A Sense of Wonder

“You know what’d be wicked awesome?” he asked, a hint of amusement present in his voice. He waited until she looked away from the laptop before continuing. “If you walked out to that during a rally.”

“That’d be fucking rad!” She knew it couldn’t be done, but merely entertaining the thought excited her. “Can you imagine how insane it’d be to walk out to that? I feel like the crowd would go wild. It’d be like a boxing match or UFC fight.”

He nodded in agreement. “And since it’d be like that, you’d have to have a robe on.”

“It’s be a crime not to!”

“An unpardonable crime!” he exclaimed. “It would carry a five year minimum sentence, with a maximum of ten.”

“And they’d give me the ten.”

“And I wouldn’t appeal that decision.”

“Nor would I expect you to.” She told him, struggling to appear serious. “I’d deserve it for not having a velvet robe embroidered with my last name on the back.”

“You really would.” He in turn, fought back a smile. “But luckily for you, I won’t let you walk out without a custom robe.”

“What a lucky woman, I am.”

“Indeed.”

“So since you won’t let me walk out without a custom robe, I take it you’re in charge of it?”

“But of course,” he assured. “It’s going to be a rich navy blue with Balcázar embroidered in white along the back and the inner lining will be red, and it’ll just enough for that red to show in the front.”

“That’s one fucking patriotic robe.”

“Even Republicans won’t be able to find fault with it.” He smirked. “And after you walk out wearing it to Move Bitch, it’ll be iconic.”

“A moment for the ages!” she added. “And you’ll not only be remembered as the stylist behind the robe, you’ll be the one I hand it off to.”

“Do that and I have a feeling Jeffrey might try to kick my ass.” He watched in amusement as she burst into laughter. “Your ass better stop laughing, I’m serious! If you hand it off to me, he’ll be fucking offended.”

“Not even, I’ve got a more important role for him.”

“Which is?”

“He’s gonna hold the boombox.”

“Why the fuck would you need a boombox when there’s a sound system?”

“Because the boombox is as important as the robe,” she told him. “It’s all about presentation.”

“Well,” he pretended to think it over, “I guess you have a point there and that would keep him from kicking my ass.”

“Since you getting beat has been avoided, we need to focus on one last thing.”

“And what might that be?”

“My walk.” She stated. “I can’t step out like I always do. I mean, it’s a damn good walk. It’s done well by me for years, but Move Bitch requires more.”

“That it does,” he agreed. “And you know what? Let’s practice it right now.”

“Right now?”

“What? Do you have something better to do?”

“Touché.” She set the laptop down on the small space between them and then got up from the bed. “But if I’m practicing my walking, you’re practicing taking my coat.”

“I guess I can do that,” he said, getting up from the bed as he did so. “I take it we’ll be practicing to music.”

“But of course.” She grabbed her bathrobe off a nearby chair and slipped it in. “Now let’s do this shit.”

They spent the better part of an hour messing around while Ludacris’ Move Bitch blasted in the background. It was silly, by all means childish, but they genuinely enjoyed themselves. They laughed heartily, so much so that their stomachs even started to hurt a little, and that was great! That was what they’d been missing! They had tried to make the most of their time apart, they devoted themselves to their work and spoke on the phone and Skyped, but it wasn’t the same as being in the room together. It had been a difficult separation, but now they were together. They were having fun and things were easy. They didn’t have to think about what they were going to say, they didn’t have to think up witty comebacks and clever observations. They could curse. They could be vulgar. They could act like major assholes. They didn’t have to be the charming camera ready public figures and they relished in that, because as much as they loved politics, as much as they loved being out there and promoting their ideas, there was nothing quite as satisfying as just being in one another’s company.

“Pinche Francisco!” she said, laughing all the while. “I wish we could actually walk out like that. It’d be fucking amazing.”

“It would!” he agreed as he laid beside her on the bed. “Can you imagine what Henderson’s face would look like if you did it? I’d pay good money to see that.”

“And Anne’s face,” added Paulina. “I think she’d tell me off if I did that.”

“I’d wager a bit more than just telling you off.”

“Nah,” she said. “Nothing to serious. Anne would think it’s funny. She wouldn’t admit it, but she’d do that one smile where she pretends to be disappointed but you can still see it in her eyes that she’s amused.”

“Ah. That smile.”

“I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve been on the receiving end of that.”

“It’s been worth it though.”

“That it has,” she said. She turned onto her side so she could stare at the side of his face. “Do you remember that time she told us off for laughing at two in the morning?”

“How could I forget?” he asked, turning to look at her. “She banged on the door and told us that if we didn’t shut up, she’d never book adjoining rooms for us again.”

“She swears that’d keep us apart.”

Since the campaign began, Francis had made a habit of sleeping in her room. Sometimes there’d be two beds, sometimes it’d only be the one, but regardless of that, they shared a room. The only times they didn’t was when they were in different cities and whenever happened, they didn’t sleep well. They would toss and turn, only manage to sleep for a few hours at a time, and wake up feeling worse off than when they’d laid down. They had grown accustomed to one another. They needed the others presence – their warmth, in order to sleep comfortably. It was a strange thing, especially considering the fact that at the start of the campaign Francis had a girlfriend, and when they broke up hallway through the campaign and he started sleeping around with other women, he would always end up climbing into Paulina’s bed at the night. It didn’t matter the hour, sometimes he’d come in right when she was going to bed, other times he’d lay down beside her hours after she’d fallen asleep, but no matter what, he ended up there. It was a strange and complicated thing, something that not even their family or closest friends knew about, but it worked for them. And more importantly, it made them happy.

“I’d just walk down the fucking hall,” said Francis as he lazily scratched at the base of his neck. “Or you would’ve walked down the hall. Either way it wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“That’s why she didn’t follow through on the threat. She knew it wasn’t worth wasting her time.”

“Her time’s way too precious to waste on crap like that.”

“Damn right it is.” It was as she spoke that she felt a yawn coming on. She barely finished speaking in time to stifle it. “I think my body finally found out how late it is.”

“Did it?”

“Mhm.”

“So much for having a long night of shit talking ahead of us.” He teased.

“It’s been long enough.” She told him as she rolled onto her belly so that she could reach for her phone on the nightstand. “Fuck!” she bellowed when she saw what time it was.

“What happened?” asked Francis. The smile had vanished from his lips. He thought she might have received bad news via text message. Perhaps something related to the campaign or her family. Though that didn’t make much sense, if it was bad news, they would’ve called her, but it was late and he was tired, so he figured that she’d gotten bad news via text. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing serious,” she assured him, having caught the concerned tone in his voice.

“Then why you cursing?” He raised his brow, questioningly.

“Because it’s four in the morning . . .” she groaned.

“Bullshit!”

“Look for yourself.”

She handed him the phone, and just as she had, he cursed.

“How the fuck is it this late?” he asked as he continued to stare at the screen. “I could’ve sworn it was just eleven. It feels like we barely finished watching the news.”

“It seriously does.” She said. “But I guess we got carried away with the shit talking.”

“Us? Get carried away with shit talking? Never!” He meant to say it with a straight face. He wasn’t successful.

“You’re so lame, Francisco.” She giggled softly. “Come on, let’s go brush our teeth so we can knock out.”

“Ah. Crap.” He cursed. “That’s what I forgot! I knew something was missing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she told him. “I’ve got a toothbrush for you and that toothpaste you use.”

“Sensitive one?”

She nodded.

“Fresh Mint?”

“No, I got your ass the Cool Gel one,” she said, sarcastically. “Of course I got you the Fresh Mint. What do you think I’m new here?”

“Pinche Aurelia,” he said with a laugh. “Good looking out.”

“Don’t look so pleased.” She playfully jabbed him in the gut. “It’s more for my well-being than yours.”

“Is it?”

“Mhm,” she replied. “I am not trying to deal with your stinky morning breath.”

“Just for that, you better see what happens in the morning.”

“If you actually woke up before me, I’d be scared, but you’re always the lazy butt that sleeps in. So think I’m good. Now come on.” She spanked his butt. “It’s brushing time.”

Francis groaned and complained, but he eventually got out of bed and brushed his teeth. As much as he had grumbled about not wanting to leave the bed, he had to admit he was happy about standing next to her in the bathroom as they brushed their teeth. It had been far too long since they’d done that, far too long since he made silly faces to try to make her spit out her toothpaste. Was it childish? Absolutely! But being the reason she went to bed with a smile on her face was just too good a thing to pass up on. And although it took a few tries, he did eventually get her to spit out her toothpaste, it shot out of her mouth and landed directly on the mirror. She grew bright red from laughing so hard and for his part Francis wiped the mirror down and then walked away as though nothing had happened.

When Paulina finally regained her composure, she once again brushed her teeth and afterwards braided her hair so it wouldn’t be such a mess in the morning. In days gone by, she’d never bothered with that, not even during her years with Harry, but now that she was on the campaign trail, she did her best to minimize how much time she spent getting ready. There were more important issues to attend to, but since her physical appearance was still a priority, she found little ways to cut back on how long it would take for her to brush and style her hair, and she often went days where she just washed her body but didn’t do the same for her hair.

By the time she finished her nightly routine, Francis was done with his prayers. The first time she’d heard him do it, she found herself forced to stifle a laugh. It just seemed strange for him to pray before he went to bed, especially with the life he led. She always figured that he was just a cultural Catholic, that because of his family and community, he went through the motions, but Francis was devout in his own way. And she liked that about him.

“What time do you want me to wake you up?” she asked him as she climbed under the covers.

“Well, I was thinking of leaving at six, but I think I’ll head out at eight or nine, so I can rest a little.” He rubbed his tired eyes. “What do you think?”

“I’d wait till nine if I were you. Traffic’s not so bad then.”

“Then wake me up at 8:30am.”

“Will do.” She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and added that alarm. That done, she turned off the light, plunging the room into darkness. “Buenas noches Francisco (goodnight Francisco).”

“Buenas noches Aurelia.” He kissed her forehead, because he claimed that that was what his dad used to do whenever he told them goodnight. It wasn’t, she knew it wasn’t, but it was a little white lie that made them feel as though they weren’t crossing into dangerous territory. “Que sueñes con los angelitos (May you dream with the angels).”

The gentleness with which he spoke coupled with the warmth of his lips, sent her heart fluttering. He was an asshole for making her feel the way she did and she was an idiot. She knew no good came from Kennedys in relationships, they cheated and broke hearts, they had a wandering eye and insatiable sexual appetites, but there she was, absolutely smitten. Somehow or another, he’d made his way into her heart and she knew there was no chance of ever getting him out of there. For fuck’s sake, she didn’t even realize when she started falling for him. There was no moment in which she thought she was in danger. Had there been, she would’ve taken the necessary precautions, but one day when they were sitting around her cramp studio apartment in Washington, it suddenly dawned on her. She just sat there, watching as he played with Thea. He was rubbing her belly and doing some weird baby talk, but that was the moment when she realized that she loved him.

That was also the moment she realized she was fucked.

She knew no good would come of it, she knew her heart would undoubtedly be broken at some point and their friendship ruined. There would be no avoiding that. As much as it pained her to admit that to herself, she knew that it was only matter a time before things became messy and complicated, but she wasn’t in a rush to get to that point. That was why reigned in her emotions as best she could. That was why she pretended not to remember the night they kissed in Arizona, after the Pats had beat the Seahawks in the Super Bowl. She woke up complaining about a hangover that she didn’t have, she didn’t even get buzzed that night, she only had two beers but she put on one hell of a show and Francis didn’t dare bring it up. It was treated as a forgotten kiss. Although neither of them truly forgot it. That kiss was proof that what they felt for one another wasn’t just in their heads. It was real, it was passionate, and if they were to be entirely honest, it was terrifying.

Had the kiss been bad, they could’ve gone about their lives as though nothing were different. A boring kiss would’ve forced their thoughts and emotions to return to those of a platonic friendship, but the kiss had been electric. It had sent a jot through each of them. She had loved how he effortlessly lifted her atop the hotel dresser and he had loved how she nibbled on his bottom lip and slid her hand across his chest. That kiss awakened urges that had long been repressed. It made his mind wander whenever he saw her bending over, it made hers go the gutter whenever he took off his shirt.

That damn kiss had condemned them to eventually acting upon their feelings, but for her part Paulina was actively fighting against, she was going to put it off for as long as humanely possible, and Francis – well, he’d be good to go whenever the opportunity arose. If she was up for it. So was he. It was that simple for him. He knew what he felt for her, knew what he wanted. It was just a matter of her getting her head together. She had to sort shit out for herself, she had to come to terms with things, and he wasn’t going to pressure her into anything. He didn’t want her to feel like she’d been pestered into a relationship. That was why he never brought up the kiss, why he was content to simply be there with her. He’d wait for as long as it took. He was committed to his feelings for her, but that didn’t mean he’d take himself off the dating market. He wasn’t fucking crazy. It could be years before she wanted anything to do with him romantically, and he didn’t have it in him to be celibate that long. He would see other women, perhaps get into a relationship or two, but whenever she finally decided she was ready, whenever she decided she wanted him – she could have him.

He wasn’t going to play hard to get. He wasn’t going to make her wait for having made him wait all those years. If she wanted him, then so be it. It was that simple to him. He knew what he wanted and he was a patient man. That was why he had no trouble laying in that bed with her, some other man would’ve found the sexual tension unbearable, but Francis made due. He pretended to fall asleep first. He closed his eyes, snored a bit, and sure enough, a few snores into the night, she abandoned her side of the bed. She sought his chest, his strong arms that made her feel secure. She sought the steady rhythm of his heart and even snoring. When she was close enough to him, she maneuvered herself so that her head rested atop his chest. She lifted her head slightly, just enough to look upon his face. She couldn’t really see his features too well, it was far too dark for that, but there was a sliver of light filtering into the room, it was just enough to let her make out the outline of his face – his lips, his nose, that jaw she loved so much.

Without thinking, she lifted her hand to his face. It lingered in the air momentarily, unsure as to where it belonged, but then her gaze settled on his jaw and her fingers wanted nothing more than to trace it. It took everything Francis had not to react to her touch. He didn’t want to scare her or risk making things awkward between them. He simply wanted to enjoy the feel of her skin on his, the warmth of her breath on his neck. So he did his best to keep his breathing under control, he did his best to continue feigning sleep, and when her fingertips redirected their attention to his lips, he began mentally reciting the Preamble to the United States Constitution. He repeated it throughout those torturous moments in which she delicately caressed his lips. She was igniting something within him, she was taunting him into action, into taking her lips as his own, but he was firm in his resolve – he had to keep his fucking mouth shut and pretend to sleep.

“Mi cabronsito lindo (my lovely little hooligan) . . .” Her fingertips moved away from his lips. They glided across his cheekbone before settling onto his freshly cut hair. She preferred him with long hair. She thought he looked best with a moustache and hair that was just a tad bit unruly, but that look wasn’t suited to campaigning and he understood that, which was why he shaved his moustache and cut his hair before anyone asked. “Mi Francisco (my Francis). . .”

There was no need for an outright declaration of love or any romantic spiels. Those five words were enough to convey her love to him, those five words were enough to reassure him that his feelings were reciprocated. They held such tender affection, such devotion that the corners of his lips twitched slightly, struggling to remain in an unaffected state.

Fortunately for Francis, she was far too busy stroking his hair to notice the almost smile. It was during the late hours of the night that she indulged her feelings. She knew it was silly. There was no need to creep around, if she simply had the courage to tell him how she felt, to break that final barrier then she could’ve kissed his lips whenever she wanted, he could’ve truly held her in his arms as he longed to do, they could’ve final given into their most intimate desires, but she was terrified. After the way things ended with Harry, she didn’t dare to fully venture into love. Even after he visited her, even after they cleared the air and got closure, she just never felt capable of being with anyone else. She had loved him truly, purely. She had thought for sure he would be the man she married, the father of her children. He had been the one she dreamt of standing at the altar beside her. He had loved her, fully committed himself to her, he had been monogamous, and if things could be ruined between them, if things could turn out as badly as they did, then she didn’t even want to think about how horribly things could end between her and Francis. She knew that monogamy from him was as likely as getting corporate money out of political campaigns. It would never happen. It was a foolish, delusional thought. He was who he was, there was no changing that, and that was why she kept that last defense up, that was why she pretended not to remember the kiss, why only in the late hours of the night she indulged her feelings towards him.

“One day,” she found herself whispering as she removed her hand from his hair. “One day, mi cabronsito.”

A sudden surge of emotion swelled within her chest, her heart demanded that it be acted upon and her mind wasn’t quick enough to argue against it. It was then that she propped herself up, just enough for her face to be on level with his and when it was, she lowered her slips, stopping when they mere inches from his face. She was momentarily motionless, wondering what it’d be like if he woke up just then, wondering if they’d engage in a far better kiss than the one she’d planned, if they’d discard their pajamas and just finally go at it, but that thought quickly passed. He was fast asleep, he would not wake. As such, she lowered her lips to the corner of his mouth and gently placed a kiss to it. She lingered there a moment, relishing in the feel of his warm skin against her own, but then she heard his breathing hitch, then she froze in fear. She prepared herself for what was to come. Those romantic scenarios she’d concocted only seconds earlier went out the window, all she could do was imagine how awkward it would be, how horribly it might go, but Francis knew not to open his eyes, he knew not to talk. This wasn’t the time. Not when she was in the middle of a campaign. Not when there was so much going on. They couldn’t get involved at that moment. Perhaps in a few months once she had settled into Washington, but not now, things were complicated enough for her at present, so he played it off like a strange snore and she scrambled to fall asleep. She rested her head atop his chest and nestled into him, and after hurriedly doing the sign of the cross and uttering a short prayer, she fell asleep to the comforting sound of his breathing.

The moment she lay her head against his chest, his eyes snapped wide open. He wasn’t going to speak or to try to steal a look at her. That would’ve been fucking stupid. Instead he just lay there staring at the ceiling, with a massive shit eating grin on his face.