Work Text:
2026
Jane Gloriana Villanueva holds her breath through a bumpy landing into Fort Wayne International Airport. She applauds when they begin their smooth ride to the gate, even though no one else does. She kisses the front pane of her phone, a photo of her boys, and texts them quickly: landed! love you!
It's her first official day at Gryzzlweek. It was the smart choice, to pursue steady writing work, but she’s a little apprehensive. About a lot of things, really: the new job, being away from Mateo, flying. She worries about this opportunity. Her first novel was a hit, but she’s found herself dry in the past couple of years. Sitting down to write when she can find the time, her fingers barely touch the keys. Nonfiction writing feels like a safer, more productive outlet.
Still. Nervous.
She’s fetched by an intern from the campaign, a Sadie with big brown eyes and a heavy foot on the gas. Jane asks a steady stream of questions to take her mind off how scary this experience is and is entirely thrilled when they reach the Botanical Conservatory. Sadie leads her through to the greenhouse, where the whoosh of the door admits them, and Jane feels a warm rush of humid air that reminds her of home. It’s comforting.
Leslie Knope is speaking to a small group of attendees and reporters. Jane thinks of what she needs to capture: the room, the vibe, the subject. The subject, the gubernatorial hopeful, is a woman. Most articles would talk about her honey blonde hair and petite figure swathed in a grey suit, but Jane isn’t going to do that. She opens up her Gryzzl tablet and starts recording.
"...Indiana has never had a female governor; we've been relegated to Lieutenant Governor. As the mother of a daughter and two sons, I don't want them thinking that second place for women is as high as you can go." Cheerful applause. “I’m honored to do the work that I do today, ensuring the future of our national parks, our greatest treasure. I speak from this beautiful botanical conservatory -- incidentally, a government institution -- surrounded by growth. Literal growth. That’s what I will bring to my home state, this place I love more than anything except my husband, children, and waffles.” Enthusiastic applause.
Jane is taken, won over by her oration and whatever spark Leslie carries around with her. When she climbs aboard the bus, a broad-shouldered bearded white guy in a short sleeved dress shirt and tie asks her to state her business. He slides his sunglasses down his nose as he looks at her. She holds up her brand new press pass and he lets her through. “Burt Macklin’s just doin’ his job, ma’am,” he says.
After making it through the gauntlet of staffers and three identical children running amok, she reaches Leslie, who extends a hand and shakes Jane’s vigorously. They sit across from each other in a built-in booth and the bus lurches off, on its way to their next stop. Jane smiles. She’s sure she’s supposed to say something, but she’s not sure how to begin. Instead, the wrong thing tumbles out:
“Today is my first day. I’m feeling really stressed because I left my son at home, and I want to do a good job, and my husband is going to feed Mateo fancy, garbage-y food the whole time. And you were really good, you seem incredible, but I need to write a balanced piece. I have to get my writing mojo back.”
When Jane takes a breath, she looks at a wide-eyed Leslie. She takes another breath, this one meant to steel her. She’s about to apologize and offer to exit at the next stop, when Leslie puts a calming hand over hers. “I think you need a drink,” she says. “We can get some white wine.”
Jane checks her watch and asks, “Isn’t 11 AM too early?” ‘I shouldn’t drink with my interview subject’ goes unsaid, even as she’s being poured a glass.
A handful of sips under her belt and she’s ready to start again. She’s done her research on Leslie and knows enough to write a book about her, but the point of this piece isn’t a regurgitation of facts. She needs to get to a deep, honest truth. She’s all set to ask about her level of satisfaction with Interior Department work when Leslie says, “So. Jane. Villanueva. How’s your balancing potion? Is it working?” She braces a hand at her chest. “I’m sorry I’m talking to you like a mom. It’s hard to turn off.” Jane nods knowingly and replies, “Tell me about it.” Then, catching herself, she laughs. “Really, tell me about it.” Leslie laughs too and rolls up the sleeves of her green dress shirt, her jacket long gone.
Between stops in South Bend and Valparaiso, Jane gets more time to talk with Leslie and starts to feel her feet rooted to the earth. She asks her what she thinks a governor can actually accomplish, and Indiana’s terrible record on same-sex issues, and how she plans to turn around troubled cities like Gary. The difference of a day gives Jane confidence; the wine hadn’t hurt.
At night Jane’s dropped off at the Comfort Inn with some of the campaign’s staffers, but she keeps her distance. Besides, she has something she needs to do. She doesn’t even wait to shower, even as grimy as she feels after plane travel. She boots up her tablet and it projects Mateo and Rafael as soon as they pick up. Mateo is sticking his tongue out at her, in this way that she knows he’s trying to see how far he can extend it. She shakes her head, but can’t help smiling. She also sees Rafael and finds she’s hungry for his face. Those big, manicured eyebrows. That giant smile. Those dark, deep eyes. The masculine column of his throat.
She’s starting to get the vapors, so she draws away and back to Mateo. “Mijo, how was school? How was that history/art project? Was your Simón Bolívar macaroni portrait a hit?” He nods with huge moves, then cups his hands, as if it’ll keep what he has to say a secret. “I miss you, Mommy,” he says.
It’s in this moment where what Leslie said about mothering rises to the surface. “It’s not about choosing,” she’d said. “The conversation is insulting. This whole ‘having it all’ thing. The definition of ‘all’ is everything. Who’s crazy enough to think they can have everything?” She shook her head. “This is what we can do. We can try to be good moms while with our children, good spouses to our spouses, and on our game at work. We can strive for excellence, but realize that getting to greatness is a process.”
Jane takes those words to heart as she replies, with her hands cupped, “I miss you too, baby.” Rafael is smiling and sends Mateo out of the room. He has some choice words for her about the specifics of how he misses her. She makes a paper fan out of some campaign literature.
Jane outlines her piece when she hangs up. She’s not sure if it’ll sing, but she has an editor to help with that.
She writes on hotel stationery, “GETTING TO GREATNESS IS A PROCESS.” She sticks it next to a Knope for Indiana button. And she opens a blank page on which to write for herself.