“In a giant upset, Justin Cocker has been elected the new Senator of Georgia,” the local news reporter announces, mic in hand outside of Hal’s restaurant, a high-end, notoriously right-wing establishment in Buckhead.

Dad’s living room is silent as twenty-six people stare in disbelief at the television set.

“The incumbent Senator Rothdale will be stepping down at the start of the new year after thirty long years in Washington.”

The station’s news anchor appears on the screen and the field reporter moves to a small corner as he asks, “What is the reaction there?”

“Well, as the people of Atlanta know, Hal’s has been around for over twenty years and attracts an older, conservative crowd, and they are shocked, Tom. There were a lot of long silences as the numbers started coming in.”

The anchor agrees, “Normally we don’t cover non-Presidential-year elections as much as we have tonight, but when we saw the record numbers of young voters tallied during exit polls saying they had written in Justin Cocker’s name, things got interesting.”

Holding her ear to block out distracting noise, she says, “They sure did, Tom. It seems Justin Cocker’s shocking speech had an impact no one anticipated. And it goes to show you how much power the Internet truly has given the people of today. There’s no telling what they can achieve.”

“Thank you, Monica.” She nods and her window disappears, his face centering in the screen. “Times have changed, and the people have spoken. They want more change and they want honesty. We’ll be right back after this commercial.”

Dad clicks the remote and the screen goes dark. Everyone’s shuffling in the seats or on their feet. “Well,” he sighs. “Guess I’m out of a job.” A politician’s smile appears on his face and people relax, some quipping things about retirement and beaches. When it gets silent again, Dad looks at me. I offer him a soft smile, my heart breaking for him even as I register the shock of Justin’s win and how excited he must be.

“Drink up, everyone! It’s still a party,” Dad smiles, raising his glass. “This is why America is great. Democracy. Let’s not forget.”

I jump in with the biggest hostess smile I can muster, “I’ll put some music on.”

“Thank you, Jaimie,” he nods as some of his closest friends rise to discuss the horror of what they just saw. All the men and women in attendance are in politics and it’s a stuffy crowd. But they sure do love the booze, although not one is drunk. High tolerances get built over time.

I select a 1950’s channel on Pandora because that music is always cheery. Most of those who are present grew up listening to it, so feet start tapping to the music.

It’s during awkward moments such as these when I’m glad I’m good at throwing parties.

With everyone occupied I step out into my father’s backyard, hugging myself for warmth as I stare at the stars, missing home. Cold nights remind me of Boston, though I know it’s much colder there tonight. The door opens behind me. “Jaimie?” I glance over my shoulder to see Dad holding my phone. “Justin called you.”

With mingled surprise and guilt I whisper, “Oh, Dad! I’m so sorry.”

He joins me in staring at the sky and hands me the phone. “I’m surprised you’re not with him.” I offer no explanation. “What do you think of my new girlfriend?”

“I’m not as surprised as you thought I would be, Dad.”

“I thought you might find it amusing that I hit it off with one of the faculty members from Mercer.”

“I’m not. You’re very charming. And Lauren seems like a nice lady.”

“She is.”

We stand silently watching the stars. “You’re dodging the deeper topic, Dad.”

“I know.”

I touch his arm. “How are you feeling about this?”

He sighs, hazel eyes flickering as he decides. “When I saw Justin choose that little girl over his career I felt jealous.”

My head tilts. “Jealous?”

“Of his integrity as a father.” Dad looks at me. “I know I haven’t been what you needed me to be. I’m sorry, Jaimie, that I never put you first.”

Tears jump to my eyes. “Dad!”

He touches my forearm and ends the discussion, bringing the topic back to what he’s most comfortable with – politics. “I’m from a different era. I think Justin’s time has come.”

“Senator Rothdale?” his maid, Maggie, calls out, poking her head through the open backdoor. “Reporters are on the phone. It’s suddenly ringing off the hook, sir. They want a statement.”

His head droops as he heads in. I follow him, standing in the open doorframe to listen. The room goes quiet as Dad answers, “This is Senator Rothdale.” He pauses. “I believe that any man who can put family before his career will put the state of Georgia before his own interests as well. Justin Cocker will do a fine job in Washington. I’ll be the first to root for his success.” He pauses, smiling. “Thank you. Goodnight.”

My hand flutters to my mouth as Dad hangs up the phone, his eyes cast down. The room erupts in applause. He meets my eyes and we share a nod of mutual respect before he turns to clasp hands with his proud friends. His new girlfriend is his age, dressed conservatively, her short hair well-styled. She beams at him, bangle bracelets jingling as she reaches to place a hand on his chest. He covers it with his own and smiles at her.

I step outside, my knuckles tight around my cell phone. Breathing deeply I hug myself to stay warm, staring up at the sky and wishing Justin was the kind of man to open his heart like that.

My father didn’t know how to be a dad, but he sure knows how to be a romantic partner.

He’s always in love.

I used to hate it. Now I envy it.

Justin is calling me again?

Don’t answer it.

Don’t answer it.

Don’t answer it.

Shutting my eyes tightly I say, “Hello?”

“Jaimie!”

Oh God, the sound of his voice is enough to kill me. “Yes,” I croak.

“Were you watching?”

“Congratulations.” I force a smile so he can hear it. “I’m very happy for you.”

He’s silent, then, “You’re still mad.”

“That’s not the right word,” I whisper. “I’m not angry.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m hurt, Justin. I’m hurt.”

Like don’t want to get out of bed in the morning, hurt.

“Why? Because I didn’t invite you to brunch with my family?”

“Because you didn’t want to.” Wiping a stray tear from my cheek, I steady my voice to say, “Justin, I’m very excited for you. Really, I know how much this means to you and I think it’s great. And my dad handled it surprisingly well.”

“He did?”

“Yes. He was impressed with what you did in Savannah. He thinks you’re the right man for the job. You’ll be seeing it on the news. He just made a statement.”

“Jason! Turn up the TV.” The melodic sound of reporter’s voices rises in volume in the background.

Hugging myself, I ask, “Jason’s with you?”

“Yeah.” His tone gets hurried as he explains, “It’s just him though. Mom’s watching Hannah at their place. It’s just Jason with me. No one else.”

“It’s none of my business who’s there,” I whisper. “I have to go.”

“Jaimie!”

I hang up and stare at the phone a moment before shutting it off. Alone, I gaze at the sky for a blessedly long and uninterrupted period of time when I begin to see what I’ve done for the first time. When Dad asked for my help, I dropped my whole life. Then when Justin asked for my help, I did it again.

I don’t have any friends here.

I haven’t found a yoga place here.

I’ve taken only one walk.

There is no art on my walls.

I don’t even have a real coffee table.

I helped decorate his daughter’s room and move his office when my own home is not complete. How did I fall into the same pit so many women have fallen into before? We’re so good at helping others yet so bad at helping ourselves.