The State of Us Read online

  It wasn’t fair the way voters and journalists treated her. Every critique of every appearance she made included, somewhere, a section about how she looked: what she was wearing, her hair, her makeup. The same writers never mentioned what Tomás Rosario was wearing, but they were always quick to point out whatever perceived flaws they saw in my mother’s outfits.

  She had once, after spending two days with no sleep dealing with the aftermath of Hurricane Tiffany, yawned where a television camera could see her. For an entire news cycle there were stories about how Janice Arnault might not have the stamina to be president. All because she’d yawned after staying awake for forty-eight hours. Instead of criticizing her, they should have been applauding her, but they never would.

  As a result, my mother took great pains to always present herself as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. “Smile like you mean it,” she often told me. “Especially when you don’t.” But I knew my mother, and I recognized the telltale signs of her exhaustion.

  “Dressing for an important event?” my mother asked, eyeing my outfit. “I’m not sure about the bow tie.”

  My cheeks got hot as blood rose into them. “It’s for homecoming this weekend.”

  My mother crossed the room and sat down on my bed. I’d always admired the way she could seem fierce and fragile at the same time without actually being either. And the secret to her success, the secret that her opponents had never figured out even though it was the worst-kept secret in the history of secrets, was that her sincerity was genuine. My mother never pretended to care about anything. She found something worth caring about in every issue she tackled. When she gave something her attention, she did so fully and without half measures.

  And right then, my mother had turned the entirety of her attention onto me.

  “Which lovely lady are you accompanying?” she asked. The promise of a smile touched her lips. “No, let me guess. That darling Sandya on your debate team?”

  “No, Mom—”

  “Or Laura Jane? Is she still cheerleading? I can’t remember seeing her at any of the games this year.”

  My mother didn’t actually have time to attend my high school’s football games, but she had them recorded for her so that she could watch them while she was traveling. She felt that it was important to remain loyal to where she lived.

  “Laura Jane’s still cheerleading,” I said, “but—”

  “I know. You’re taking Mindy Maguire, aren’t you? She’s a fine young woman. I’ll have to say hi when we see her at church.”

  “Actually, I’m not taking anyone.”

  My mother’s lips twitched. It wasn’t quite a frown, but it was the seed of one. “I know you and Tamal enjoy going stag, but aren’t you a little old for that?”

  “Tamal is taking Astrid.”

  “Good for him,” she said. “Why haven’t you found a nice young lady to attend with?”

  Standing over my mother was getting awkward, so I grabbed the chair from my desk. “You know I’ve been hoping to spend more time campaigning with you, and when you win, I’ll have to finish my senior year at a new school in DC, so going by myself seemed like the easiest way to avoid leading anyone on.”

  There was a moment where I didn’t know what my mother was thinking. Her reactions were usually telegraphed in ways that I’d grown to recognize, but I was getting nothing from her. “How did I raise such a considerate young man?”

  I rolled my eyes playfully. “Oh please. It was all Dad.”

  My mother laughed and slapped my knee. “That poor man can’t raise the blinds without help. But he does look handsome in a suit.”

  “Mom!”

  “Well, if you’re not taking anyone, what is with this outfit?”

  I resisted the urge to tug the bow tie. It had actually been Dre’s suggestion. I’d gone with Tamal to find his suit and had tried a few on myself, just for fun since I had plenty of suits. I’d taken pictures of them in the fitting room and had sent them to Dre. When he’d seen the picture of me in this dark blue plaid suit with the bow tie, he’d gone a bit bananas for it and told me I absolutely had to wear it. It felt a little too daring for me, though.

  I couldn’t explain any of that to my mother, however. I wasn’t sure how she would have reacted to my taking fashion advice from the guy who regularly wore outfits on TV that my mother referred to as “shameful.”

  “It was an impulsive decision,” I said. “I’m still not certain about it. But Nora has been telling me I need to step outside my comfort zone so that my peers will find me more relatable.”

  My mother’s pinched-lipped, squinty-eyed appraisal of me made my skin itch. “I’m not sure this is what Nora meant. I can ask Kiersten for some suggestions. She has the best taste in men’s clothes.” Kiersten was my mother’s stylist, and the one who’d picked out the socks that Dre had mentioned liking at the debate.

  “You can ask,” I said. “It’s not a big deal, though. It’s only a dance, and it’s tomorrow night, so it’s a little late for a costume change.”

  “She’ll be over shortly to help me pack for South Carolina.” My mother paused in a way that told me she still had more to say. “But, Dean? When it comes to you, I don’t care about any poll. What is it you kids say? You do you?”

  “Oh, Mom. Please don’t.”

  “All I’m saying is that I want you to be yourself, no matter who that is.”

  This was the thing that made people love her. It was why I loved her. Because she was absolutely sincere. There was nothing I could wear, nothing I could become, nothing I could do that would make my mother stop supporting me and loving me. She might not have agreed with all my decisions, but she would never stop loving me for them.

  “Is it all right if I haven’t figured out who I am yet?”

  My mother laughed. “I’d be a little worried if you thought you had it all figured out by seventeen. But that’s why it’s important to follow the path we’ve discussed. I want to help you avoid making the same kinds of mistakes I made when I was your age.”

  The path. The one that would guide me through high school so that I could get into the right college. The one that would lead me to law school and a career in politics like my mother. The one that saw me married by twenty-five and president by forty-five.

  “What happens if I don’t follow that path?”

  My mother’s smile turned a little wistful. “You can be anyone you want, and I believe you can do anything you set your mind to doing, Dean. There’s no need to worry.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  My mother stood and yawned, letting her guard down around me. “Well, I had better get moving.” She stopped at the door and turned back. “Who were the pictures for?”

  “What?”

  She motioned at my pocket. “You were taking a selfie when I came in.”

  I tried not to cringe when my mother said “selfie.” She’d actually become a meme at one point, a milestone that she was ridiculously proud of for some reason. I touched my phone through my pocket. “Astrid,” I said. “She’s helping me decide whether to wear this suit or not.”

  “Just be careful about the kinds of pictures you send your friends.”

  “I know,” I said. “Never send anyone or post anything online that I wouldn’t be comfortable sending to Nana. I won’t.”

  My mother smiled again. “You’re a good boy, Dean. Stick to the path, and you’ll be fine.”

  Dre

  DEAN WAS STANDING in front of a floor-length mirror in his bedroom, wearing the plaid suit that I’d picked out for him. Okay, I hadn’t picked it out so much as seen a picture of it that he’d sent me from the dressing room and then bullied and browbeat him into buying it. All that mattered was that he was wearing it. The smile he’d thrown on as an accessory was a bonus. I don’t think I’d ever seen him wearing such an unguarded smile before. Not in any of the pictures I’d seen of him. Not that I’d spent hours late into the night googling Dean Arnault. Who would do something like that? De
finitely not me.

  (Hold on, I gotta go clear my browser history.)

  Once I was done admiring Dean in his fancy bow tie, I zoomed in on the picture and peeked around the sides of the mirror to see if I could get an idea of what the secret sanctuary of Dean looked like.

  Neat. It looked neat. His bed was made, there was nothing on the floor, the bookshelves were filled with philosophy books and biographies about people I didn’t recognize, and I didn’t see a TV anywhere. Dean lived in the bedroom of the boy my parents would’ve killed for me to be.

  DreOfTheDead: geek chic never looked so good

  PrezMamasBoy: You don’t think it’s a little too much?

  PrezMamasBoy: Wait. Forget I asked. I’ve seen the way you dress.

  DreOfTheDead: jealous much

  PrezMamasBoy: Yes. You have found me out. I am so incredibly jealous of your avant-garde sense of fashion.

  DreOfTheDead: is that sarcasm i’m sensing

  PrezMamasBoy: I’m going to make sure that my mother’s first act after she wins the election is an executive order outlawing school dances.

  DreOfTheDead: not looking forward to going

  PrezMamasBoy: There are many reasons I’m not looking forward to this. Allow me to list them for you.

  PrezMamasBoy: They’re loud. Music does not need to make your ears bleed to be enjoyed.

  PrezMamasBoy: They reinforce the outdated notion that people must pair up in order to lead a fulfilling life.

  PrezMamasBoy: One word: dancing.

  DreOfTheDead: you don’t dance?

  PrezMamasBoy: Don’t be silly. Of course I dance.

  PrezMamasBoy: But the only dance I know how to do is, wait for it . . .

  PrezMamasBoy: The robot.

  DreOfTheDead: you shouldnt make jokes like that

  PrezMamasBoy: Why not?

  DreOfTheDead: cause its an ace stereotype

  DreOfTheDead: you know thats not why i used to make those jokes right???

  DreOfTheDead: and i’m sorry about them

  PrezMamasBoy: I thought you made those jokes because you were jealous of my impeccable sense of fashion and polysyllabic vocabulary, but your apology is accepted and appreciated.

  “What’re you laughing at over there, mijo?”

  My mom was sitting on the couch with her legs pulled up and a blanket draped over her feet because they were always cold, even during the summer. My mom was beautiful in an old Hollywood glamour sort of way. The one time I dressed in drag, I partially based my look on her, and I was stunning.

  “Nothing,” I said, which was kind of the truth. I’d been talking to Dean almost nonstop since the debate. When we weren’t talking, I was thinking about talking to him. I read back through our conversations over and over, and I imagined what it would be like to see him again. I tried to keep from letting my emotions get away from me, but restraint wasn’t one of my strengths.

  “Nothing seems to be taking up a lot of your attention lately.”

  “What?”

  Mom pointed at my phone. “You’re spending more time than usual staring at that device. Do you need an intervention?”

  I dropped my phone on the couch beside me and turned to my mom.

  “There’s the face of the beautiful boy I gave birth to.”

  “Ugh, Mom, gross.”

  “The miracle of life isn’t gross.”

  I shuddered and shook my head. “When’s Dad getting home? I’m starving.”

  My mom checked her watch. “Why don’t we order Indian? I don’t think we’ll see your father tonight.”

  “Again?”

  “It’s the campaign,” she said. “He didn’t do as well in the debate as he’d hoped, and Jackson McMann is causing more trouble than expected.”

  “Still,” I said. “He could at least come home for dinner.” Even when Dad was attorney general, he’d made time for us. He had always come home for dinner and had been both willing and eager to help me with Dreadful Dressup. The photos of him made up like a giant zombie bunny had received more comments than any other shoot Mel and I had done. Since he’d started his run for president, I felt like I hardly saw him.

  “I know you miss him,” my mother said. There was a wistful tone in her voice that said I wasn’t the only one who missed Dad. “He still hopes you’ll spend some time with him on the campaign trail.”

  “What about school?”

  “You can take a leave of absence from school until after the election.”

  I threw my hands in the air in celebration. “No more homework!”

  My mom glared at me with the exasperated look only a mother could conjure. “I’ll speak to your teachers and get your assignments so that you can do them while you’re traveling.”

  It wasn’t the first time my parents had made the offer. My dad had suggested it a couple of months earlier, saying it was the kind of opportunity I’d never have again, but I’d turned him down because it was my senior year, which was also an experience I’d never have again. My dad had been disappointed, but he’d understood. He’d done his best to make sure his campaign hadn’t disrupted my life more than necessary. But the more dinners my dad missed and the more time he spent away from home, the more I thought about taking him up on the offer just so I could spend time with him.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Don’t think too long,” Mom said. “And don’t worry about your dad. Everything will settle down again after the election.”

  Whereas I didn’t want my dad to win the election—kind of—Mom was pretty sure that he wouldn’t win. All of this stuff was nothing but a weird scenic detour in our lives; we’d return to normal after Dad lost and got this whole trying-to-be-president thing out of his system. That’s not to say Mom didn’t support him—she did. She campaigned with him, with his running mate, and even on her own, carrying his message all over the country, and she never let on for a second to anyone but me that she didn’t think he was going to win. Of course, she hadn’t thought he’d win the primary either, and look how that had turned out. My father, the unlikeliest candidate, now had an actual shot at being the most powerful person in the country.

  “You spent time with Governor Arnault during the lockdown at the debate, right?”

  My mom seemed surprised by the question. She and Dad hadn’t talked about the ordeal much. “Yes, why?”

  “What’d you think of her? And Mr. Arnault.”

  “They seemed like perfectly normal people.”

  “Talk about anything interesting?”

  “The weather,” Mom said. “What might have caused the lockdown. Mostly we were worried about you and they were worried about their son.”

  I’d spent so much time concerned about my parents that I hadn’t considered how much they’d been scared for me. “But you got along all right?”

  My mom smiled. “Did you expect Janice and your father to duel with pistols?”

  I laughed. “No, but . . . I guess, do you think it’s possible for people who disagree on basically everything to be friends?”

  “You know, your father and I don’t agree on everything, right?”

  “Like what?”

  “Education,” she said. “I think school, including college, should be free, but your father worries that making college free would devalue it.” My mom worked as a librarian in the public school system, so it made sense that she supported free education. “But trying to understand people we disagree with is how we learn and grow.”

  “So you think you could be friends with people like the Arnaults?”

  My mom pursed her lips. “I don’t know them well enough to say, but I’d certainly give them a chance. You’ll never really know who a person is until you put in the effort to get to know them.”

  “Hold up,” I said, and got my phone.

  DreOfTheDead: can I ask a personal question?

  DreOfTheDead: i’m gonna do it anyway

  DreOfTheDead: so are you like int
o dating or sex or love or anything?

  Mom was looking at me funny when I finished typing my questions to Dean. “What was that about?”

  “Just putting in the effort to get to know someone.” My stomach growled furiously, and I patted it. “You said something about Indian?”

  I knew I was crushing on Dean, but I didn’t know if I should. Not like I could control it, but I could at least manage my expectations. Like when I had a crush on Lee Ancrum sophomore year. He was a senior and on the basketball team, and I felt like little cartoon hearts floated around my head every time I looked at him. But he was strictly attracted to girls, so I was able to get over my crush because I knew there was no chance of anything ever happening between us.

  With Dean, there were too many uncertainties. He hadn’t said he was definitively ace, but that he believed he was on the spectrum, which left open a lot of possibilities, but none that I could count on. If he did like me, there were a million reasons why we’d never work, but it didn’t make sense worrying about it if it was a situation that had no chance of happening.

  Either way, my mom was right that the only way I’d find out was to ask. I understood how much Dean valued his privacy, and I hoped I hadn’t gotten too personal.

  I kept my phone with me through dinner, waiting not-so-patiently for the buzz telling me Dean had responded. It finally did while I was cleaning up the dishes. I couldn’t just run off and leave them, so I rushed through them as quickly as I could before dashing to my room and shutting the door behind me.

  PrezMamasBoy: You can ask. I just hope it’s okay if I don’t know the answer.

  PrezMamasBoy: I’ll try to give you one anyway.

  PrezMamasBoy: I used to think something was wrong with me. Everyone else talked about sex and attraction in a way that I didn’t understand. My friends would see a good-looking girl or guy, and it did something to them that it didn’t do to me.