Author Note: Thank you so much for all of the fabulous reviews so far. I fear, however, that some of you may be disappointed in how the plot is progressing from hence forth. I can only hope that I've earned your trust (and your love of Drea) that you'll keep reading…
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"Josh, Drea has amazing potential." Isaiah Wood pointed out to his friend.
Josh rubbed his eyes, "Yeah, Woody, I know. You've been telling me that since she started swimming. I just don't know. I mean, that kind of intensive training for a 9 year old? It just seems wrong."
Woody took a deep breath, "Josh, listen. I've been in the swimming world for over 20 years now. I think I've got a pretty decent grasp on what kids can handle it and what kids can't. When we had Lyndsey Marck in here last week to do that clinic for the kids, Drea had stars in her eyes."
"Woody, it's not everyday that my daughter gets to hang out with a four-time Olympic gold medallist."
"No, but she spent the first five years of her life in the White House. She sees movie stars and famous people all of the time. She wasn't star struck over Lyndsey. She wants it," Woody said as gently as he could. He knew what a big step this would be for the Lyman family.
"Last week she wanted to be on the show. The month before, she wanted to learn sign language in order to work with monkeys. She's nine years old. How can she possibly know what she wants?"
"Josh, you and Drea have a closer relationship than any father and daughter I have ever seen. Talk to her about it. Lay it all out on the table. In a year, if she hates it, we'll stop. But right now, let's get her to the Olympics," Woody grinned.
Josh smiled in return, "I hate how selfish this sounds, but what does it mean for me? I'm a political consultant to the number one rated drama on television. I'm kind of a slave to the network and I never know when they're going to need me. What about school for her? I refuse to let her education suffer for this. Woody, I seriously want to let her do it, but there's just so many protests floating around in my brain."
Woody leaned back in his folding chair and cast a quick glance at his swimmers in the pool. He only had a few moments before they would finish their set and need him again. "Josh, I'm going to make this quick, but not because I'm blowing you off. I already told Bob that I would resign my coaching position here to train Drea if you agreed. I'm flexible. We'll start off small and then increase if she's still hungry for it. Here's my proposition. Give me the summer. Let me train her as an Olympian for three months. If you don't like it in September, we'll just chalk it up as learning experience. Deal?"
Josh still looked wary, but knew that Drea would kill him and he would regret it if he turned Woody down. He finally nodded, "Deal."
The two men stood up and shook hands.
"Ok, my man. I've got to go make my 12 and under's suffer a bit. I'll see you tomorrow?"
Josh grinned, "Absolutely, Captain Woody. See you tomorrow."
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Four Years Later
"Dad!" 13-year-old Rebecca Lyman yelled as she ran frantically around her house, gathering things to pack for her trip to the Olympic Trials in Baltimore.
"Drea, you have everything you could ever possibly need in the car. You're going to be gone for a weekend," Josh Lyman smirked at his daughter.
"Dad, don't look at me like that! I need my suit –"
" – In your suitcase-"
"The sliver one?"
"The silver one, the purple one, and the one with the funny little things on it. Yes, Drea, you have everything. You have been unpacking and packing the same things over and over again for the past week. You are going to be fine."
Drea sighed and gave her dad a hug, "This is it."
"Drea, whatever happens this weekend –"
"I know, you love me and you're so proud of me."
Josh laughed, "Yeah. Do I say it often?"
"Only every day," She grinned. "Can I drive to the airport?"
"If you'd like to wait three years to get to Trials…"
"You can drive."
"Thanks."
"No problem."
Heaving her suitcase out to the car, Josh mentally checked that he had everything.
Tickets, scripts, underwear, clothes, video camera, cards from everyone…ok, I'm good.
"Hey, Papa Bear," Drea began as they climbed into the car.
"Yeah, Motor Mouse?"
"When does Aunt CJ's plane land?"
"About 20 minutes before ours. She'll meet us at our gate at BWI."
Drea nodded and slipped her headphones on.
Ok, here goes nothing, Josh thought to himself as he backed the Audi out of the driveway of his Southern California home. This weekend everything changes. I hope CJ's plane from Kennedy lands ok. I haven't seen her since that fundraiser. Gosh, when was that, three months ago? Too long, he scolded himself, too long.
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Seriously, Claudia, pull yourself together. It's not really a big deal. You just walk up to Josh and say, "Josh! Hi! How nice to see you! We need to get married this weekend."
Then he'll laugh at me and tell Drea that Aunt CJ has finally lost it.
It was such a stupid deal with such a stupid man. But I signed a contract and in the world that we live in, contracts are legally binding.
Peter Anderson was my best friend the entire time I was at Berkeley. We were talking, probably drunkenly, about life one night after a double date we had gone on failed. For the third time that week. It was just getting ridiculous and I was getting antsy.
So, we made a deal.
We said, if neither one of us was married by the time we were 50; we would get married to each other. He had wanted 40, but I told him that I was going to be consumed changing the world during that decade; so finding a suitable mate wouldn't be possible.
I did find mine though; he was just too busy having mental breakdowns to notice.
So, Peter turns 50 next month and he called my apartment last night to own up on our agreement. I told him that we were young and we didn't know what we were talking about and that we should drop the deal.
To which he responded that a deal's a deal and I signed a contract.
I was getting desperate. It was like that Julia Roberts movie gone bad. I couldn't believe it. So, I found myself explaining why the contract was no longer valid.
"There's just a little problem with this whole thing, Peter. You see, I'm engaged."
"To whom?"
To whom, to whom…? "Josh Lyman."
"The guy from the White House that you worked with?"
"Yup, that's him. Josh Lyman."
"Oh, ok, well, where's my invitation?"
Invitation to a wedding that doesn't exist… "It's private ceremony. Just us, our families and a priest."
"Oh." He really sounded so disappointed. I felt bad.
"Peter, seriously, I'm sorry I didn't invite you. Things have been crazy with us, I mean, I leave for the Olympic Trials tomorrow to see his daughter compete."
"Rebecca Lyman? Really? I've heard about her. Isn't she that phenom that can do the 100 Free in 45 seconds."
My heart swelled with pride. "Yeah, that's Drea."
"I was reading in Newsweek that that's completely unheard of. That even Amy VanDyken couldn't do that."
"Yeah, well freestyle's always been her favorite. Listen, Peter, I've got to go. It was nice talking to you."
"You too, Jeanie." I always hated when he called me that.
"Bye."
"Bye."
And with that, I had proposed to Josh and planned the ceremony.
I just needed to tell him.
This is a faux pas of Joshua Lyman proportions.
Wry Grin
He's rubbing off on me already.
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