Those Who Wait

by Haley Cass

  Diop: Yes, it’s apparent that Charlotte has been very proactive in her campaign strategy. The amount of interviews she’s arranged in print and live television nearly doubles the appearances you’ve made on your campaign run thus far; I’m to assume this was a calculated decision from your team?

  Young: Your presumption is accurate. Ms. Thompson has seemingly made it her mission to pop up everywhere possible and as often as possible. While I’m sure a strategy like that seems “proactive” to someone of her age and inexperience, the fact of the matter is that elections aren’t won because of how much time you spend parading yourself about, but on substance.

  Diop: And naturally, you feel your campaign is more substantive than your competitor. But in the last couple of months, a few of your stances have been criticized, especially in comparison to Thompson’s more hot topic issues. Would you care to speak about that?

  Young: In comparison to Ms. Thompson’s platform? Would you care to elaborate?

  Diop: Of course. For example, Charlotte has spoken at length about topics such as homelessness – a rampant issue in this city as I’m sure you’re aware, better programs for public schooling across the nation, and working in tandem with governments in Europe about climate change. Your platforms –

  Young: Yet Thompson speaks very little about international business, an issue which I have discussed in detail. I was the liaison for the Committee of Consumer Affairs and Business Licensing for years, among several other boards. And I’m aware that my support of the arts as one of my main subjects has come under some criticism, but I will continue to challenge those who pass judgement to look into my previous statements.

  Diop: Right, you bring up a good poi –

  Young: Furthermore, I implore you to think about disparaging the arts as a platform when being a proponent for my competitor, who – I will remind readers – has become fairly well-known because of a photoshoot, of questionable taste I might add, in a magazine.

  Diop: Ms. Young, the Times, and myself, in any official capacity as an interviewer and journalist – have made no official statement of support in this election as of yet.

  Young: Mhmm, maybe there have been no “official” statements, but it’s no secret as to which way this publication leans. Regardless. Let’s continue.

  Diop: As I was going to say before, you brought up a good point; you’ve been on the board of several organizations and worked with the Committee of Consumer Affairs and Business Licensing. That has been another matter of contention during this election – your lack of personal experience in politics.

  Young: I have not only been involved in meetings and fundraisers for nearly the entire time that Charlotte Thompson has been alive, but I grew up with my father – an esteemed and brilliant politician – not to mention my marriage to my departed husband. I was the wife of a congressman for much of my adult life; I have personal experience in politics.

  Diop: So, essentially you might say you feel that this election is also a matter of measuring what one might feel is more valuable: a shorter amount of time with direct hands-on experience or a longer time on the sideline.

  Young: I suppose someone could think of it such as that, though I would dare anyone to compare working in the Mayor’s Office for merely a few years to something such as learning from my father during his time in office. Inexperience will always reveal itself. Whether you’re relying on nepotism or not.

  Diop: Certainly a matter that I believe will come up during your debate with Charlotte Thompson, and I’m sure many are looking forward to it including myself; I do wish very much that we could discuss more, but we are currently out of time. Thank you for joining us today, Ms. Young.

  Young: Yes, I look forward to viewing your column, Ms. Diop.

  The first debate between Young and Thompson is next week – December 22nd on C-SPAN.

  Charlotte’s teeth clenched so hard it physically pained her, and her already slightly blurred vision was suddenly enough to leave her a little dizzy. She was going to beat that woman in this election if it was the last thing she did. Every single time she saw any of Naomi’s interviews, this feeling that she managed to contain only just burned up inside of her.

  It wasn’t just the insults – truly, Charlotte had grown so sick of those weeks ago, especially given that they were typically on the same subjects. Her age, her grandmother, her campaign strategy, her “inexperience” – because she’d seen all of those coming.

  But really, it was the fact that she still had yet to truly pinpoint where Naomi was in this election. Despite the fact that Charlotte was up in all of the pre-election polls, Naomi didn’t seem to be very concerned. Which was concerning in and of itself.

  It set her on edge, and that? Well, that made Charlotte all the more antsy for their debate in three days. With a deep breath – that she was forced to take in from her mouth given her stuffed nose – Charlotte did her best to release the tension in her shoulders. Right in the writing in front of her was the date of her first face-to-face debate with Naomi on live television.

  And despite the fact that she was already ahead and that it was truly the second debate, which would be less than a month before the election itself, that mattered the most, Charlotte wanted to win. She wanted to win gracefully and elegantly, appearing effortless even when it wasn’t.

  As much as it pained her to admit it, that wouldn’t happen if she was sick.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose, helping alleviate some of the pressure in her sinuses for a moment, before she glanced toward Dean’s office. For the first time in her damn career, Charlotte was taking the afternoon off for a sick day.

  ***

  Despite reassuring Dean when she left work, much to his relief, that she would go home and rest, Charlotte found herself poring over all of Naomi’s interviews – both from past and present. Her own file sat side by side with Naomi’s, the contents spilled over her coffee table.

  She’d intended to rest. Really, she had. She’d talked herself into resting as she’d gone home early. Telling herself that maybe she was working just a little too much lately.

  Despite the fact that she was tired, that her eyes were a little sore and her head was hurting, she couldn’t stop herself from reviewing all of the information she’d compiled. It was –

  When her phone beeped, it took her a moment to register it through her slightly disoriented thoughts, already swamped with work.

  Sutton – 6:32PM

  Hey! I know you’ve been really busy this week,

  preparing for the debate and all. I just wanted

  to know if I could drop something off at your

  apartment?

  Sutton – 6:33PM

  I know you’re probably still at work, and you’ve

  been so busy the last few days. I just . . . well, I have

  a little something for you and I’d like to make

  sure you get it before I leave.

  She frowned.

  Charlotte – 6:35PM

  Where are you going?

  Sutton – 6:36PM

  Home! For the holidays, remember? And in, you

  know, the spirit of the holidays I have a little gift

  to drop off for you. You don’t think it would be –

  Sutton – 6:36PM

  I can leave it outside your apartment door,

  right?

  Santa – 6:37PM

  Not that I think your neighbors are untrustworthy

  or anything like that; you live in a really nice place.

  Sutton – 6:37PM

  . . . you know what I mean.

  Despite the fact that Charlotte wasn’t feeling well and was stressed – for a multitude of reasons – and that she hadn’t felt well all day, she felt herself smiling. It was impossible not to, not with Sutton’s rambling texts.

  She’d missed her. It had only been a few days, and a part of that had been Charlotte processing everything that had happened in the coffee shop. Meaning partial avoidance of
Sutton and then throwing herself headfirst into her work.

  Not that the two had any sort of correlation. But still.

  She’d missed her. And yes, Sutton had been busy herself. Finishing everything up for the semester, spending time with her sister, and getting ready to go home for the holidays. Not that she had any shopping to do, as Sutton had proudly texted her that she’d had all of her holiday gifts for her family and friends prepared over a month ago.

  The nerd.

  Charlotte shook her head a bit, trying to clear it as she narrowed her eyes to focus and reread the texts. It was only then that she realized . . .

  Charlotte – 6:40PM

  Are you outside my door now?

  Without waiting for an answer, Charlotte set her phone and stood. Then immediately regretted her action, as the living room spun for a moment with how light her head felt before she gathered her bearings.

  Sniffling slightly and clearing her throat because she was acutely aware of how awful her voice had sounded earlier, she walked to her apartment door and slowly opened it.

  Sure enough, there Sutton stood. She had her phone in one hand and a small giftbag in the other, her jacket on but – Charlotte noted with a small eyeroll even as she wanted to grin just a little – unzipped. It revealed a sweater underneath, a deep blue that made her eyes look even bluer, as if that was possible. Her hair was in a braid pulled over her shoulder, a scarf around her neck and her face was adorably flushed from the December cold.

  Charlotte had missed the sight of her in the last few days and the way her stomach had felt uncomfortably knotted lessened slightly.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” She grinned as she said it, and managed a wink even as she leaned against the door to help steady her.

  Normally, her flirting got a smiling blush and small headshake from Sutton, or even an eyeroll that Charlotte could tell was pleased. She could see the start of a smile on Sutton’s face as her eyes flickered from her phone in hand up to Charlotte’s face.

  Any semblance of a smile completely disappeared, replaced in seconds by a deep frown, forehead crinkling as her eyes sparked in worry. “Oh my God, Charlotte! Are you okay?”

  Charlotte was very rarely embarrassed. In fact, it was difficult to remember the last time she’d been genuinely, truly mortified. Sutton had seen her in professional clothes, her more casual clothes, skimpy underwear and tank tops that she’d thrown on to sleep in, and completely naked.

  However, Charlotte realized, she hadn’t seen her in the baggy sweatpants that were only reserved for times she was in desperate need of being comfortable, her thermal long-sleeved shirt that was years old, and her hair tossed up into a messy ponytail, mostly just to stay out of her way while she’d worked.

  Not to mention the ringing of her grandmother’s words in her head that she looked like she’d come crawling up out of a sewer. And she hadn’t been wrong. Her eyes were glassy, with bags under them, and a sallow complexion that she’d seen in the mirror when she’d gotten home . . . she knew it didn’t make for a pretty picture.

  Which was fine when she’d sequestered herself on the couch by herself to recover all alone. It was less fine when the woman who had never seen her as anything but put-together saw her looking like a mess.

  A sick mess, nonetheless.

  Shaking her head slightly, she grabbed the door handle. “I forgot . . .” With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and refused to look as sheepish as she might have felt. “I came home from work not feeling quite my best. I’ve been resting.”

  The look on Sutton’s was adorably concerned, her eyes wide as she quickly tucked her phone in her pocket. “You’re sick?”

  Pink lips pursed and Sutton seemed to instinctively step forward, her hand coming to rest on Charlotte’s forehead gently. Her touch was cool and comforting, and the tension that had been lodged in her shoulders loosened at the brush of her fingertips.

  It was out of her control, the way her eyes slipped closed for a moment, as she murmured, “I’m just tired, that’s all. I’ve been working a lot.”

  When Sutton’s hand disappeared, Charlotte’s eyes opened slowly as she leaned more of her weight against the door. The frown on Sutton’s face was the deepest Charlotte had ever seen on her, and she found that she didn’t like to be the cause of it.

  “You’ve been working yourself sick,” her voice was tinged with disapproval. “Have you taken any medicine today? Eaten anything? Did I wake you up?”

  The rapid questioning made Charlotte’s head spin a bit and she held up her hand. “I took some ibuprofen for my headache, the thought of eating makes me nauseous, and don’t worry; I haven’t been napping.” Muffling a yawn, she inclined her head. “I was actually looking at my notes for the debate; you could take a look if you –”

  She cut herself off as Sutton stepped inside, more commanding than she usually did, shaking her head at Charlotte as she walked by her. Charlotte’s eyebrows furrowed low on her forehead in confusion, though she wasn’t displeased by the fact that Sutton was staying.

  Slowly she closed the door and followed Sutton into her living room, where she was met with a surprisingly stern gaze. “You’re telling me that you feel awful because you’ve been killing yourself working all day and night with the campaign and even though you’re clearly not well, you’re pushing yourself to keep working?”

  It was pride and defensiveness that she felt tying together inside of her, and an alarming amount of shame from Sutton’s words. Which – Charlotte had never been cowed by anyone about how much she put into her work, considering either time or energy.

  “I couldn’t help it?” She offered, her voice soft and scratchy. Even though Charlotte was fully aware that she did push herself more than others would – a matter of pride – the closer the debate came, the more time she felt was being wasted when she could be preparing. What was an hour or two – or three – of sleep in comparison with winning this election?

  Clearing her throat again, she caught Sutton’s gaze. “You know that Naomi is an underhanded competitor; you also know me –” Sometimes Charlotte still found it weird. That she had a friend who wasn’t Caleb or Dean who knew her that well in only a matter of months. “I can’t go into this without both eyes open.”

  The words apparently worked to calm Sutton’s worry and she sighed. She bit her lip as she looked Charlotte up and down. “You can barely keep your eyes open right now,” she murmured with a small smile that Charlotte returned, before shaking her head. “Come here.”

  For a moment, she thought Sutton meant here as in, to her. Before she realized that Sutton was instead gesturing at the couch, where, earlier, Charlotte had brought out one of the quilts she had folded in her linen closet that she had then wrapped around herself.

  She walked closer, watching as Sutton efficiently grabbed at the comforter and shook it out before patting it down. Her eyes met Sutton’s as she lifted her eyebrows before turning to arrange the pillows she had at the top of the couch.

  “Sutton, darling, I’m not particularly in the mood for my typical stress relaxant.” The corners of her mouth lifted slightly even as she sighed in regret. Being able to have another night of marathon sex with Sutton would have been an ideal way to burn off some of her stress.

  Sutton rolled her eyes but there was that light in them of amusement that Charlotte could identify even right now. “No kidding. Climb in here,” she demanded softly, lifting the blanket that she’d arranged so that when someone laid down in it, the blanket would fold down over them.

  Charlotte baulked, however, folding her arms over her chest. Looking like a mess and being exhausted to the point of being sick or not – “I’m not an invalid, Sutton.”

  It just so happened that her body chose to betray her at that moment and – damn it – she couldn’t control the fact that she sneezed. Repeatedly, and hard enough that her eyes were watering and her head felt so light after, the room seemed to spin for a moment.

  Stil
l, though, she remained upright despite the fact that she hated being seen like this. She hadn’t felt this unwell for years, and the last time she had, the only person who’d seen her was Caleb. And that had only been after she’d accidentally slept for over twelve hours and he’d been worried enough about her for missing their dinner plans that he’d let himself in.

  Showing this weakness in front of her brother was one thing; showing it in front of Sutton, who had always seen her as better than this, stronger than this – the way she wanted everyone to see her – was different.

  Even if the fact that the light of concern in Sutton’s eyes was so strong it made her resolve weaken just a bit.

  “I know you’re not an invalid but you need rest. I’ll put on that documentary we started a few weeks ago about the Peloponnesian War.” Sutton only flushed a little bit as she said the words, and Charlotte grinned lecherously at the memory.

  “It’s your fault we didn’t finish it,” she retorted, and was still pleasantly surprised with the fact that Sutton had initiated sex between them that night, on a night that was supposedly going to be a friend-night.

  With a blush, Sutton shot Charlotte one of those put-upon looks. “I don’t understand your fascination with history.” And when her blush deepened slightly, she clasped her hands in front of her. “And I personally find you more appealing than all of that.”

  Charlotte’s eyebrows came up on her forehead as she tilted her head, knowing that Sutton had these moments where she could surprise her with her words and her actions, but loving that she was still impressed with her.

  When Sutton’s hands slid to her hips in a rather take-charge manner, Charlotte’s eyes were drawn to the action. Her throat, which had been feeling a little sore, a little raw, all day, dried a little with the idea of Sutton taking control at other times.

  It was frustrating that she was positive that she wouldn’t be able to summon enough energy to act on any sexual thoughts right now. She barely caught herself from groaning aloud in irritation; the ease that she typically had holding herself together left her when she was feeling like this, and she hated it.