Rules Of Engagement

36

Bobby looks at me. “That must be some special bologna.”

I know there’s more to it than the dang lunch meat, but shrug it off as another of her peculiarities. She’s probably off to cast a spell on some pesky neighbor.

“It was kind of you to extend the invitation.”

His gaze softens. “I didn’t do it for her.” Oh dear.

We head off to lunch, while I try my best to ignore the feeling there’s a black cloud following us as we go.

Antonio’s is an upscale Mexican restaurant in the heart of midtown and is famous for its Cadillac margaritas. I’ve enjoyed quite a few over the years, and order one as soon as we’re seated to settle my nerves.

I keep telling myself it’s my aunt’s strange behavior that’s got me jittery, but don’t quite believe it.

There’s a tension in the environment I can’t put my finger on, the electric feeling of a storm approaching, as if the air itself is holding its breath.

“This is nice,” says Bobby, folding his napkin over his lap. “I’d forgotten how much I like this place.”

“Are you still enjoying DC?”

His chuckle is dry. “Aside from the crime, the traffic, the smog, and the outrageous cost of real estate? Yes. It’s a very vibrant city. And the culture is fantastic. It seems like there’s a new ballet, opera, art exhibit, or restaurant opening every night. And, of course, the history can’t be beat.”

“It’s always been on my bucket list.”

“You’d love it.” He picks up the menu and starts to study it. “You’ll come visit me and see.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I take a sip of my margarita to buy some time. Fortunately, I get a reprieve when the waitress arrives to tell us the daily specials.

As soon as we order and she leaves, however, Bobby picks up right where he left off.

“My condo overlooks the Potomac. I’ve got three bedrooms, but there’s a guest suite in the building, too, if you prefer.”

It hangs there like a dare.

I wonder if this is something he picked up in Congress. This way of asking without asking, with a not-so-subtle assumption that the answer is yes.

It feels slick. I don’t like it.

I take another swig of my margarita and set it down on the white linen tablecloth. Then I look at him and decide to bite the bullet. “Why did you really ask me to lunch today?” He looks surprised.

“I only ask because I’m getting a strange vibe.”

“Vibe? You’re starting to sound like your aunt.”

I’m starting to feel like her too, because I could swear that cloud I sensed following us earlier has settled around his head and shoulders like a dingy gray fog.

I blink several times to clear my vision and it’s gone.

Time for new glasses.

“So there are no ulterior motives here? You really only wanted to catch up?”

He gazes at me for a beat, then a small smile curves the corners of his mouth. Looking pleased, he nods.

“This,” he says, his voice warm. “This is why I wanted to have lunch with you. You can’t imagine how difficult it’s been to adjust to spending all my time with people who never say what’s really on their minds.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Believe me, it is.” His smile grows wider. I can tell it’s genuine.

I’m relieved for all of about two seconds, until he starts to talk again.

“Now that I’m thirty, I’m eligible to run for the Senate when my current term in the House is up.

And this situation with my mother has forced me to confront my own mortality.” Uh-oh. It’s never good when a man realizes he isn’t going to live forever.

Bobby takes a breath. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my future… and who I want to spend it with.”

Off in the distance, I hear a dull boom of thunder. Or maybe it’s my imagination. Either way, I’m officially freaked out. “Please tell me you’re saying you want to hire me to help find you a wife.”

He takes the margarita from my hand, sets it aside, and clasps my cold hand between his own. “No, Madison,” he says gently, staring deep into my eyes. “What I’m saying is that since we broke up two years ago—”

“Nineteen months.” I’m desperate to interrupt this oncoming disaster. But it’s like trying to stop the Hoover Dam from bursting by sticking a toothpick into the gushing crack in the side.

“My mistake. As I was saying, I haven’t found anyone I’m as compatible with, and I doubt I ever will. We just mesh. We have so much in common. We come from the same place. We’ve known each other all our lives. We get each other. And you’re a wonderful, intelligent woman who would be such an asset to my career. You’re so sensible.”

Sensible. Like a pair of orthopedic shoes.

I say, “I’m overcome with emotion. Get the smelling salts ready, the swooning’s scheduled to start any second.”

But my sarcasm doesn’t deter him. He soars straight over the edge of Niagara Falls in his leaky barrel.

“Marry me, Madison. It’s the logical thing for us both.”

My expression must betray my complete lack of enthusiasm for the idea, because he gets defensive. “It’s not like you’re in a relationship. I asked around.”

“Brilliant. I don’t have anything else going on, so I might as well marry you?”

“Not to toot my own horn, but I’m told I’m quite a catch.”

“I’m not fishing. And how the heck did we go straight from an invitation to visit you to a marriage proposal? My head is spinning.”

“I’ve had a long time to think about it.”