Lani, Holly, and I are so far apart all summer that we have to rely on group chats to stay in touch. It makes it hard to know how they’re really doing (which I don’t like), but it makes it easier to hide how I’m really doing (which I do like). By midsummer I don’t know who we missed more—each other or our so-called partners. Lani is the only one who didn’t have to pretend otherwise, and I have to admit I’m jealous.

HOLLY: Happy Birthday, Annika!

ME: How’d you even know?

I dropped off social media after the whole Facebook thing last year. Less mess, less stress.

HOLLY: I have my ways…;)

LANI: OK, what did you hack into this time?

HOLLY: Me??????????

ME: ha. Pls don’t screw up my visa status, ok?

LANI: I miss Kyle so much!

ME: umm, and that has to do with… what?

HOLLY: she’s obsessed!

LANI: you want to hear me gush?

Neither Holly nor I touch that one.

LANI: Okay then! The sex is amazing but I swear right now I’d give my left foot just to hold his hand and look in his eyes. I miss his teasing and scowling, his swearing, his smarts, and OMG his kisses! I’m bereft.

HOLLY: Yeah, I didn’t need to hear that, but you sure can write!

ME: So Holly, you’re not dating???

HOLLY: Nope. Distracted.

LANI: By????

HOLLY: Umm. Nothing. No one. You know.

ME: LOL! How’s Noah?

HOLLY: fine! why would you ask that? I mean, I miss him but we talk every night.

LANI: EVERY NIGHT?

HOLLY: Shut up! Annika, what about you? Aren’t you supposed to be dating?

ME: Yeah. Supposed to is turning out to be a bummer. I’m not feeling it.

LANI: I wonder why? (not!)

I desperately want to ask about Matt but I’m afraid of what I might find out. I hear from him so rarely. Maybe he’s forgotten about me. Maybe whatever spell we were under has worn off…. I start to panic.

ME: Can we not just talk about guys?? Isn’t there a feminist principle to observe here?

HOLLY: A Bechdel test for texts! That reminds me of Noah!

LANI: Oh, for christ’s sake!

ME: LOL! You sound just like Kyle!

LANI: We’re all so screwed!

ME: And not in the good way….

* * *

“How do you feel about my son?”

To say the question surprises me would be an understatement.

“Excuse me?” I wonder if I’ve missed something, if my English has failed me. Senator Troubridge stands in the doorway of my room-away-from-home, looking calm and unflappable. I heard her come in late last night. And Mary Mac warned me she’d be in town for some meetings. Matt’s mother. The senator.

“How are you, Senator Troubridge? Thank you again for letting me stay here….”

She waves an airy hand in dismissal, but her eyes are still locked on me.

“How do you feel about my son?” she repeats, more slowly this time, as if I really didn’t understand her English the first time. My hackles rise (an expression I like a lot) and my shoulders straighten. I’m about to leave for work and I don’t have time for this. On the other hand, I owe her.

“I feel very strongly about your son.”

There’s a pause while I see her digest this and I see a flicker of something else in her expression. Amusement? Respect? Concern? All of the above? Whatever it is doesn’t make it as far as her mouth.

Her head tilts as she assesses me. “Can you elaborate?” She raises one elegant wrist to glance at her watch and I don’t think the gesture is intended to be rude. I think she’s just busy. But I am too.

“No,” I answer, grabbing my handbag and moving to pass her in the doorway. She’s not exactly blocking my way but she isn’t exactly moving aside either. She says nothing, just watches me with those sharp eyes.

I sigh. “Is this where you tell me to give him up and I say no and you swear and threaten and I resist and you go back to Matt and tell him all about it and how I passed your test and he rushes to my side and then we all live happily ever after?” I fold my arms and tilt my head back at her, mimicking her posture.

A tiny smile tugs at her mouth. “I don’t like to swear and threaten.”

I smile more widely. “Then I guess not. It was good to see you though.” I step around her.

“I’m on my way out as well. Can I drop you somewhere?” Again she checks her watch. I’m sure her time is planned to the minute and I wonder how much this conversation with me is setting her back.

“Sure. I’d appreciate a few more minutes of AC.”

Senator Troubridge nods and falls into step beside me as we descend the stairs to the ground floor. She texts as she walks and I’m impressed by her multitasking skills. In heels and a tailored dress no less.

“How is your internship going so far?” Her face doesn’t lift from her phone and she moves ahead of me through the front door and toward a waiting black town car.

“Pretty well. The work is interesting but the—white tape? red tape? black tape?—I can’t remember the right color but the logistics of asylum applications is a nightmare. I can’t imagine how anyone does it without some agency assistance.” I follow her into the back seat, relaxing now that we’re not talking about Matt.

“Tell me more.”

So I do. I explain the application process and where the problems arise as the car pulls smoothly out from the curb. It’s a short ride to the offices my NGO shares on Fourteenth Street and I field several more questions from the senator.

“People will talk about you,” she says abruptly.

“Excuse me?” I understand what Matt means now about feeling several steps behind her. The car pulls up in front of my building but I hesitate with my hand on the door.

“They are probably already talking about you. Don’t pay them any mind.” Her eyes search mine.

“Okay…. Thank you for the ride.” My confusion must show.

“Annika,” she sighs patiently. “People will always talk about you. You’re noticeable: foreign, pretty, smart, and you’re a woman in the male field of politics. Ignore them. Appearances matter, of course, but other things always matter more.”

She pauses then adds with a little wince. “Like the truth, my husband would say.” She gives me a real smile and I’m startled.

“Thank you,” I say again, at a loss now.

Her charm is a little overwhelming and it reminds me painfully of Matt again. I get out of the car slowly, still processing what she said. For some reason I’m reluctant to end our conversation.

“Tell Matt…,” I stall.

Tell him what?

“How is he anyway?” I rush out.

Senator Troubridge presses her lips together as if to hide another smile. Two in a row!

“I really couldn’t say.”

Then she pulls the door closed and I’m left wondering what that was all about.