Chapter Text
Part One
One of the most enjoyable rituals in the Moss-Lyman household evolved through sheer happenstance.
They’ve never formally planned it out, but Tuesdays are a fairly mellow evening for them. Fourteen-year-old Bianca stays late at school for track practice and, social butterfly that she is, more often than not scores an invitation to a friend’s house for dinner afterward. Tuesdays are a rare respite for their sixteen-year-old son Gabriel where neither orchestra, swim, nor Model UN are meeting after school, and he typically uses the extra time to catch up on homework and unwind with video games.
Donna has stood firm about dragging whoever’s home in the evenings to the dinner table, but where her efforts haven’t been as successful is at managing to keep work from the table. She’d made a half-hearted attempt during Gabe’s junior high years to get him to leave the textbooks upstairs, but he’d simply given her the trademark Lyman smirk aimed at the direction of Josh’s seat, where his father’s napkin and fork are currently buried under the papers strewn across his place setting, and she’d had to give it up.
“Fine, well… still no cell phones,” she’d ordered, glowering at Josh as his own phone begins chiming plaintively.
“You are not taking that!”
“All right, geez, I’ll just tell my former boss that since the lasagna’s ready I’ll call him back at a more convenient-“
“President Santos?! Oh my god, you need to take that, Josh!”
“This is what I’m saying, Donna!”
All right, so in hindsight the no-electronics-at-dinner rule has never been perfectly implemented either, but the long and short of it is that both homework and work-work frequently happen at the dinner table. At first Donna had felt like something of a failure for allowing this, but when she thinks of the many years spent at the White House, all those thousands of working lunches and dinners spent summarizing policy initiatives and typing memos while splitting a sandwich and sharing a basket of fries with Josh - when she thinks about how much she enjoyed those meals and how much less she minded the work when she had food in front of her and good company by her side - well, maybe it isn’t the end of the world that her kids can converse, eat, and work at the same time. And Josh had pointed out that multi-tasking at dinner frees up more of the kids’ time to relax, hang out with their friends, and sleep, which continues to be a luxurious commodity in their household.
Gabe had learned early on that his dad is the better resource for Spanish homework and that he can go to either of his parents for help with English. His chemistry and pre-calculus homework both make his dad go completely cross-eyed. His mom doesn’t seem to remember those subjects any better than his dad does, but somehow Donna Moss-Lyman can look over Gabe’s confused notes, spend twenty minutes on a website, turn to him and say, “Okay, I think this is what the book is trying to say,” and lay it out twice as clearly as his teacher had. Josh is fascinated by this talent and sees it as yet further evidence of his wife’s incomparable brilliance. Gabe doesn’t think much of it; it’s just his mom being his mom. Neither does Gabe think much of it when his dad gets phone calls from two former Presidents, two sitting Senators, and the Secretary of State asking for his advice all on the same day. His dad’s a smart guy. Why shouldn’t these people be calling him to ask what he thinks?
But the accidental Tuesday night ritual had begun this past September, when Gabe had started bringing his A.P. World History textbook to the dinner table and hastily scrawling notes between bites. He’s learned throughout the years that history, a subject he’s genuinely fascinated by, is a good homework topic to bring to the table; if neither of his parents can help him (which one or both of them generally can) they’re a phone call away from someone who knows the answer, albeit a frequently long-winded one.
The end of each chapter has a glossary with terms that Gabe and his classmates need to memorize, followed by a series of short essay questions they need to complete, and then tucked toward the bottom of the page is a little box labeled Supplemental Discussion: History in Context.
Each box contains a question surrounding a world event, usually something along the lines of “Ask a parent or grandparent where they were when the Berlin Wall fell.” His teacher has never required that they actually answer these questions, and Gabe’s quite sure none of the other students in his class voluntarily discuss them with their families.
But for reasons that he can’t now remember - maybe out of curiosity, maybe out of boredom, maybe (more than likely) to distract them from some other topic they were harping on or nagging him about - he’d asked Josh and Donna the question back in September, “Ask your parents or grandparents what they were doing when NAFTA was signed.”
Well, quite a lot as it turned out.
Josh’s eyes had lit up, and he’d launched into a story that both Donna and Gabe, despite himself, had found spellbinding. Josh had been thirty-one at the time that the treaty had been signed, finishing up his last year as a Senate Aide before spring-boarding into his career as a political strategist. He’d actually been in the room for the earliest discussions of the treaty, and had accompanied Senator Chenail to Mexico twice and Canada once during diplomatic negotiations, and, “I think there’s actually, like, one or two sentences in the fourth section that Sam wrote,” Josh had told them between bites of grilled chicken. “Pretty sure I could pick ‘em out, too. It’ll be blindingly obvious because during that era he sounded like a fourth-year law student who was trying to sound like Bobby Kennedy but actually sounded more like Percy Bysshe Shelley.”
“Sam’s soaring rhetoric gracing the pages of NAFTA,” Donna had laughed. “Who knew?”
And Gabe couldn’t help but be intrigued as his dad describes all the frantic behind-the-scenes finagling, because Josh is literally placing a world event in context for him. And it seems there were a million pieces that needed to fall into place for NAFTA to be passed - massively complex questions that needed to be addressed, compromises that needed to be reached, egos that needed to be assuaged, false starts and frustrations, promises that were made, promises that were broken - and suddenly this fairly bland-seeming piece of policy seems fraught with complication in a way Gabe had never imagined, and it occurs to him for the first time that there were a hundred ways this treaty (and, he supposes, every treaty) might never have happened at all. He’d told that to his dad and had been surprised by his somewhat sheepish response.
“Well, actually, y’know…there are a lot of people, good people, that still think it shouldn’t have been ratified,” his dad had told him with a shrug.
“There are?” Gabe had asked, eyes blinking widely in surprise. “Why do they think that?”
His mom and dad had looked at each other and then back at him, and before he’d known it they’d launched into a spirited discussion about lost U.S. jobs, suppressed wages, and the exploitation of Mexican maquiladora workers all having to be weighed against a treaty that essentially quadrupled trade among the signatories, reduced government spending, increased foreign direct investment, and significantly lowered the cost of goods for citizens.
Gabe had started out asking questions but by the end of it he’s just as into the debate, offering feedback and critiques, and although in many ways he’s a typical sixteen-year-old who’s convinced his every opinion should be taken seriously, he’s starting to understand in a vaguely unnerving way that when it comes to foreign and domestic policy his parents are probably humoring him more than he’d like.
When he’d actually looked up some of the text of the trade agreement on his phone mid-conversation he’d said to Josh almost nervously, “Um… Dad, what does it say about me that just looking at this is making my eyes glaze over?”
His dad had cracked up. “I’d say that you’re doing a hell of a lot better than Sam and I, because we were actually Aaron Burr-style In-the-Room-Where-It-Happened and we still spent half the negotiations chugging coffee and kicking each other to stay awake.”
“That’s good to know,” Gabe had laughed.
Donna had stood up to start clearing the table, and had found her breath catching unexpectedly in her throat at the two sets of dimpled faces grinning at one another, the expressions on their faces almost eerily alike, the slope of their shoulders a mirror image of the other’s from their seats at opposite sides of the table.
It’s an unwelcome reminder of the furious speed at which Gabriel is hurtling toward manhood, and she can’t seem to stop herself from ruffling her son’s light brown hair as she passes him, as though the childish gesture can somehow ward off the inevitable. He ducks and bats Donna’s hand away, and Josh laughs as he stands up to bring his own plate and flatware to the kitchen.
Donna ruffles her husband’s silver-gray hair as he bends down over the sink, and unlike her son he’s kind enough to indulge her with a cheeky smile, even dropping a quick kiss on her forehead.
“This was fun,” Josh had said happily as he and Donna had emerged from the kitchen and Gabe had flipped his textbook shut. “We should do it again.”
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And in fact, they do.
By unspoken agreement they keep the discussions limited to Tuesdays when Bianca isn’t home. It isn’t that she wouldn’t have enjoyed at least some of these debates, but she doesn’t seem to have inherited either of her parents’ wonk-ish tendencies, and at least at this point in her life she has a low threshold for long-winded dinner conversations. She has definitely inherited her father’s impatience and restlessness in spades, whereas Gabriel’s nature is more similar to Donna’s - warm and fun, but more reflective and even-keeled.
The three of them continue the Supplemental Discussion questions for the next several months. They’ve hammered home a lot of things for Gabe, both politically and personally. For one, the age gap between his parents that Gabe had never given a moment’s pause to is thrown into sharp relief during their third weekly discussion. He’d simply never considered it. They’re parents, aren’t they, so what does it matter how old they are? They’re old, they’re parent-aged, they’ve reached the point where age ceases to matter.
But then Gabe flips to the end of the third chapter and says “Ask your parents or grandparents what they were doing when they heard the news that U.S. President Owen Lassiter was elected.”
Josh replies, “Watching the results on the ancient TV at the Harvard Gazette building with about forty other people, and getting ready to file a late-night breaking edition as soon as a winner was declared.”
“Okay. And Mom, what about-?”
“Oh god,” Josh groans half-jokingly, burying his face in his hands. “Don’t tell me, Donna. I’m gonna feel like-“
“Well, shockingly enough,” says Donna with a smirk, “I don’t have a specific memory of either knowing or caring when President Lassiter was elected, but since I was in kindergarten at the time I was probably, you know, learning to write my name or use scissors or something equally-“
“Kindergarten?” Gabriel gapes at his parents. “And you were-?”
“Freshman in college,” says his dad, his voice muffled from the hands that are still obscuring the wince on his face.
Donna looks at her son strangely. “You know our birthdays, sweetheart. I’m October 1974 and Dad’s August 1961.”
“Yeah, but - that -“ Gabe splutters. “Wh-?” He looks back and forth between his parents, eyes suddenly alighting with an expression close to betrayal. “Oh my god,” he says, sounding both amazed and horrified, “you guys were young once.”
Josh and Donna stare at him blankly for several seconds before turning their heads toward one another with choreographed synchronicity.
“How much is school tuition again, Josh?”
“Yeah, I’m thinkin’ they’re overcharging us.”
“Oh-kay,” huffs Gabe in irritation. “You can quit it with the comedy routine; you both know what I mean.”
Donna smiles at her son with amused sympathy. “I do, sweetheart. And in fact I remember very clearly the time that I discovered my parents were young once. It was, well-“ She shrugs.
Josh smirks. “Oh, I think I know what you’re talking about.”
“What? What are you talking about?” asks Gabe with alarmed fascination.
His mom purses her lips thoughtfully. “Okay. I’m not just saying this. Gabriel Lyman - if we tell you something that your sister and her notorious lack of secret-keeping abilities aren’t quite ready to handle, will you promise to-?”
“I swear on the Constitution,” says Gabriel immediately, and Josh pumps his fist victoriously in the air.
“Oh man, have we raised this kid right or what?” he asks Donna delightedly.
“Yes, yes, Joshua, we’re amazing,” she says dryly. “I think you’re supposed to swear oaths on a holy book, but seeing as we’ve utterly confused them when it comes to religion-“
“Hey! I’m not confused,” says Gabriel indignantly.
Josh sweeps his hand out theatrically in his son’s direction. “See? He’s not confused. During the holidays we celebrate-“
“Anything that has good food associated with it?” supplies Gabe instantly.
“Exactly,” Josh confirms. “And on paper, Gabe and Bianca could choose to consider themselves either Jewish, Protestant, or interfaith-“
“What do you think you’d say, Gabe?” Donna asks curiously.
Gabe shrugs. “I’d ask who wants to know. And then depending on where I’m living I’d go with whichever of the three polls best, given the district’s demographic trends,” he says decisively.
Josh stops short, eyes widening. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then says in an oddly choked voice, “Okay. No. I have literally never been more proud-“
“Josh!” Donna groans.
“Donna, the kid’s a natural-“
“Yeah, a natural-born politician? Not a compliment in most circles, Joshua!”
“Well, the circles we run in-“
“All right,” Gabriel interrupts firmly, holding up a hand, because years of experience have taught him that his parents could continue in this vein for quite some time. “Getting back to Moss family secrets that Bianca can’t know yet.”
“That no one outside this room can know,” says his mother, her voice deadly serious.
“Got it,” says Gabe, and then, at seeing her hesitation: “Mom, you know I’m not a blabbermouth.”
“I know, sweetheart. I know. All right, well- you remember a few Thanksgivings ago when we were in Madison and Nonna was saying that the thing she was most thankful for was me, and that the day she found out she and Papa were pregnant was the happiest day of her life?”
Gabriel’s jaw drops in sudden understanding. “Oh. Wow. They... weren’t happy, were they?”
“No, no, they were,” his mother hastily reassures him. “They absolutely were. They were thrilled. Over the moon.”
“Okaaay,” says Gabe warily, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“But you know who was probably not as thrilled?” asks Donna with a wince. “Nonna’s boyfriend who’d been stationed overseas for the past several months.”
Gabe looks and forth between his parents, waiting for one of them to give up the joke. “No,” he says with certainty.
Donna nods. “Right. That was my exact reaction, too.”
“No!” he says again, with astonishment. It’s just impossible for him to wrap his mind around.
Josh gives him a sympathetic smile, patting his son on the shoulder. “It’s all too true, Gabe. I’m sure there are plenty of details even we don’t know, which I personally am grateful for. Although -“ he says, with exaggerated slowness, “- god, what branch of the military was her boyfriend in, Donna? I can just never seem to remember.”
Donna sends him a death glare. “The. Navy,” she says, sharply articulating the words behind gritted teeth.
Josh snaps his fingers, giving Donna a look of feigned surprise. “Oh, that’s right. The Navy. That would make sense, because I hear that there’s this genetic thing that mothers pass down that-“
“I’m done talking to you,” sniffs Donna. “And no dessert tonight.”
“Mo-om, you said there was cake!” Gabe whines.
“For you there is,” she tells her son. “Not you,” she informs Josh, who’s still smirking into his coffee mug as she spins around on her heels and exits the room.
Gabriel’s sure there’s a story here too - but he’s equally sure that he’s nowhere near ready to hear it.
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The months fly by, and they’ve discussed everything from apartheid in South Africa to the global HIV/AIDS epidemic to the Exxon-Valdez oil spill and much, much more.
Both Josh and Donna have fascinating stories behind many of these topics, some of which they’d experienced up close and personal through their work in government, and some of which they’d seen through the lens of ordinary citizens. Gabe finds himself looking forward to Tuesday dinners with more eagerness than he’ll admit to either himself or to any of his friends.
Ask your parents or grandparents what they were doing when they heard that Princess Diana had died.
“I was devastated,” says Donna. “She was such a beautiful soul. I think I cried for a week straight.”
Ask your parents or grandparents what they were doing when they heard that the Mount St. Helens volcano erupted in Washington.
Josh’s eyebrows shoot straight up to his forehead, and he hopes desperately that he’s schooled his facial expression into something that says Certainly not doing body shots off Tammy Wychkowski in my dorm room because somehow he doesn’t think that would go over well with anyone present.
“Dunno,” he says, his voice squeaking sharply at the end. “Studying, probably.”
And then comes the second Tuesday in December when they’re getting ready to settle down to dinner. Gabriel opens the history book, scans the page quickly, and after a moment of blank silence he says with forced lightness, “I actually think I’m too beat tonight. If it’s all the same to you guys, I think-“
Josh watches his son’s face carefully as Gabe moves to shut the book but Donna’s hand shoots out before he can close it, her fingers latching onto the page in question. Gabe hands the book over mutely, watching his mom with worried eyes as Donna slides the book toward herself and reads the question on the page.
Donna’s eyes widen perceptibly, and she looks up at Gabe with a dawning understanding in her eyes.
“Oh, sweetie,” she whispers, and Gabe ducks his head down as his face flushes pink, looking as though he’s embarrassed by whatever he’s feeling.
“What?” asks Josh with mounting alarm.
“Josh, I-“
He holds his hand out expectantly, wondering what on earth all the fuss is about, and Donna regards him carefully for a few seconds before sliding the book over to him.
Josh grips the pages firmly with his hands, reads the words printed in the Supplemental Discussions box, and stops breathing for several seconds.
It’s such an innocuous looking box, and it’s hitting him for the first time that every one of these questions has hit somebody hard. There’s someone reading this who lost a relative long ago in the Mount St. Helens blast. Countless people have lost loved ones to AIDS.
But this time the question is punching the air out of his own lungs, and he stares back down at the box partly to avoid the anxious looks he knows he’s getting from his wife and son, but partly to make sure that he’s really seeing what he thinks he’s seeing.
Ask your parents or grandparents, the book says blandly in size-14 Serif font, where they were during the assassination attempt on President Bartlet in Rosslyn, Virginia.
Josh swallows hard, and looks up to meet the eyes of his sixteen-year-old son who’s looking back at him with watchful trepidation. If nothing else this is a good lesson in looking for information beyond a classroom textbook, because even the way the question’s phrased is erroneous. It hadn’t been an assassination attempt on the President at all - they’d been trying to hit Charlie.
He tries cracking a smile at Gabe. “God, I’ll take any opportunity to make these questions all about me, won’t I?”
Gabe just looks warily at Donna, and Josh sighs.
“It’s okay, Gabe. I’m okay. Should I take what you did to mean that... this isn’t something you’re ready or interested in talking about?”
Gabe hesitates for a few seconds. “Dad, I - I figured you wouldn’t want to,” he says cautiously.
Josh shrugs lightly. “If you have questions I want to try to answer them for you. I mean, I know we’ve... discussed the shooting here and there when you were younger but-“
“But there was a lot you left out,” guesses Gabriel.
“Yeah, there was,” says Josh flatly. “But you’re at the age now where... I mean, it’s still not easy stuff to hear. And parts of it I don’t even - I mean, I lost a lot of time and your mom can probably fill in the blanks better than-“
Josh turns swiftly to Donna, who’s looking a little paler than usual.
“Hey. Are you okay to talk about this? I’m sorry, I should have asked.”
Donna squeezes his hand and nods. “If Gabe wants to talk about it, I think we should. If you’re both here with me I’ll be fine, and... I think it might do us some good actually.”
“All right then,” says Josh, squeezing Donna’s hand back and taking a deep breath, looking into the anxious blue-green depths of his son’s eyes. “Let’s talk.”