A short little piece inspired by a Tumblr prompt.

9. Things you said while I was crying

November 2037

They've called it, it's official.

Our boy has won.

From our spot backstage I listen to the crowd cheering; it's been a while since he was declared the victor by all the major news outlets but the campaign staff and everyone else in attendance is still buzzing with excitement that won't be wearing off for quite some time.

I can feel you behind me, your arms wrapping themselves around me in a tight embrace, and suddenly I feel a tear glide across my cheek. I can't stop the steady trickle that follows nor can I stop the smile that's spreading across my face despite the burning in my eyes because it has really hit me now, there's going to be a Lyman in the Oval Office, sitting behind the Resolute desk instead of in front of it or right beside it.

"A Lyman with a desk in the Oval, who'd've thought it possible," you tease, reading my mind.

"We should quit acting so surprised, we knew. We knew the moment he set foot in the White House for the first time that something like this would happen."

Maybe we didn't predict this exact scenario where he now holds the title of President-elect, but we saw something in him that day- something that hinted at a future in politics.

"I'll never forget how his eyes lit up," you say as you recall his first visit to the White House.

I don't think I'll ever forget either, his wide-eyed amazement reminded me of a certain someone's Bambi-esque expression on our first day working in the West Wing.

"And all the questions he asked, he was the only person who was your rival when it came to asking questions," I tease, though I'm still overwhelmed and crying.

I know you're rolling your eyes at me. You can read my mind and sometimes I can even read yours. You're thinking I'm a ridiculous old man because you've always thought I'm ridiculous when I say things like that, but you love me anyway, thank God.

I turn around to face you, not bothering to wipe the tears from my face.

"Oh, Joshua," you say, taking it upon yourself to gently wipe away my tears. "We can't have you too teary eyed for the cameras, you have a reputation to uphold!"

Yes, my silly reputation that somehow has remained untarnished, don't ask me how I've managed that.

One decades-long fairytale romance and marriage, a PTSD disclosure, and a Secret Plan to Fight Inflation (among other very public follies) later and I'm STILL viewed as some sort of tenacious political bulldog to be feared by both sides of the political aisle. Even witnessing my very public and very genuine "doting and neurotic father of three" act (and now "doting and neurotic grandfather of seven" act too... can you believe we're grandparents, Donnatella?!) can't seem to persuade DC that their perception of me has become more myth than fact these days.

You give me one of your teasing smiles because you're as baffled and amused by the fact that people outside our circle of friends and family see me the way they do.

Now that you've removed all evidence that I was crying only a moment ago, I turn to get a look at what's happening on the stage and you move to stand beside me so that you can also get a clearer view.

Jake has given Annie a celebratory kiss, he's hugged his children, waved to the happy raucous crowd, and now he's looking in our direction.

"Go on, go give your son a manly hug before I embarrass him in front of all those cameras," you say as you give me a gentle push in our son's direction.

I shake my head.

"Oh no, you're coming with me, we're embarrassing him together," I say, grabbing onto the hand that wiped away my tears and taking you along with me.