buts, Dad. You messed up, full stop.”
“I did, and I’ll make it up to you.”
“When?” I asked. Before he could answer, I kept going. “It’s not just tonight. Ever since you started campaigning, it’s like I lost my dad. You’re never around, you flake out on everything, and you only trot me out when Jose thinks you can use me to score popularity points because the press loves your unpredictable queer kid. What flamboyant thing will he wear? What odd things will he say? Who knows? That’s what makes it fun! But it’s never about me.”
Dad was staring at me, dumbfounded. “Is that what you really believe?”
“Yes!” I shouted. My ice cream was melting into the cup. I didn’t even want it anymore.
“I thought you liked doing campaign events with me.”
“Do you know what a pain those are? I hate the press hovering over me all the time and people criticizing what I wear and you never being around. I hate it. But I missed hanging out with you, so whatever.”
Pistachio ice cream dribbled down the side of Dad’s cone and over his hand, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I’m sorry about the trapeze lessons—”
“It’s not about the fucking trapeze!”
“Dre—”
“You used to go with me to the comic-cons—”
“I thought once Mel got her license, you wouldn’t want me around.”
“And you always had time to help with Dreadful Dressup.”
“I still do.”
“What about Europe?” I asked. “How long have we been talking about spending the summer in Europe after graduation? Just me and you, the Rosario boys. How’re you gonna do that if you win the election?”
With each question, my dad’s shoulders slipped a little lower. “We can still travel.”
I snorted derisively. “Yeah. It’ll be the Rosario boys, a squad of Secret Service agents, and a dozen annoying aides who’ll need just a second a million times a day.” I tossed what was left of my ice cream in the trash and headed back to the car.
It was a few minutes before Dad got in. He started the engine but didn’t back out of the lot. “I’ll drop out of the race.”
“No you won’t.”
“Yes, I will.”
I heard the sincerity in my dad’s voice, and I knew without a doubt he’d do it because that’s the kind of person he was, regardless of how pissed at him I was at the moment. And if I let him, I’d feel like shit for the rest of my life knowing I’d allowed my dad to give up on something he wanted.
“You’re not quitting,” I said. “Someone’s gotta keep McMann and Arnault from making shit worse.”
“Dre—”
“I just miss my dad, all right? And it’s making me cranky.”
“I miss you too. You and your mom.” Dad finally put the car in gear and started back toward home.
Getting all that out had felt good, but it hadn’t fixed anything. I’m not sure there was any way to fix it. If my dad dropped out of the race, the country would lose. They’d be stuck with a man who cared about no one but himself or a woman who wanted to drag the country back to the 1950s. But if he stayed in and won, I’d have to keep sharing my dad with the world. I had to find some way to be okay with that, and I wasn’t sure I could be.
“If you want, I can go with you on your tour tomorrow.”
“No!”
Dad glanced over at me as he drove. “Are you sure? I could use a break from the debate prep anyway.”
I had to convince him not to come or he’d ruin everything, and I was already anxious about seeing Dean in person again. “It’s just a boring college tour,” I said. “Besides, if you go, the press will find out and they’ll show up and I wanna keep it low-key.”
“I don’t know. How’d you convince your mother to let you run off to Rhode Island without a chaperone, anyway?”
“I told her you said it was okay.”
“Dre!”
“Kidding.” I flashed him a grin. “I’m seventeen, Dad. I’ll be eighteen in a few months. I can handle it. Fly in, do the tour, stay the night, run up a massive room service bill, meet Mom in Chicago the next day. Besides, it’s Rhode Island. How much trouble can I get into in Rhode Island?”
Dad was still eyeing me skeptically, but it wasn’t like he was gonna call off the trip and make me miss touring my potential future school. “Just be safe. I love you so much, Dre.”
We