Chapter Six
Day Four
Henry
White light flooded through the slats of the blinds, a pristine backdrop for Elizabeth as she leant against the kitchen side, a mug of coffee clutched in both hands. Her gaze was dipped to the ground, and the memory of sleepless nights still hung in bruised smudges beneath her eyes. She looked up as Henry stepped off the stairs into the kitchen, and her expression warmed.
"You're up early." Henry held her waist as he kissed her cheek. "No more Twitter news?"
"No." She twisted round, and with her hip against the jut of the counter, she watched him as he poured his own coffee from the pot. "But according to the frantic texts I got from Daisy the whole wolf whistle thing has been turned into a meme and people are still sharing those photos." Her brow pinched, and her gaze drifted away from his.
He rubbed her arm. "It'll pass."
The corners of her lips tugged into a sad smile. "That was far more comforting a couple of days ago." She shook her head to herself, and the ends of her hair danced around her shoulders. But then footsteps bounded down the stairs, and she swept the pain from her face.
"Good morning." Stevie jumped off the last step into the kitchen. She sported a full-toothed grin, and her eyes shone as she looked at her parents.
"You're far too cheery for—" Elizabeth glanced at her watch. "—eight AM. You do know it's not Christmas, right?"
"Oh, this far outdoes Christmas," Alison said as she stepped down into the kitchen too. She and Stevie hovered near the bottom of the stairs. Something about the glee that lit up their faces unleashed a crawl of unease up Henry's spine. "Just wait until you see."
"See what?" Elizabeth said. She took a sip of her coffee and then choked. "Oh my God, Jason."
Henry's mouth dropped open. "Is that your mom's skirt?"
Jason was wearing the 'do me' skirt that Elizabeth had thrown out of her closet after it featured at number one in Russ Freyton's top ten. He had paired it with his usual sneakers, tee and plaid shirt. Standing in front of his sisters, he gave a twirl. "Alison adjusted it for me."
Henry clunked his coffee mug down on the side, before he had the chance to lose it from his grasp. "I'm not so concerned about how it fits you so much as why you're wearing it."
"I'm making a statement," Jason said. He looked at Elizabeth, and a solemn expression descended across his face. "You, and every other woman, should be able to wear what you want without being objectified. A skirt is just a skirt—it doesn't define you or determine your worth."
Elizabeth shook her head. "You can't wear that to school."
"Why not?"
Her voice cracked. "Because you'll get beaten up."
"So what if I do?" Jason's jaw clenched. "It's no different to what people have been doing to you all week. And maybe it'll force them to listen."
"Baby, I appreciate what you're doing," Elizabeth said, her expression pained, "but I don't want you to get hurt."
"I'll be fine." Jason shrugged. "Besides, the video's already up on YouTube."
"Video?" Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up. "What video?"
Jason wore a subtle smile. He motioned between himself and his sisters. "We made a video about the skirt and why it should be a symbol of empowerment and not a tool for objectification."
"It's already got over a thousand hits," Stevie said.
Alison tapped the screen of her phone. "Make that two thousand." She beamed at Elizabeth. "You should see the comments. All these people support you."
Elizabeth set her coffee cup down on the island counter and took the phone from their daughter. Without her glasses on, she squinted at the screen. "Wow." The word came out in a whistle of breath. She turned to Henry with a forced smile. "Daisy's gonna love this."
"Look, Mom," Stevie said, "we get that as Secretary of State you can't always stand up and say what you want to, you always have to think about the optics, but this is about more than just you, it's about speaking up for what's right."
Elizabeth eyed them in turn and landed at last on Jason. "You're serious about this?"
Lips pursed, Jason nodded.
She let out a long breath and then pinched her brow as she shook her head to herself. She looked up at him. "Then fine." She lifted one finger. "But if one person so much as—"
"Mom, I'll be okay."
"You'd better be," she murmured. Then she strode across to him, wrapped him in her arms and peppered him with kisses until he squirmed. "Thank you." She pulled the girls into the hug too. "The three of you are incredible, you know that?"
"Of course we are," Alison said, her voice muffled by the embrace. "How could we be anything but with a mom like you?"
Still leant against the kitchen counter, Henry grinned at them—his wife, their children, their family—and he chuckled as his chest overflowed with a glow, like the light of a thousand candles coalescing at midnight mass. Perhaps on some level Elizabeth still sought her parents' approval, and though no one could give her that, maybe it was enough to know that those around her loved her, believed in her, stood by her, as though that could fulfil the final promises her father had made. What I want you to know is that I'll be here to support you, always, and I'll be here when things get tough—because they will. And I'll be here, waiting for the day when you achieve all these things that I never thought possible, and when you come back to tell me that you've proved me wrong.
Elizabeth drew back from the hug and swiped at her eyes. She met their children's worried frowns with a watery smile. "Happy tears, I promise." A glance at her watch. "I've gotta go." Then she planted kisses to their foreheads in turn. "I love you guys so much." She patted Jason's cheek. "Stay safe. Any problems, just call."
Elizabeth grabbed her coffee from the side and took one last swig before she snatched the air near Henry's hand and beckoned him to follow as she strode towards the front door.
She shrugged on her coat, and Henry stepped forward to smooth down the collar. He skimmed his hands down to her waist and pulled her close. Then he looked into her eyes as he said, "You sure this is okay? It's not going to cause problems at work?" She might be fine with it, but the White House, Russell Jackson?
"Well, silence hasn't exactly worked," Elizabeth said. She gave a half-shrug. "And they do have a point." She tutted. "God, why did we ever encourage them to express their opinions or have free thought?" She flashed him a broad smile that reached her eyes, and the sparks that had been so dim over the past week now danced. She tugged at his tie and pulled him down to meet her lips. "I love you."
He smiled against her. "I like you okay too." Then he wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, and he nuzzled her nose. "I love you." He met her in a gentle kiss. His lips lingered in a silent promise—I've got you—until she sighed and patted his chest.
"Please don't let Jason take any more of my skirts." She stepped backwards towards the door, and her voice lowered to an exaggerated whisper. "Not wishing to objectify him, but he really doesn't have the legs for it."
Henry chuckled. He held his hand up, a brief wave, before she disappeared onto the porch.
When Henry returned to their bedroom, he caught sight of the business card he had discarded on the bedside table. He picked it up, stared at it for a moment and then tapped it against the edge of his fingers. The thought from the previous night drifted through his mind—how to move the narrative away from 'I would, wouldn't you?'. Some words cannot be unwritten, but maybe, just maybe they could be reclaimed. Perhaps it was time that he stood up too.
Elizabeth
The clock on the mantlepiece chimed twelve. Elizabeth leant back against the cushions of the couch as she dug her chopsticks through the carton and fished out a piece of chicken from beneath the noodles. Careful not to spill the sauce onto her blouse, she lifted it to her mouth.
Sat in the chairs on the opposite side of the coffee table, Kat held her own carton in one hand whilst she thumbed through the file in her lap, and Jay took a large bite of dumpling, his gaze fixed on the flickering pages. He stabbed his chopsticks at the file. Kat stopped. With his fist held to his mouth, he chewed quickly then swallowed. "What if we—"
There was a knock at the door, and before Elizabeth could call out, Daisy and Blake strode in. Blake fumbled with the television set in the corner, whilst Daisy walked over to the coffee table. She wrung her hands in front of her. "Sorry, ma'am—" She winced. "—but your husband's on the news."
"He's what?" Elizabeth said through a mouthful of noodles. "Why?" She chucked the carton down onto the table and twisted round to face the television whilst Blake searched through the channels. She switched her reading glasses for her normal frames and peered up at the screen.
The image of Henry appeared but then vanished again as Blake sped past the channel. Elizabeth flapped her hands. "Go back, go back."
Henry was sat behind the desk in a studio, swivelled round to face the interviewer. And—oh God—it was that tabloid reporter who had given Henry his card after Henry had refused to comment on 'I would, wouldn't you?'.
"Hen-ry." Elizabeth groaned.
Blake hovered near the television set. "I think he was inspired by Jason's skirt video."
Elizabeth glared at Blake. "Not helpful." Her son posting a video on YouTube was one thing, but the husband of the Secretary of State giving an interview on national television…
The reporter frowned at Henry. "But your wife is beautiful, you must agree with that."
"Yes, she's beautiful in that she fits our culturally derived definition of physical desirability," Henry said, and Elizabeth pinched her brow. Baffling people with academese and drowning them in jargon was not going to win this argument. "I, like many people in our culture, agree that she's beautiful, but that's not what attracts me to her."
"No?"
"No," Henry said.
Elizabeth's gaze darted back to the screen.
His expression had softened, and his smile shone through his eyes. "She's funny, she's smart, she's passionate. She always tries her hardest to do the right thing, even when it seems impossible. She's a fantastic mother to our children, and she always puts our family first. She's strong, yet allows herself to be vulnerable. She doesn't hide her imperfections." Henry shrugged. "She's human. That's what attracts me to her."
Elizabeth rested her fist against her lips, hiding the smile that had blossomed. Okay, perhaps having her husband make a statement on television without prior warning was less than ideal, but having him talk about her like that made her heart melt (just a little).
"Would you rather us say that she's not beautiful?" the interviewer asked.
"I'd rather it wasn't an issue," Henry said. "I'd rather that people didn't comment on that. We don't comment on the appearance of the men in the administration."
The interviewer glanced down at his notes for a moment. "You yourself were named in the top ten of political arm candy." He returned his gaze to Henry. "How's this any different?"
"It's different because calling a man attractive doesn't detract from his achievements, whilst for a woman it's an either or situation. Either she's beautiful or she's good at her job, never both." Henry shook his head to himself. "Calling a woman beautiful acts to mask her achievements, to mask her true value. Especially when that sentiment is expressed in such a crude way."
"So what would you say in response to Mr Freyton's comments?"
Henry shrugged, and his lips twisted. "I'd say that the comments are crass and unpatriotic."
"Unpatriotic?" The interviewer echoed with a frown.
"My wife works tirelessly to preserve the American way of life, giving people like Mr Freyton the freedom to speak publicly and to say whatever he likes. I think it's a shame that he should choose to abuse such a privilege, especially when he uses it to attack the very person who has afforded him such rights." Henry's gestures animated him as he spoke. "Mr Freyton says that he has a profound appreciation for women, but his actions over the past few days have shown no appreciation for my wife as a person or for all the incredible things that she does." His lips pulled taut for a second, a facial shrug. "Perhaps if men like him weren't given so much air time, the women of our country would feel empowered to stand up and to make a difference in the world. Perhaps that's what we need: to embrace their perspectives, their talents, their thoughts, rather than reducing their value to nothing more than their looks."
"That's a rather feminist stance."
Henry looked the interviewer straight in the eye. "A feminist is anyone who believes in equality for all those who identify as women. So would I call myself a feminist? Yes, I would. Wouldn't you?"
And Elizabeth laughed, unable to suppress it as it bubbled up and mixed with the glow that already warmed her heart.
"Thank you, Dr McCord."
As the cameras cut away from Henry, Blake pointed at the screen, his brow furrowed in a deep frown. "Did he just—"
"Reclaim the hashtag?" Elizabeth grinned. "Yes, he did." She looked to Daisy. "Daisy—"
But Daisy was tapping away at her tablet screen. "Already on it, ma'am." She met Elizabeth's eye for a second. Pure sass. "Russ who?"
"I'm home," Elizabeth called out as the door clunked shut behind her. Peals of laughter rippled through from the kitchen. She kicked her shoes off, hung her coat over the bottom of the banister and then padded through. The smell of molten cheese and freshly baked garlic bread greeted her.
Stood at the kitchen island, Henry ran a pizza wheel through a Margherita. She stopped in the doorway, leant against the frame and then waited. He placed the blade down, twisted round and met her with a broad smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, and she couldn't resist the smile that tugged at her own lips. She held his gaze. "Well played, Dr McCord. Very well played."
The tension between them thickened, a dare surfacing—who would make the first move? She bit down on her bottom lip. His eyes darkened, and his fingers curled over the edge of the counter.
"Mom," Alison called through from the den.
"Coming," Elizabeth called back, but still she held Henry's eye. She sidled past him, bumping her hip against his, and she joined the kids in the den. The heat of his gaze prickled over her skin, and when she glanced back, he was still staring.
The kids were sat on the sofa, the girls at either end with Jason in the middle. Elizabeth leant over the back of the couch and kissed each of them in turn. "What happened to the skirt?" She nodded to the jeans Jason that was wearing.
"I think I made my point," Jason said. Then he folded his arms across his chest as he smirked. "Though I'm not afraid to admit it was surprisingly comfortable."
Elizabeth let out a sharp laugh. "Next time try it with stilettos."
"Look, Mom," Alison said, and she pressed her phone into Elizabeth's hand. The screen showed the YouTube video and the rising hit count. "It's crazy. I thought it was big this morning, but then after Dad's interview it went wild."
"'I would, wouldn't you?' is all over Twitter," Stevie said, "only now it's about feminism, not, you know—" She rolled her eyes. "—doing you."
"I saw," Elizabeth said. She handed Alison back the phone and then motioned for them to join her as Henry carried the pizza and garlic bread through to the dining area. "Daisy started promoting the hashtag as soon as the interview was over." She sank down into the chair next to Henry's at the head of the table. No sooner had she rested her hand against the wooden surface than Henry covered it with his own and intwined their fingers. "I think she was glad that she was finally allowed to speak out." She snatched a piece of garlic bread from the plate and bit down on it with a loud crunch; the butter oozed out and coated her tongue with its rich warmth. She spoke through her mouthful. "God knows she's been wanting to."
"What did the White House have to say?" Henry asked. He studied Elizabeth as he sipped on his glass of red wine.
Elizabeth offered him a taut smile. "I'm going with 'no news is good news'." And when Henry's expression faltered just a fraction, she lifted her thumb and rubbed the side of his little finger. "Silence from Russell is a form of praise in itself." She looked to Jason on the opposite side of the table. "How was the whole skirt thing at school?" She helped herself to a slice of pizza, the strings of mozzarella stretching as she freed it from the neighbouring pieces.
Jason shrugged. He finished chewing before he said, "A few jeers." A smile tugged at his lips. "But then Mrs Henshaw gave this whole speech on the rise of feminism. I think she lost them when she started talking about the different waves though."
Alison brushed off her hands over her plate. "What did Stephen say again?"
Jason paused, a slight frown. Then his face brightened. "Oh yeah." He laughed. "What, like secret handshakes?"
Elizabeth almost choked on her mouthful of pizza. She raised her hand to her lips as she fought to swallow it down. Henry was laughing too, his eyes glistening. And as the kids continued to chatter away, their voices like the rise and fall of a melody—an ode to joy—her chest filled with a rush of love, a kind of warmth that tingled through her. All these messy feelings, Will had once said. Though in that moment it couldn't be more simple. Family. Love. Home.
"So you liked my interview then?" Henry was sat on the end of the chaise longue, his gaze trained on the entrance to the bedroom. The lights were dimmed, except for the soft glow of the bedside lamps, and the curtains ruffled with the wafts of cool air that drifted in through the windows.
Elizabeth shut the door behind her and then leant back against it. She eyed him slowly, letting her gaze drag over him. "Guy standing up for me on national television?" She lowered her voice to a breathy whisper. "Big turn on." Then she flashed him a wicked grin.
Henry's eyes glinted. He stood up, and with three quick strides, he closed the gap between them. His hands found her hips and pinned her against the door, whilst his lips moved against her own; the kiss soft yet demanding.
Elizabeth threaded one hand through his hair, whilst the other toyed with the strands at the nape of his neck. He sucked gently on her lower lip, and she opened her mouth in response. As his tongue met hers, he eased her away from the door and nudged her backwards towards the bed.
Elizabeth broke the kiss and flopped down onto the mattress. She held Henry's gaze as he climbed on top of her, and at the glimmer in his eye, her pulse quickened.
No sooner had his weight pressed down on her than he rolled them, so that she landed on top, straddling his waist. She quirked an eyebrow at him, and with a smirk, he shrugged. "In the interest of female empowerment."
Elizabeth chuckled. She leant down to kiss him, and her hair swept forward into her face. She paused and then cupped his cheek and brushed her thumb over his lips. The darkness in his eyes softened. "What is it?" he said, and his grip on her waist tightened.
Elizabeth shook her head, and the ends of her hair quivered across his skin. She smiled down at him—everything was fine. "You're so beautiful," she whispered, and she nuzzled his nose before placing a tender kiss to the corner of his lips.
He cradled her head and eased her back enough that he could look her in the eye. "You're beautiful," he said. His other hand skimmed up from her waist and covered her heart. "All of you."
