My mother turns back to me. “Well, anyways, you know perfectly well why you’re here, Madison. You’re here for damage control.”
“Damage control?”
My mother purses her carefully painted lips, and narrows her perfectly made-up eyes at me — eyes shadowed with a tint that polls the best with her target demographic, I’m sure — as she frowns beneath her perfectly coiffed shoulder-length hair — a style I’m positive is meant to make her appear “just like one of the other moms” with her female voter base.
“Madison, you’re going to have to start acting the part, you know.” She shakes her head. “I can’t have the daughter of the President running around leaving school and airing her gossip out to dry.”
I stare at her. “Mom, I left school because of Harry. Because he hit me.”
Okay, when the daughter of a Presidential front-runner winds up in a law-school medical center with a black eye, a crashed car and alcohol on her breath, tabloids get hungry. The fact that the only reason I’d driven in the condition I had was that my asshole boyfriend had hit me after I’d broken up with him was a bit lost on them.
And of course, the only reason anything got aired out to begin with was because of who my mother was. Any other mom in the world and I’d still be finishing my law degree. Not that my mother could be bothered to take that into account on her iron-march towards the White House.
Her look softens. “Yes, dear, I know. And I’m sorry, you know that.” She stands tall and regal looking behind her desk with the dramatic American flag hanging behind her by the window that overlooks the great lawn. “But we’ve been over this, and we agreed it would be best for you to spend the semester here.”
I know the story. Publicly, I’m taking a semester off to ‘explore the outreach possibilities available to me in Washington D.C. with my mother, the President.’ Checks have been written and handshakes exchanged en masse to ensure that the reality of me being on academic probation for drinking - not to mention my hastily swept away D.U.I. never sees the light of day.
“I’m so glad you’re worried about my well being, mother.”
President Adams rolls her eyes. “Oh, don’t be a drama queen, Madison.”
Dexter snorts from the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, grinning; “Oh man, this is juicy.”
“That is enough, Dexter!” Major Ryan thunders again.
Hunter steps up behind him and flicks his younger brother’s ear, which only has Dexter jumping off the couch to try and punch his older brother back. The room erupts as Major Ryan strides forward to get between Hunter and Dexter, my mother throwing her hands in the air and the two brothers squabbling.
What the fuck is going on here? This is insanity. My mom and Alec aren’t even married yet, and here we all are playing out the part of the everyday, normal, dysfunctional American family. A fucked up first family.
I cringe, feeling my cheeks go red as the reality hits me again. Family; the man from that night is not only here, he’s my new stepbrother. Alec has Dexter hauled back from his brother, a stern finger of warning in his face as he hisses at him to “act like a man.” I look up, and instantly regret it as I lock eyes with Hunter. Hunter who’s smoothing out his black suit as he looks right at me, a grin stretched across his face.
Because this is funny to him. Because our history and its potential to absolutely shatter this office and the country it represents in light of what’s to come is amusing to him.
Why the fuck did I agree to this? I mean, I’m twenty-three years old; I’m an adult. I should have just gone and joined my friends for the trip to Europe or something; something normal law-school drop-outs do. Not dress in Presidential looking dress-skirts and jackets with pearls looking like a Kennedy and smiling on the freezing cold lawn of the damned White House.
I cross my arms over my coat and shake my head at my mother. “I still don’t know why I have to be here.”
“You’re here, young lady, because we need to contain this.”
Ever the politician.
“My upcoming announcement with Alec is going to rock this office enough, Madison. I can’t have you running around out there being in tabloids as my wayward, college-dropout daughter with a drinking problem to boot, too. You’ll stay here, until after the announcement.”
“Wonderful. I’m a prisoner.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. I’m keeping you in line and keeping us both out of the papers. You’ll stay here in D.C. at the White House for the semester.”