Page 16 of The Senator's Daughter

I know I could go to this event by myself and just tell Lola it was a work thing, which would be very honest, and that would be the end of it. She wouldn’t question me.

Except . . . that isn’t entirely true either.

There are things I hide from Lola.

Lola is a smart woman. I know she intuits that there are vast differences between our lives.

But there are more things I keep from her.

Someone like Lola lives for the moment will never understand why I hide not only my sexuality from the world (which, although once murky, is now suddenly very clear to me: I am a lesbian and I have made peace with that on a personal level) but I also hide who I am from Lola. And I know I will hide her from my family.

Well, I haven’t hidden my last name, but Lola doesn’t follow politics, either. I’m fairly confident that she hasn’t made the connection.

My father aspires to run for president next year. He needs his only daughter to keep being the model senator’s daughter she always has been.

A senator’s daughter who behaves herself and keeps her head down. Someone as low profile as it comes.

A senator’s daughter who comes out as a lesbian dating a stripper--well, that would be a scandal I’m just not ready for.

Both my and Lola’s lives would be dragged into the spotlight.

When I think about what I am keeping from Lola and the fact I don’t think I will ever feel okay being open about her, the guilt bubbles up inside me. It feels like I’m choking from within.

How can I ever give Lola what she deserves? How can I offer her a future when she has no clue who I really am? When she does, Lola will know that the chances we have, the actual reality of us being more than this, is pretty much zero.

Lola is my dirty secret. How can I ever tell anyone about us?

This is all my brain speaking. The analyst within me, looking at the situation with logic and the pragmatic viewpoint I’m known for. But another part of me, louder, stronger, and more determined, refuses to listen to that. Deep down inside of me, there is a part that refuses to accept that the best thing in my life is temporary.

I give myself a hard shake and pedal the workout bike harder and faster. This is why I come here, to not think.

If I pedal fast enough, maybe I can shut out all the noise.

I send Lola a text to tell her that I have a work thing. A coward’s way out, I know. But I can’t see her tonight or tomorrow if I am going to the gala. First, I need to get my hair done, then I have to pick up a ridiculously expensive dress and have every single inch of me poked and prodded so that for one night I can look like I wake up that way—that when you are born this rich, your skin naturally glows in your sleep.

I won’t choose the dress; my mother’s personal stylist will. She will know what the other big names attending are wearing to be sure that I will appear unique, but still fit in perfectly. She will find the designer name that is just the right one to be wearing now, the shade that is just ahead of the trend, and the cut that will flatter. Something that will be sophisticated and beautiful, while oozing elegance and class.

All I need to do is dash over there after work to make sure the dress is fitted to perfection.

I keep fidgeting with my hands and tapping my foot against the floorboard as we weave through traffic. The driver continues to check his watch, giving me concerned looks in the rearview mirror.

I know he’s just trying to be helpful, but it only makes me more anxious. I don’t even want to think about what kind of mood my mother is going to be in when she finds out I showed up late to this fitting.

I stare out the window, watching the city rush by in a blur of buildings and people. All I can think about is how much I’d rather be anywhere else. But I know there’s no escaping this appointment. As we pull up to the boutique, my heart sinks. I take a deep breath and step out of the cab, steeling myself for whatever comes next. It’s time to face the music and get this over with.

Shona is cool. She is unemotional regarding my tardiness, which suits me perfectly. I know Shona will just add an extra charge onto my mother’s bill, and that suits us both. I can barely summon any excitement as I walk into Shona’s dress-fitting studio, but she should know by now not to expect excitement from me over dresses. While I can almost get excited over a beautifully fitted pant suit, dresses just seem to stress me out. There is so much pressure for them to be just right. For my body in the dress to be just right. Shona greets me with a lukewarm smile and ushers me to the dressing room.

As she helps me into the stunning silver dress, I can’t help but feel like it’s a royal waste of time. It will look like every other other dress I’ve worn a million times. And then I see myself in the mirror.

The way the fabric drapes over my curves is simply breathtaking. It hugs all the right places and flows gracefully down to the floor. I gasp at how beautiful I look. It is a dress that could truly steal the show.

The classic style exudes elegance and sophistication, and the color complements my skin tone perfectly. It’s as if this dress was made just for me.

I twirl and admire the way the material sways with every movement. Shona watches with pride, knowing she has found the perfect dress for me. “Always so little faith,” she says, as if she had known my thoughts when I first got here. “And I won’t tell your mother you were late,” she adds with a little smirk as she starts to unpin me. I give her a smile. Maybe she is one of the good ones after all.

I arrive at the gala, feeling uneasy and out of place--not that I don’t belong, but rather that I don’t want to belong to this world anymore. I force a smile as I step out of the car alone, surrounded by flashy cars and people dressed in ridiculously expensive clothing. My mother had suggested a list of suitable men I should contact as my plus-one for the evening, but I just couldn’t face it this time. The thought of a man on my arm and an evening of pretense makes me feel sick now.

I mentally add that to my list of things my mother is not going to be happy about.

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