Disclaimers et al. in part 1
Previously…
"Joshua, Josh, Josh… I thought that walking away from Dr. Free Ride was the hardest thing I would ever have to do, but Joshua, that is nothing compared to walking away from you."
Chapter 6b
***
June 2002
***
As soon as I walk back into the bar Nathan finds me and smiles, "Are you ready to leave?"
Am I ready to leave?
"I uh--"
"Hey, Donna," Hannah interrupts, "Margaret and Ginger were looking for you earlier." I am currently in the process of thanking God for her timing just now in all the languages I can possibly think of. (And I grant you it's not many, but still, it's the sentiment that counts.) I wonder if she senses this?
"Margaret and Ginger," I repeat, as I'm really not sure what else to say. "Have they left already?" I ask, since I can't seem to see them anywhere.
"Yes, sorry. They had to leave early and just wanted to say bye. I wouldn't worry about it. They said that they'd call you the first chance they get. So… where were you?" I think I should add at this point that she has this all knowing smile tugging at her lips, indicating that she knows full well where I just was. More importantly, who I was just with.
"I just needed to get some fresh air," I explain as Hannah's smile becomes more mischievous.
"Ok. Are you ready to leave now or do you want to stay a while longer? I'm ready when you are."
"You guys are leaving together?" Nathan's slightly taken aback tone interrupts the staring match Hannah and I seem to have stumbled into. He's surprised, and really, that's quite understandable. We've been dating less than a month, spending as much free time as possible together and generally having a great time. But now I'm leaving to work on a presidential campaign. To be fair, he knew this day would be coming when we started this relationship. Still, three weeks seemed so far away. Anyway, here I am spending my last free night with Hannah instead of my smart, funny and charming boyfriend. Did I mention good looking? No? I wonder how I could have forgotten that?
Yeah, there's definitely nothing wrong with this picture.
I need an excuse.
"I thought you still had some packing do?" And thank you Hannah for supplying it!
I nod.
"Plus, we have to go over the thing," she adds, I guess she figures that Nathan could help with the packing. "Sorry, Nate." Although, I have to say, she does not look sorry at all.
"Yes I can see that," he smirks.
"Ah, yeah, so that wit thing you were talking about earlier – he was trying to convince CJ that we had a thing back in Harvard, because I was charmed by his wit – pretty much flew out the window there," Hannah quips.
Yes, Hannah and Nathan dated. Briefly. Nathan was – as Hannah puts it – pre Chris. (Although, considering she hasn't dated anyone since Chris, the 'pre' thing seems kind of redundant.)
When Hannah had first introduced us, she referred to him simply as her friend from Harvard. Since he was potential boyfriend material, I, of course, had to know more. It was only after some memory jogging and rather cleverly worded questioning that Sam expanded on the nature of their relationship. Of course, now I realise that the cleverly worded questions were not needed, since he had no problems talking about Hannah and Nathan. Sam is after all, a spokesperson; it's in his blood.
But I digress.
According to Sam (I hadn't realised how well versed Sam was in Hannah's dating history, but it seems he was the one she would go to for advice about relationships. Josh, not so much), Hannah and Nathan were both in their final year studying for exams and suffering through a dry spell when they became… acquainted, and well, take a guess.
I'm still not sure how I feel about that.
Anyway, he was one of her better break-ups.
"That's what you think," he retorts. The wit really has flown out the window.
Hannah throws a look of mock annoyance his way and then faces me, "I'll be waiting outside, ok?"
"Ok, I'll be there in a minute."
"Sure. Bye Nate," she says in a singsong manner.
"Yeah, speak to you later."
Once Hannah leaves I turn to face Nathan and it doesn't take a genius to work out that he knows Hannah was lying. And I am now hit with a sudden pang of guilt. I start to trip over an explanation.
"I'm sorry, I just--"
"Donna," he interjects.
"Yes?"
"I understand that you need to be alone tonight."
Well, that was… suspiciously astute of him. He's a man - a great one, but a man nonetheless - men are never that tuned.
"Hannah thinks it's her business to butt into everyone else's," he offers by way of explanation. He registers my shocked face before I can mask it and he exclaims, "No, I meant that in a good way!" I now have my pensive face on. "While you were outside, she explained that you might need some time alone tonight," he clarifies. After a moment he adds, "Although I don't think I was meant to tell you that."
I smile, "You weren't?"
"No, I think I was meant to impress you with my ability to be a sensitive and understanding guy," he says trying to lighten the atmosphere a little. Realising that didn't come out quite right, he adds sheepishly, "Not that I'm not sensitive and all that, just--"
"Nathan."
"Yes?"
"Thanks." He really is a great guy. A great guy who's about to kiss me. We've kissed before but there's something different about this particular one, all the doubt and uncertainty I just expressed to Josh about him seems to melt away while he kisses me like this. I pull back almost wishing that I wasn't going home alone tonight when I spot Josh.
He still has that awed smile he had in the park, but there's an edge of intimacy to it, and it's then that I realise it's for me, which is of course when all the feeling of ambiguity comes rushing back. Great! If I were alone right now I'd be throwing my hands up in the air, you know, to show my annoyance at this… annoying feeling.
I have to leave now, clear my head.
Tears threaten to leave my eyes as I say goodbye to everyone. I feel a strong, soft hand take mine and squeeze it; I look up to see Nathan smiling softly. I promised myself I wouldn't cry. I'm not saying goodbye to these people since I plan on coming back in November, so in essence I'm saying see you later. Unless, of course, we lose, which we won't (and before you ask, because I say so).
I'm getting off track.
Unlike Sam and Toby, CJ has decided that a simple hug won't do, so she huddles me off to a corner. She starts with a speech about how she won't wish me good luck because I really don't need it, but then in the very next breath she hugs me and well, wishes me good luck. She's… flustered. She valiantly recovers – although her cheeks are still a little red – and demands that I keep her apprised of all the gossip that is bound to ensue during the campaign. In return she will fill me in on all the things happening in the White House and DC in general.
I'm not sure if I want to be kept appraised of all the gossip in DC. "I could do with not hearing about Josh and 'the love making'," I joke. Although, I'm not entirely sure I'm joking, a point, which CJ seems to take note of, but thankfully doesn't comment on.
We're hugging each other (again) when I feel someone touch my elbow lightly. Somehow, I know its Josh, even before I hear him say…
"Hey, is it okay if I steal my treacherous ex-assistant away for a moment?"
"Sure."
Once we seem to be out of everyone's vision, I ask, "Treacherous?"
"I got you something."
I'm touched.
Josh was in a mood all day today, the meetings on the Hill didn't go as planned, he was forced to listen to CJ complain about Ann Stark as punishment for being an idiot during said meetings on the Hill, and to top it off, he found out that Amy had accepted Senator Stackhouse's job offer - and not from her – which, you know, aggravated his already sour mood beyond belief. I'm actually surprised at how he reacted to Amy accepting the job, he knew that she would be, but still, he was upset.
Despite all that, less than twenty minutes ago he managed to, you know, stop being him, and say the sweetest thing to me. And now he's giving me a present?
I feel like crying again.
"Donna." He's using that soft tone that makes you want to wrap yourself up in him.
I didn't just say that, did I?
He opens his jacket and pulls out a small rectangular box from the inner pocket. It's wrapped in a kind of shiny blue paper with Donnatella Moss written in silver. My name looks so beautiful in that old calligraphy style handwriting and there's no way Josh wrote that, I know his handwriting, this is not it.
"You wrapped it?" I ask, though the look that accompanied the question pretty much gives it away that I know he didn't. But also, that I don't mind.
"Actually no," he admits somewhat guilty, "Hannah did, and since I know you're wondering, that's her handwriting. I just got the-- it's not much but I just thought-- actually tradition dictated that I give you-- you know what? Take a look. Actually no, take it with you and open it later."
I want to laugh at his discomfort but the look on his face is stopping me, I suddenly feel flustered and so instead I just nod and let him lead me back to everyone else to listen to a final set of congratulations.
And that's it.
I have this strange feeling bubbling inside as Nathan walks me to Hannah's car. I don't know how to describe it; it's not overwhelming, it's just there. It's almost as if I've left something behind and as a result I feel… empty?
It's like that feeling you get when you have guests come to stay for a long time. Your home feels so full. Sure, it can get hectic and at times you feel like kicking them out, but when they finally leave, you feel a void. You know?
Only what I feel right now is so much more intense, and it scares me because I have no idea what I'm feeling or why.
"Donna?"
"Yes?"
"It will be ok." I don't know how, but Nathan read my mind and managed to say exactly what I needed to hear.
It will be fine.
Why do I wish it were someone else saying it?
*
Ok, so I've been exceptionally quiet for the last ten minutes while Hannah's been driving. This is not me. I mean it is, but it's not like me I should say. Why have I been quiet for the last ten minutes? Honestly? I don't know. My mind isn't really focused on any one thing; in fact it's devoid of any thoughts whatsoever. Is that even possible? I don't really think it is--
I'm rambling.
What I do know is that I've just been sitting here feeling… weird. That's it, weird. Yes, I know I should really come up with better adjectives to describe how I feel but, I, can't.
It won't be fine.
Joshua Lyman, you great big dork, you had to be sweet, didn't you?
He wouldn't stop for red lights either - not that I didn't know that already, Josh is fiercely loyal to his friends. I just never expected to ever hear him say that - I wonder what's in the box? Josh isn't here, so it's safe to at the least take a peak, right? I'm going to take a look.
It's about this time I notice that this is not the way to my apartment.
"Hannah?" I'm using that tone kindergarten teacher's use when they're asking the resident naughty child what mischievous deed he or she just performed, all the while, having a pretty good idea. Don't ask me why I'm using this particular tone, it just seems appropriate.
"Yes," she answers innocently.
"This isn't the way to my apartment." I state the obvious. I'm good at that.
"That would be correct." And she's good at being elusive.
"This is the way to your place."
"Yes, again."
I hear you saying that if I want a straight answer I should stop with the prompting and just ask the question. But see, this is where you would be dreadfully misguided. Why? Because she's just like Josh. And while that's amazingly reassuring - again, don't ask me why - it's also immensely annoying. It means that even if I ask the question, the likelihood of my getting a candid, forthright answer is not very likely.
I ask anyway, "Why are we going to your place?"
"I have cookies, ice cream, dips, ingredients for smoothies or whatever else you would like--"
See?
"And that still doesn't answer the question."
"I'm sensing that you have some things on your mind that you need to talk about."
Well, ok.
I'd like to point out though that she's never usually this quick. It generally takes a few more attempts of my prompting for her to stop evading. I realise that this is neither here nor there, and that you're wandering how in the hell this is like Josh. Trust me, in political situations there is not a more acute and focused mind - don't worry, Josh isn't here and so I'm not boosting his already considerably inflated ego - or a more laconic and articulate a person such as Josh. However, in personal situations you could not get more reticent a man than Josh. He has a tendency to skirt around the issue in personal situations, much like Hannah.
And anyway, there is nothing on my mind-- well, yes there is, but I don't need desperately to talk about it.
So I redirect. "Would this be your Miss Cleo gene kicking in?"
She continues as if I didn't say a thing. "I think we should have a slumber party of sorts, and my apartment would be the most conducive for the type of environment needed."
"I'm ok." I'm lying but… yeah, ok, I don't know where to go with that either.
"Donna."
"I'm fine, really." Again with the lying, although, I think she believes me this time.
"Well that would be great except I don't believe you."
Or maybe not.
"What am I going to sleep in?"
Just so you know, I'm figuratively banging my head on a table at this very moment.
I spent the past five years working with the country's smartest, most passionate and quick-witted people, who are also masters of avoidance and misdirection, skilful in the art of deception - and yes, I realise I'm oozing melodrama here, but I'm trying to make a point - you'd think I'd learn something along the way. Which, you know, I actually have, 'Who Framed Roger Rabbit' ring a bell anyone? And yet, I could not possibly have come up with a more feeble excuse than the one I just used.
"I'm about to borrow your flair for stating the obvious here, but Donna, we're roughly the same height and we have the same figure and build, with that in mind, do you honestly think we couldn't find you something?"
"Yes?"
"I promise I won't bite. If you don't want to talk, that's fine. We'll just eat cookies and ice cream and do the girl talk thing."
"Ok," I relent, since the idea is gaining appeal with every passing minute.
"Excellent."
*
"Have you seen your view?" I squeal. I don't think I've ever done that before, at least not in the company of others.
"Um… yes?"
"No, I mean really? It's gorgeous."
"I know. It's one of the reasons Chris bought this place."
We're sitting on the balcony dressed in sweat pants and Harvard sweatshirts – she has Chris's and I'm wearing hers - with cookies, ice cream - I'm indulging in this wonderful creamy vanilla flavour made with Cornish milk or something, while Hannah is occupying herself with mint chocolate chip - chips, chocolate and a wide variety of drinks at our disposal.
"So I noticed the piano and drum kit earlier. Are they for show or can you actually play?"
"I can play the piano, the drums, not so much. They were Chris's babies."
"Play something."
She hesitates as if looking for an excuse, "I'm not that good."
"A phrase I never thought I'd hear you say," I grin.
She smiles softly but it's restrained, much like her tone, "Ok, you make me sound like an arrogant, egotistical--"
"Which you are," if it's possible I grin even more, "And I mean that in the nicest possible way."
"Seriously, I'm not that good."
"I find it hard to believe that the overachiever in you would let you be anything but wonderful at playing the piano. And since when did you become the insecure type? What happened to that brash overconfidence you so regularly love to display?" I tease.
"I just… I don't really play anymore. I… I stopped when Chris died."
Well, now I feel like a jerk.
And I think she can tell from the apologetic look I'm giving her.
"Don't. I only learned to play because my mother thought that a graceful little girl should know how. It was never a passion, it just became something Chris and I did."
Silence.
My kingdom for a new topic.
"I didn't realise you had money, I mean this kind of money," I gesture around her apartment. I remember Sam once telling me that her father had left her something like a couple of million dollars, however, Hannah wasn't really wise with money and so squandered the majority of it inside a year or two of inheriting it. She's only ever worked within the political arena in jobs with prestige but not a lot of money, so I wouldn't think she could afford to live here.
"I don't. Well no, I do, but I never earned it. This comes from Chris."
She married rich. My mother would be so proud.
"Was there a big difference in your economical standing?"
"Our economical standing?" she sounds vaguely amused, which is, you know, much better than sounding insulted. "Yeah, there was. He had lived a different lifestyle to me. I came from a pretty comfortable background but it was nothing compared to his. The main difference though was our parent's attitudes; my mother was extremely tight with money. If she didn't want me to do something then she would simply refuse to pay. Like college. His parents, on the other hand, gave him everything, including things he never asked for."
"Your mother didn't want you to go to college?"
"No, I meant she wanted me to go to college and was even proud that I got into Harvard. She was just dead set against the idea of my studying law, so she refused to pay. But I'm not at all bitter about that."
"I'm supposed to believe that, aren't I?" She mock glowers at me. "So how did you pay for Harvard?"
"Scholarship."
"What about Yale?"
She sighs, "You know my mother died in my final year at college, right?" I nod. I don't elaborate on where that information came from (Sam), I'm sure she already knows. "Well, she knew beforehand that her dying was imminent so she made sure that the money was there for me regardless of what I needed it for."
"What happened? With your mother I mean, you don't have to--"
"She had heart problems and things just deteriorated from there. Donna, what my mother went through really isn't a great pick me up kind of story, so maybe we should…"
I nod again, "What about Chris?"
"As in his economical standing?" Now she looks way too damn amused again. "You know, I didn't realise how much money he had until I met his parents. And I realise he was being modest and all, but I really wished he had told me."
"Why? I can't imagine having a problem with my boyfriend suddenly announcing, 'Hey, honey, guess what? I'm rich."
"Normally I wouldn't have either, but with the realisation that he had money came the understanding that his parents would hate me on principal," she laughs.
"You're kidding, right?" You have to see her with her in-laws to understand my incredulous tone. They adore her.
"Nope. I wasn't the poised upper-class southern belle - read that as the daughter of a major oil tycoon - that they had envisaged their son marrying. Also, I'm a Democrat; I think they were hoping that a nice young Republican girl would help Chris grow out of his liberal 'phase.' I'm pretty sure for a while there they were thinking of bringing back some of his ex-girlfriends." I laugh as she scrunches up her nose in disgust. "I love the guy and all, but what the hell was he thinking?"
"Jealous?"
"Between you and me?"
"Yes."
"I'm serious, if you ever tell Josh - or even Sam for that matter - I'll be forced to kick your butt. The last thing I need is for either of them to be gloating about the fact that they were right."
"I won't tell," I swear solemnly.
"Yes," she says nodding, "I guess I was, although at the time I didn't realise it. In the beginning stages of his relationships I would encourage him - almost push him into the relationship - but when it became apparent that he and his girlfriend were becoming somewhat serious, I would become…"
"Snarky?" I supply.
"Yeah. After a while I would just let him have his relationship and not voice any opinions on what he was doing. All the while I would have this uneasy feeling lurking around in the back of my mind."
"You realise that sounds sickeningly sweet. You were in love him even when you didn't know it."
Ok, what's so funny? Hannah seems to be trying in vain to stop herself from smiling that annoying omniscient type smile she was courting earlier, but fails miserably.
"Any other questions?"
Yes, what's with the smile?
"Not that I can think of."
"Okay, so do you want to tell me what's bothering you?"
I was wondering how long it would take to get to this.
"It's nothing really." And it's really not.
Only, it is.
"So then you won't have a problem talking about it."
"I just…" I have no idea how to put this into words. I have no idea what 'this' is. "Tomorrow's going to be different," I start, although why I said that I'm not so sure.
"Well… yes." I don't think she's knows where I'm going with this, and since neither do I, that's perfectly reasonable.
"I won't be working in the White House anymore, or at least until we win."
She nods her head for a moment, clearly not following, and then gets this look that roughly translates as 'ahh… I know where you're going with this even if you don't.' "You'll no longer be working for Josh," she states.
"Yes."
"And so… things will be different between you guys," she hedges.
"Well, yes."
"How?"
"How?" I'm confused. I mean even more confused than before we started this conversation. Which really is something.
"Yes, how? You're worried about changes that will occur in your relationship with Josh, but what's going to change that's making you worry in the first place?"
"We're no longer going to work together." Have I mentioned that I'm good at stating the obvious? Not to mention, repeating things that have already been established.
"And the fact that you no longer share the boss/assistant dynamic with him bothers you?" There's an incredulous note to her tone.
"Well, no. What I meant was that our friendship is… entangled with our working relationship."
"Again not seeing the problem here. You can be friends without working together."
I nod. I'm not doing a good job of explaining how I feel; of course it would help if I actually knew how I felt.
"How about this? You're worried that the nature of your friendship will change."
Didn't I just say that?
"Go on."
"Ok, so, you've worked together for the past five years and your friendship stemmed from your professional relationship. You guys share a certain intimacy. The fact that you worked for him meant that you could do certain things without it really being questioned - like when you tie his tie – those little moments define your relationship and now you're worried that those very moments can't or won't exist any more."
That actually seems … right.
"Well that-- how did you…?"
"I'm good like that. Donna, some things are going to surprise you in that they won't change. The other things, rituals you guys have built up, may not be there for a while, but they'll work their way back and in the interim things may be awkward, but trust me when I tell you, it's for the best."
"Yeah?"
"And along the way, you guys will have built up some more rituals."
"You think so? Things won't be weird? Because, they have been a little lately."
"Yes, I'm positive. Call him."
I look at my watch and notice the time, but instead ask, "Why?"
"Because there's a way to keep that intimacy without you needing to be his assistant. Call him."
"Now?"
"No, tomorrow morning - actually later in the morning, since it's almost one - kind of like a wake up call. This can be the beginning of your first ritual."
"Well, since I've called him numerous times in the morning to wake him up, this really won't be a new ritual."
"Yes, but that was as his assistant. Call him as a friend."
"I don't think I should, I mean--"
"I think you'll be surprised by his reaction."
"Yes, but--"
"Amy won't be there. Call him."
And she knows this how?
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
"Ok."
While Hannah is in the kitchen making a milkshake, I locate my purse to retrieve Josh's present. I slowly unwrap the blue paper, for some reason I feel the need to treasure it. My patience is lost when I unwrap the first blue layer to find pink one beneath it. I rip through the next two layers, and open the box to find…
I'm speechless.
Well, what do you know; the guy really is a man of occasion. I have absolutely no idea what to say when I see what's inside.
I feel a smile tugging at my lips now.
Somehow, calling him doesn't seem like such a hard thing to do now.
TBC…