humanity was brilliant, and my dad was already going to be in the state, so all I had to do was reluctantly agree to go so that they wouldn’t guess how excited I was.
“Excited” is underselling it. When I wasn’t chatting with Dean on Promethean, I was moping around thinking about how far away he was, never imagining that he was scheming a way for us to hang out. Dean was way craftier than I gave him credit for.
My dad was in the aisle seat reading a book about some old dead dude and I was trying to get some sleep in the big, comfy seat when the flight attendant came by to drop off breakfast. I was a little annoyed at being woken up—again—but I was also hungry and the omelet didn’t look awful.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” Dad said.
“On the plane?”
“On the campaign trail.” Dad shrugged. “I’ve missed you, kiddo.”
This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have while I was trapped on a plane with nowhere to go. Mostly, I just wanted to eat my mediocre breakfast and crash until we landed in Baton Rouge. “Yeah, me too, Dad.”
Dad was eating his own breakfast—yogurt and fruit—and was quiet for a few minutes, but I could tell he wasn’t done talking. “I signed us up to take trapeze lessons.”
That definitely wasn’t what I was expecting. “What?”
“You always said you wanted to join the circus.”
“When I was ten.”
“It’s never too late to chase your dreams.”
I sighed at my meal and gave Dad my full attention. “I mean, I’ll go, obviously, but what’s this about? Are you trying to buy my love? Because a car is the fastest way to my heart.”
Dad rolled his eyes, but I was serious about that car. “I know I haven’t been around much, and you’ll be heading off to college soon. I don’t want this election to get in the way of our relationship, Dre.”
“Then maybe you should’ve waited to run.” I’d only meant to think it, and as soon as I realized I’d said it out loud, I felt like a dick. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t being honest.
“I did ask,” my dad said.
“Ugh, I know. It’s just . . .”
“You can say whatever’s on your mind, Dre.”
It wasn’t fair for me to be bringing all this up. I’d had my chance to tell him I didn’t want him running, and I’d told him to go for it. Holding it against him now made me feel like an ass. “It’s nothing,” I said. “I just miss you is all.”
My dad was quiet for a while. Things were weird between us now and they’d never been that way before. My dad had been my best friend, and sometimes it felt like we hardly knew