Page 4 of The Thorne at My Side
When I was out tonight, the air was starting to turn crisp. The humidsummer mornings are hopefully behind us. Don't you hate that humidity? Although, maybe you don't, maybe you're one of those people who loves feeling like you're breathing in hot pasta vapors. And I bet your hair never gets poofy. But, if it does, let me know and I'll send you a bottle of the spray my sister swears by; just let me know your name and address.
I’m kidding! It hits me every so often how strange this arrangement is, but not knowing has its advantages. I find myself looking twice at women andwondering if by chance they’re you. Do you do the same?
I find myself nodding along as I read, and giggling quietly as I bite my bottom lip. The messages from DCFox turn me into a bumbling school girl.
It’s been that way for nine weeks. Three more to go until we can meet.
I slide the little phone into the drawer and head out the door for my run. The air is cooler and I smile as I take a quick turn to the heart of Adams Morgan. When I moved to DC, I was immediately drawn to the neighborhood’s colorful buildings, the bustling restaurant scene, and how there seemed to be little parks tucked away around every corner.
I lift my hand in a wave to Joanne at Sunrise, the local coffee shop and bakery, who is putting out her sidewalk sign. She smiles back before I turn again towards the wide paths in Kalorama Park. My Upbeat Morning Music playlist powers me past the playground where parents and nannies are unloading their strollers and guzzling caffeine. Past the basketball court where a group of guys are playing shirts and skins. I can’t help but slowdown a little bit for a quick peruse. It’s been a while since I’ve had any skin-to-skin contact and watching their pecs and shoulders glisten revs me up. The final corner of the park takes me back to Belmont Road where it's a straight shot home by way of Sunrise Bakery.
I jog up the steps of the bright blue painted brick building and order my coffee and pastry to-go and pull out my phone while I wait.
An email from my favorite meal prep blogger with new recipes for the week catches my eye. I take a look at the baked chicken breasts that are served with charred broccoli and quinoa. Each ingredient can be made in a big batch and it makes enough to feed me all week.
Back in law school I skipped dinner more often than I ate it. The most I’d do when I did have dinner was to eat a bag of microwave popcorn and chug a diet coke. Then one day, I was on the phone with my mom as she was getting back from grocery shopping. It reminded me of the routines the Collins family stuck to each week.
I hung up with my mom, made a list, and put together my first week of meal prep that same day. It worked best for me to have dinner ready, breakfast was often grab and go, lunch was on campus or in between meetings. The travel schedule of the campaign makes things tricky but I’ve stuck with it and have started to use my freezer more so food doesn’t go bad.
Sunrise is only a few doors away but my croissant is down to its last bite by the time I open my apartment door. I finish it, take a drag of my coffee, and get ready for work.
I’ve got my routine down to a science. Dry shampoo and a shower cap, body shower, dry off, skincare, body lotion, get dressed. I don’t lay my clothes out the night before becausepicking an outfit doesn’t take much mental effort. I’ve curated a professional wardrobe of whites, creams, browns, and light blues. Tight fitting top or bodysuit, wide leg pant or pencil skirt, and a blazer. Nude or black pumps. Done.
After my makeup I pull my hair back into a low bun or claw clip if it’s a humid day. Again, the choice is already made for me so I work on autopilot while I listen to NPR.
I developed this system years ago when I realized how draining it was to pick an outfit every morning. One Labor Day Weekend I donated all but four items from my closet and restocked on basics. Now that I stand behind a woman running for president the clothing choices I make get commented on too. It isn’t as frequent as hers, you should have seen the stink people made about her sneakers, but the first time it happened I felt exposed on a level I wasn’t ready for. Now everything I wear is neutral. Designed not to draw attention.
I slide my notebook into my bag and check my phone before leaving. I find a text waiting for me from Sam. It'll be easier to just chat with her while I walk so I dial her number.
"Hello again Sam!" I cheer after I hear her quick hey. "Are you feeling as amazing as I am?"
"Are you high?" She asks seriously.
"On life!" I joke as I lock up behind me. "I had an exhilarating run, a perfectly flaky croissant for breakfast, and I've been thinking about the best products for frizzy hair all morning."
"What?"
Oh, right, that was just the text from DCFox.
"What happened to you in the last hour? Did you manage to sneak in some morning bedroom funtime?" She asks as I reach the sidewalk.
"No! Just a run and feeling the sun on my face. And runningpast a group of guys playing pickup basketball without shirts on. I might have slowed my pace and tried to perk up my tits a bit as I passed. "
"I've told you before Maggie, I know you’re hard up right now and you're a smoke show but I won’t date my boss."
I laugh. This is a running joke since I received her resume. It was the only one out of the bunch for deputy speech writer that got me excited but I was upset that it was a man. I had this idea of an all female writing team. I was mistaken because instead of putting Samantha down as her name, she wrote Sam. When she walked into the office for her interview Jorge, Senator Quinn’s assistant, called my office saying “Sam was here for an interview” and his voice had this teasing tone to it. I was expecting a wildly attractive man that Jorge and I could gossip about later but instead, in walked this feisty woman.
When I asked, she said it was a social experiment to see if she'd get more call backs as a man than as a woman. I laughed and said "marry me" in response because I am passionate about women's rights and try to surround myself with kindred spirits. And if I was going to trust someone to craft messages for the senator’s campaign I want someone who believes in the same things I do.
"I know and it kills me a little bit every time you tell me no.” We share a laugh. “How am I supposed to find someone who gets me like you do?” I ask her with fake exasperation.
"You could try SMS Connect,” Sam suggests. “I wonder if it really works.”
“I mean, it’s a pretty solid system.” I say with a physical shrug she can’t see.
“Wait, did you sign up for it?"
“Yes,” I admit quietly eventhough the other people on the sidewalk with me have headphones in and can’t hear me or Sam’s question for that matter. Something about needing to use the service makes me feel like a failure.
