Page 50 of Capitally Engaged

I stopped next to two rental bikes, one with a platform on the back. I dug the bungee cord the vendor had been kind enough to provide out of the side pocket of the bag and secured our picnic to the back of my bike.

“Ready?” I asked, swinging my leg over the bike. I looked back at Jax expectantly.

“As I’ll ever be.”

We started our ride through the district, sticking to the bicycle lane on Pennsylvania Avenue as much as possible. The Capitol loomed large in front of us.

“You’re not taking me to a picnic on the grounds of the complex where we work, are you?” Jax yelled in order to be heard above the sound of traffic and the distance between us.

“Nope. Onward,” I shouted back, turning my head so she could hear me. She’d likely figure out we were headed toward the Mall soon enough, but I’d keep her in suspense a bit longer. The foot traffic increased as we drew even with the Air and Space Museum, the open space filled with locals out for some fresh air and tourists here to visit alike.

As we waited to cross 14th Street, the Washington Monument rose ahead of us with blocks of green space behind. Jax drew even with me. “At least tell me, are we staying in DC or heading the whole way into Virginia?”

“No boundary lines will be crossed, for these plans,” I said, cringing internally at my choice of words. I would love it if Jax would cross a boundary or two, but I respected she had her reasons for keeping her emotional distance. “We’re almost there.”

The light turned green, and we weaved our way past the marble monolith and the World War II Memorial. As we reached the edge of the Reflecting Pool, I spotted a bike stand and steered us in that direction.

“This is close enough,” I said, parking my bike and Jax followed suit. I lifted the bag to my shoulder, and before I could start walking, Jax appeared at my side, tangling her hands with mine.

“I sort of liked crossing the city by bike. Taking in all the buildings in a way that’s different from driving in a car, but not as slow as walking. I’m not sure I ever would have done it on my own though. Thank you.” She squeezed my hand, graspingmy forearm with her other hand as we walked the length of pool. Ducks splashed in the pool, freshly descaled from the algae that plagued the still water.

“So, are we visiting Abe?” Jax asked as the marble statue of Lincoln sitting in his chair, looking out across this part of DC, came into view.

“We are,” I said. “This is one of my favorite places to people watch or take a break during a long run. You can see so much from up there”—I nodded toward the top of the marble stairs leading to the statue—“but also feel out of the way.”

Jax looked around, considering my words.

“Plus,” I added, as we started to climb the steps. “There are bathrooms in the visitors center in the basement. Open until 8:00 p.m. tonight.”

Her head swung toward me at my words. “I never realized there were bathrooms here. I knew they were scattered along the Mall, but... thank you. This is really thoughtful. I can’t wait for our picnic.”

I ducked my head, my cheeks growing warm. Instead of stepping inside the opening where Abe sat, I guided us to the edge of the elevated platform. People occasionally walked around this corner to take in the view of Arlington National Cemetery across the Potomac, but most people were here for their photo opportunity of the sixteenth president and then they moved on to the next stop on their tour. That left a quiet place to share food and quality time with this woman I was wild about.

I pulled the food from the bag and started laying out the spread between us. Jam and buckwheat biscuits, beef and chicken skewers, grilled with squash and peppers, and a fruit salad of honeydew, cantaloupe, strawberries, and blueberries, plus dairy free pudding for dessert. And finally, I retrieved a bottle of sparkling grape juice from the bag and two plastic cups.

“It’s a public park. Actual booze made me nervous,” I said when she raised an eyebrow.

“You rule follower,” she teased, taking a glass from me. “But also, if you expect me to ride a bicycle back home, it’s probably a good idea to not drink and ride. What should we toast to?”

A thousand ideas sped through my mind, but I decided to play it safe.

“To faking it,” I said, holding my glass aloft.

Something I couldn’t read flickered through Jax’s eyes. “To faking it,” she echoed, bringing our plastic glasses together with a click.

We picked at our food in relative silence, speaking to point out something or another in the crowd or ask to pass the fruit.

“So,” Jax said, pouring herself more juice. “Is this a go-to date suggestion for you when others ask what they should do in the city?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone else how much I love this spot.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Thank you for bringing me here, then.”

I imagined we were back in that darkened room, all those weeks ago, sharing ourselves with each other.

“This is actually where I planned to propose to Diana, my ex. She wouldn’t have enjoyed a picnic, but she would have liked the pictures we could have gotten here at sunset.”

“What happened with her? I’ve picked up bits and pieces from your brothers, them being worried about our relationship because of your past with her.” She spoke slowly, as if not to spook me.

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