I lean in towards the screen. As they watch the tallies, Mrs. Wasserstein still looks fresh and cheerful – ever the supportive wife – although I assume a make-up artist has given her a touch-up. The senator seems a bit haggard, but he’s keeping a brave face.
Josh looks exhausted and annoyed. I hope his parents don’t see this footage later.
Still…this is my Josh. Not the stranger from before. A tense-looking man, perhaps the campaign manager, whispers something into his ear, and Josh stands up straighter. The man must have told him that he’s on TV. The camera cuts away.
The news drones on. My burst of adrenalin fades.
I wake up to my morning alarm. Kurt is gone, and the covers have been neatly tucked around me. There’s a one-word note beside my pillow: VICTORY.
I have severely underestimated Josh’s parents. In the wake of the senator’s success, I imagined – at the very least – that they’d allow their son a celebratory phone call. No such luck. I wish I could tell Josh how happy I am for his family. I wish I could tell Josh anything. I’ve never before felt this helpless or cut off.
Two days later, the biggest morning news programme in New York has an exclusive with Senator Wasserstein. I find the link on his website, of course. The interview is standard political fluff, but the background. Well. It’s captivating.
It’s Josh’s house.
The camera follows his dad from the dining room into the living room. Everything is impeccably decorated, though perhaps too orderly. Delicate china plates hang in patterns on the walls. Extravagant vases are stuffed with seasonal grasses and pheasant feathers. It’s hard to imagine anyone living here. Mrs. Wasserstein joins him on the sofa beneath a prominently displayed, seemingly out-of-place oil painting of the Saint-Michel métro station – an Art Nouveau beauty that’s heaped in chained bicycles and dull graffiti. A teenaged boy languishes against one of the bike racks. It’s St. Clair. Josh painted this portrait of his friend last year. I saw it drying inside our school’s studio.
The interviewer, a beaky woman with shiny pale lips, knowingly asks about it, and Josh’s parents gush about their son’s promising future. It’s a jarring response. I’ve always assumed that the rift between Josh and his parents was caused by his desire to pursue a career in the arts, but their praise and support seems genuine.
“He gets it from his mother,” the senator says, beaming at his wife.
“His appreciation for art, yes,” she says. “But the talent is all his own.”
The interview flashes back to the polling station footage – Josh, so handsome, so charming – and when it returns, he’s joined them. My heart picks up speed. It’s that odd, clean-cut look again. An inexplicable pressure mounts inside of me.
The interviewer smiles, nosy and ominous. “We’ve heard that after that clip aired, young ladies flooded your father’s office with inquiries about you. What do you think will happen now that they know not only are you easy on the eyes, but you’re also an artistic genius?”
What?
Josh laughs politely. “I’m not sure.”
“Tell us.” She leans towards him. “New York is dying to know. Do you have a girlfriend?”
He pauses before giving another modest laugh. “Uh, no. Not at the moment.”
My ears ring. I rewind, heart reeling.
Uh, no. Not at the moment.
A dark churning rumbles in my gut. I blink. And then again. Pinprick stars obliterate my vision as they replay a clip from election night. It’s the one where Josh looks miserable, but now the interviewer says he looks nervous because he cares so much about his dad, and how it’ll be a lucky lady who lands such a compassionate young bachelor. “You won’t be single for long,” she teases, and his parents chuckle.
Rewind. Uh, no. Not at the moment.
You won’t be single for long.
Chuckle chuckle.
I reach for my phone and actually scream as I remember that I can’t call him. I do it anyway. No answer. I send a text: CALL ME.
Kurt receives a second text: 911.
“What’s the matter? What happened?” he asks, two minutes later. He’s out of breath.
I gesture frantically at my laptop. “Watch that. Tell me…what…just watch it!”
When it’s over, his brow furrows. “When did you guys break up?”
“We didn’t!”