I wanted to laugh at everything she was doing. I wanted to shout at her, “This is why I’m leaving!” Even though it wasn’t that simple.
She hated scotch but drank it because it was the current fad for the up-and-coming on The Hill. If there was a meal involved, they’d switch to wine perfectly coordinated with the entrees. I’d never gone for any of it. I’d drunk what I liked whether it matched the mood, the meal, or the men I was with or not.
Maddy’s desire to fit into the mold the men in D.C. created was one of the things holding her back. It was the reason her name hadn’t been the one I’d given to Grandad. They needed someone willing to stand up against the status quo, not someone riding the wave.
Even with the umbrella, my tweed suit jacket had still gotten wet. I removed it, slinging it over the back of the chair. Thankfully, the teal-and-purple paisley shirt underneath it was dry. The colors were supposed to have been soothing on my last day, serenity and passion mixed together, but they’d failed me.
The waiter came by, and I flagged him down. “I need a pitcher of cosmos, please.”
He nodded and took off. Over his head, I saw two tall, dark-haired bodies approaching: my brother and his gorgeous fiancée. Mac was still in his Navy uniform while Georgie was in a bright-green sundress in deference to the heat sticking around as September wound down. As she got closer, I could see my best friend was wearing her contact lenses that matched the color of the dress. She switched up lenses like most people swapped jewelry.
I felt my wound-up nerves ease just a hair at the sight of them, my body finding extra solace in Mac’s presence these days. My younger brother and I were the closest of our siblings in age, looks, and temperament. With only twelve months between us, a lot of people assumed we were twins, even when we weren’t.
“Gooberpants, how does it feel to be jobless?” Mac asked, greeting me with a hug while I rolled my eyes at the nickname he’d been calling me for as long as I could remember.
Georgie slapped the expansive breadth of his shoulder before giving me a squeeze. “Ignore him.”
“I’ve been ignoring Squirter since he was born; I’m a pro at it,” I responded, tossing back the diarrhea-inspired name he’d earned. “I’ve ordered a pitcher of cosmos.”
Mac’s eyebrows quirked up. “Getting drunk, are we then?”
“Those are…interesting…nicknames,” Maddy said, trying to hide her smirk behind her glass.
I didn’t respond to Maddy in favor of answering Mac. “Seeing as I do not need to be up at five in the morning tomorrow, I didn’t see why not.”
The waiter returned with the pitcher and a handful of shot glasses. I poured four, handing one to Maddy who frowned at it. “You’ll like it better than the scotch,” I told her.
We clanked the glasses together.
“To Dani, starting a new adventure,” Georgie said.
Thank God for new beginnings. It was just too bad the adventure hadn’t found me yet.
We swallowed and banged the glasses down, except Maddy who was still trying to figure out whether to sip or down it. The desire to laugh at her was bubbling through me, but I caught myself just in time.
The restraint―or my lack of it this year―was part of the reason I was quitting. My patience had dwindled away. Not unlike tonight’s little outburst at Charles, the number of times I’d slammed doors up and down the Capitol Building lately were too many to count. I was just tired of the quid pro quo. Tired of the constant bargaining. Tired. Just damn tired.
I refused to think of any of it at the moment. Instead, I intended to celebrate getting out of Dodge before I had to swallow back one more remark. I vowed my next job would be one I could be honest about. I wouldn’t have to sugarcoat every word.
Mac excused himself to go to the restroom, Georgie went to find some food menus, and Maddy’s spot was taken over by Russell who wore his expertly tailored, pinstripe gray suit as if he were born wearing it. It clung to his wide shoulders and fit across the chest he worked hours on to make sure it was as gorgeous as his language skills.
“I can’t believe you’re actually leaving,” Russell said, placing his whiskey down. He’d gotten the taste of it from me, and he’d held onto it long after his taste for me had become a thing of the past. Or my taste for him? A mutual lack of appetite?
“It was time,” I said with a slight, unexpected slur.
He looked down at his glass for a few seconds before glancing back up. In the gray eyes shining behind his black-rimmed glasses, I saw regret. The same regret which entered his eyes every time we talked about anything but bills and lobbying.
“I’m sorry,” he said for at least the thousandth time.
I waved at him. “Don’t. Don’t start this again.”
I didn’t want to think about why he was sorry. I didn’t want to think about any of it ever again, and yet, I couldn’t stop. It drove me mad at times. It drove me mad when I woke in the middle of the night full of panic and sweats. It drove me mad when I stepped in an elevator. And it definitely drove me mad when anyone brought it up. On The Hill, it was brought up all the time. A cautionary tale. A proud #MeToo moment. A word-to-the-wise kind of tale.
“I’d say it in all five languages I know if I thought it would help,” he said, remorse etched across the words.
The waiter dropped off the next pitcher of cosmos, and I downed one before I responded. “I’m tired of you saying it.”
He looked up, surprised.
“It’s in the past, Russell;
