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“It’s finished, then?”
They stood rigid like icicles on the back deck, looking over the dark expanse of lake ice. Pete took a moment to answer. “Yes,” he said, and there was a note of dazed disbelief in his voice. “It's finished.”
Chasten gave a single nod. He slipped a hand into his coat pocket, emerging with a little box. “Cigarette?” he asked.
Pete kept staring at the ice. Chasten sighed.
“Come on. You’re not the nominee for surgeon general.”
Pete gave a flicker of a smile at that. He took one, and let Chasten light it. “Where’s yours?”
“We’ll share mine,” Chasten said. “You’ll take a drag…” He gently took the cigarette from Pete’s fingers. “Then I will.” He looked Pete up and down, assessing him. “You don’t mind that, do you?”
“No,” Pete said.
“Have you ever minded?”
“No.”
“Will you ever mind?”
“No.”
“Good.” With that guarantee, Chasten handed over the cigarette. He watched Pete inhale and then, satisfied, took it back. He turned around to lean against the wooden railing, pulling his coat tighter and tilting his chin back to look up at the inky sky. When he spoke again, the combination of smoke and hot breath made his every word visible in the clear night. “You know," he said, "I’ll never get over how much brighter the stars are in Michigan."
"It’s because the sky is darker."
Chasten glanced over. “Do you think darkness suits the stars?”
Pete flickered a weak smile back. “Do you think the stars suit the darkness?”
“I think…” Chasten returned the cigarette. Their cold fingers brushed, and his heart skipped a beat. “They complement each other very nicely.”
Pete chuckled a little, almost bitterly. “The symbolism would be too heavy-handed in a novel.”
Chasten smiled, too. “Then it’s a good thing we’re both real.” He reached out, gently touched Pete’s wrist, and the watchband wrapped around it. There was just enough ambient light reflecting off the snow that he could read the numbers. “They’ll be here soon,” he whispered.
Pete turned that over in his mind. “Yes,” he allowed.
Chasten could hear the dread hanging heavy in his voice. He stepped closer. “Do you have any regrets?”
Pete looked at him. Chasten shivered. The intensity of that gaze would never not pin him down. “I will if you fail,” Pete said.
“I don’t fail,” is all he could say in return, and he felt lucky it was true.
“I know.” Pete dropped his eyes, then, and Chasten could take a breath again.
“You’re assuming the worst," Chasten said. "They’ve been good friends to us. Maybe they’ll stay good friends.”
Pete’s gaze grew more abstracted. “It’s just a lot to ask. To trust us again. After this.”
“Trust me. They’ll see that in the end, we did what we had to do.” Chasten placed a hand over Pete’s. “The kind of power you’re seeking doesn’t just give itself away.”
Pete nodded. Chasten leaned in closer. The stars shone.
“Sometimes,” he breathed against his ear, “you just have to take it.”
Their kiss was interrupted by the flash of headlights shining against the sides of the trees. Pete broke away, and returned the cigarette. His skin was flushed. He took a step forward to the sliding door.
“Don’t forget, babe,” Chasten said to his turned back. “This is what you’ve always wanted.”
For a moment he didn’t move. “I know,” he said, and then he slid the door open. He left it cracked for Chasten, and a few moments later familiar voices wafted out into the cold.
Chasten took a minute to finish the cigarette, just listening.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Lis said, stamping the snow off her boots. “Are you sure you don’t live in Canada? Very nice cabin, by the way. Where does the butler sleep?”
“It’s not that big,” Pete said placidly. “Can I take your coat?”
“It's big enough you’re gonna need an excuse for why you bought it instead of paying off your debt.”
“Nobody cares. I’m not primarying Kamala.”
“I’d fucking hope not. But you don’t want to be a liability once you’re on her ticket.”
Pete ignored her. “Mike,” he said. “You’re awfully quiet.”
It irritated Chasten how soothing Mike’s voice was, how Chasten was lulled by it despite himself. “Sorry, my ears are ringing. Been a few months since I was in such close range to her.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
With resolve, Chasten pushed the cigarette into the ashtray and turned around. “And you loved every minute of it, Mike,” he said, slipping through the door. He gestured at the two couches facing each other. “Well. Shall we?”
“We shall,” Lis said, and she sat down with Mike across from Pete.
While they settled in, Chasten took off his coat and hung it up in the closet off the kitchen. On his way back, he retrieved four Michigan-brewed beers from the refrigerator. Lis noticed right away. “Nice touch,” she said, tapping the label.
Chasten smiled. “Nice touches are my specialty.”
“Ha,” Lis said.
Host duties performed and executed, he took his seat at Pete's left hand. Pete had started to pick at the corner of the label. Chasten touched his fingers. He sighed and stopped.
There was a long moment of silence.
“So,” Pete said finally. “You can probably" - he swallowed - "guess why we’re here.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Lis said, drinking down a third of the bottle in one long gulp. Mike took a tentative sip, eyes never leaving Pete’s face.
“I had a call from the President-elect tonight,” Pete said. “I got off maybe ten minutes ago, and - ” He took a deep breath. “It’s all set.”
They waited expectantly. But Pete bit his lip, and the words struggled to come out.
Lis tried helping. “So...what? Secretary of State?”
He winced. “No.”
“Well, that was a reach anyway and you should have known it.” Silence. “UN Ambassador?”
“No.”
“Ambassador to China?”
“No.” He took a moment to absorb the idea. “God, no.”
Chasten smiled fondly. “I threatened him with it a couple of times during our more heated arguments, but he knew I never meant it.”
Pete rolled his eyes. He tried to concentrate again, tried to string the right words together, but Lis was too impatient. “Ambassador to Bumfuckistan? What the hell?”
Mike’s voice was severe. “Pete, you saved Biden’s whole campaign.”
“We saved America,” Chasten noted.
Pete took a breath. “I know. And that’s why it’s Secretary of...”
“If your next two words are veterans’ affairs,” Lis interrupted, “I am going to cut a hole in the ice out there and drop your body in it.”
“Transportation,” Mike said.
At the word, Pete's face began to glow. “Yes,” he said, still dazed, as if in a dream. “Transportation.”
Without preface, Lis saw the narrative as clearly as if a bolt of lightning had struck and illuminated the future. “There’s bipartisan movement for a big infrastructure bill, and you’ll get to claim credit," she said. "It complements the small-town mayoral narrative. First cabinet gay to get confirmed by the Senate, so you can keep the trailblazing qualifier. It’s practical. You’re in the administration and getting all the experience without being dragged down by all the partisan bickering. It doesn’t antagonize or overshadow Harris. Then when she runs in ‘24, she’ll need a complementary fresh white male face from the Midwest, and - ”
As she spoke, Pete tried to verbalize something more. Finally Chasten patted his hand. He looked directly at her and interrupted the calculations. “Given the line of work we’re in,” he said, “with all the games…” He paused. “Do you ever wonder if you’ve been played?”
In his peripheral vision Chasten saw Pete glance away at the sliding door. Chasten knew what he’d see there: just their ghostly lit-up reflections in the glass. He kept his eyes on Lis.
“No,” Lis said. “I don’t wonder, because I don’t get played.” She leaned back thoughtfully. “You think someone’s playing a game offering you Transportation?”
“I said,” Chasten said, carefully, “do you wonder if you’ve ever been played.”
“Yeah, and my answer was no.”
“Well, maybe it should have been yes.”
He felt Pete’s hand reach for his thigh and squeeze it. “Chasten,” Pete said. “Don’t draw it out, please.”
“Then tell them, babe.”
Pete nodded. He leaned back. His voice grew distant. “I remember, as a child…” he said. “Being so...satisfied by sidewalks. Just...measuring them. Biking on them. Drawing chalk symbols on them. And maybe it sounds strange, but…”
A realization hit Mike. “Oh my God.”
Pete continued, helpless. “I should have seen the signs that I loved signs. Loved cars and trains and planes. I could have spent my whole career at McKinsey, but I threw it all away the instant I saw an opportunity to install some roundabouts, and - ”
“Is this a joke?” Lis demanded.
Chasten interrupted, tone cold. “Is controlling this nation’s infrastructure a joke to you, Smith? Do you understand what this man will be able to do with the entire Federal Highway Administration at his beck and call?”
Pete ran a hand through his hair. “It just felt so good seeing the potholes filled," he moaned. "Then I realized, after I met Chasten…” He struggled. “I realized, well, maybe… Maybe I could claw my way to the top of the DOT.”
“Excuse me?” Lis said.
Pete was absorbed by memories. “It sounded crazy at first, but he was so sure…”
Mike's brow furrowed. “But when you were a kid, all you wanted to do was run for President."
Pete sighed. “Because I knew the government was in charge of infrastructure, and I knew the President was in charge of the federal government.” He glanced down at his and Chasten’s hands intertwined. “So I discovered my calling a little later than most people do. I can’t help that.”
“Jesus.”
Chasten decided to give him a break to gather his resolve. “We were on a date,” he said. “I sketched it all out for him on a napkin. Who names the Secretary of Transportation?, I asked. The President, he said. How do you get to be named Secretary of Transportation with hardly any experience?” He patted Pete’s hand. “We still have to workshop your answer on that one, by the way. Anyway, I explained to him, You get the President to owe you a favor.” He paused for emphasis. “A big one.”
Lis’s eyes grew wide. “You…” It dawned on her. “Holy fucking shit.”
Chasten continued, calm. “You run for President, and then, at a pivotal moment..." He let the words hang in the air. "You endorse your more successful rival.”
The silence was disbelieving and deafening. The only sound came from the dogs snoring away peacefully in their warm, out-of-the-way corners.
“But how…” Mike searched fruitlessly for words. He didn't find them. “Why didn’t…”
“We didn’t tell you because we didn’t tell anyone,” Pete said, and Chasten squeezed his hand tight. “Would you have devoted your life to a Transportation Secretary nomination?” He gestured at Lis. “Would she have left her bigwig Manhattan corporate clients to do it? Of course not. Hell, we had to trick ourselves into thinking we were running for President. Sometimes it actually worked.”
“We dropped so many hints,” Chasten said. “If you weren’t paying attention…” His tone took on an airy, superior quality. “That’s not on us.”
“What hints?” Mike asked.
“The Ticket to Ride games,” Lis said. “Those motherfucking Ticket to Ride games. Goddammit.”
“Yes,” Chasten said.
“The Smart Streets obsession.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Shortest Way Home,” Mike breathed.
“Yes,” Pete said.
“And of course,” Chasten said, “the most obvious of all…” He let his hand go limp in Pete’s. Pete took it and raised it up, twisting it so the ring showed.
“You proposed at O’Hare,” Mike said.
“Nobody in their right mind would do that,” Lis said.
“Exactly,” Chasten said.
Lis set her beer on the side table and rubbed her temples, eyes darting from side to side. “But - but all that noise about wanting SecState or UN Ambassador - ”
“Never give away what you’d really kill for,” Chasten said. He gave a tiny smile. “We’re going to Washington with everything we ever wanted, plus Biden still thinks he owes us. There’s nobody better positioned.”
Silence.
“Better positioned? For...what?” Lis asked. She looked at Pete; when he didn’t return her stare, her eyes slid to Chasten. “2024?”
Chasten smiled and took his first sip of the night. “You could say that.” He leaned forward, set down his drink, and steepled his hands. Pete reached out to lightly write on his back with his fingertip. “Look around,” he finally said.
Lis looked around.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“We’re in a really fucking nice house out in the middle of - ” She stopped. “The state that Senator Stabenow won.” She reached for her phone like a hunter reaching for her gun. “Wait. Stabenow's retiring in ‘24?”
“She will if we make her.” Chasten smiled again. “Do you think we can make her?”
“We?” Mike asked.
Lis’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, let’s get the band back together. Four years in Washington. Schmoozing and smiling. Double-dating with Doug and Kamala. Doing noble non-profit work. Writing more books. Calling the paparazzi. Adopting a couple of photogenic kids…” Chasten looked hard at Pete. “The children are non-negotiable, Peter.”
“Right,” Mike said, “and those are all reasons why you’d make a hell of a candidate for VP in ‘24.” A hesitant beat. “Surely you’d say yes to VP.”
Pete was reluctant. “It would be extremely difficult to leave Transportation - ”
“Christ,” Lis muttered.
“But if I could be of service to the country as Vice-President, then… Yes. Yes, I’d accept Kamala’s invitation.”
Chasten could practically see the neurons trying and failing to spark in Mike’s brain. “But - I just don't -" Mike said. “Why would you give up the vice-presidency for a shot at a Senate seat? It makes no sense.”
“Because I wouldn’t give up the vice-presidency,” Pete said.
“You can’t run for Senate and VP at the same…” Lis said, but then she trailed off.
“Oh,” Pete said, “I wouldn’t run for Senate.”
Chasten knew he’d remember the exchange for the rest of his life: the shocked pale faces in front of him, his husband’s supportive hand on his back, the map of Traverse City on the wall. It was a daybreak, and for the first time, he let himself enjoy the idea of the next four years. “I would,” he said.