Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(78)

“Oh! Mom’s talked about these before,” she says slowly, like she’s trying to recall a buried memory. “I think one of the things she loved most about them was the parties the family would have. Granny would invite all her friends from that one Hungarian church she went to, and they’d spend all day making these rolls and bickering over the ingredients.”

She washes her hands and takes over the dicing while I boil the cabbage leaves. We work in tandem, me telling her what to do based off a hair of a memory and Mom’s not-so-detailed notes.

“Your truck’s back,” she says. “How’s it running?”

“So great. I actually think I’ll be able to get home at this rate. It almost exploded on the way here.”

“I remember,” she says with a laugh. “Hey, do you want to go for a little road trip next week? I scored us some tickets to Disney World and a few people will be meeting up there, but I have no car. Orlando’s only about an hour away.”

“Oh wow, sure!” I say. “I’ve always wanted to go. How’d you get the tickets?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve got my ways. I just hope you’re ready—they call it the happiest place on earth for a reason.”

Eventually, our conversation lulls, and we enjoy the silence. We work together, and as we stuff and roll the cabbage, fill up the pot with rolls, and cover the kitchen in paprika … I think that’s something that our great-grandma would approve of. And for once, I feel actually, truly, connected to my family.





CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

SAL

“Sal?” the press assistant for Congresswoman Caudill pops her head into the office I’m working in today. “Ready for the interview?”

I nod and stand. I’ve got a blazer on, but under it is the paisley shirt and gray bow tie I wore when I met Betty just before coming down here. It’s an outfit I’ve never worn on the Hill, because truthfully it is a little loud for this office. Every once in a while, we’ll see a congressman walking the halls in a linen or seersucker suit, but otherwise it’s all dark suits, light shirts, maybe a funky tie if they’re feeling wild.

I won’t be leaving this internship experience with anymore clarity about my future than I had when I went into it, but I think it’s still been good. I’m ready to get back to school, see the guys, and have one hell of a senior year. And since I won’t have to worry about college applications, that gives me a little bit more time.

Though, of course, I’ll have to actually tell my mom I’m not going to college. But I’m going to push that nightmare convo off as long as I can.

The press assistant walks me toward one of their interview rooms, and she gives me a cautious smile.

“Do you know what you’re going to say?”

“Not exactly,” I say with a smile. “But don’t worry. Congresswoman Caudill has made this an enriching-enough experience that I can barely remember why we ended up making that little office change.”

She smiles, then gestures for me to enter the room. I take a seat next to April and Josh, and the assistant lets us know the reporter from The Hill will be in shortly.

“Okay, who told?” Josh says, looking down the line at us.

A Republican colleague of Senator Wright’s started rumors about the high school internship program that spread like fire on the internet, taking weird turns from valid concerns about the development of this program into questions of child abuse and child labor laws. To quell the rumors, or at least to get something on record, we agreed to talk about our experience with the press.

I laugh. “Not me.”

“Me neither,” April says. “But it wouldn’t have been hard to put together. Senator Wright and his team screwed a lot of this up. The summer wasn’t all bad. Maybe it was for Sal, though.”

I shake my head. “Whatever. I don’t want my name attached to any scandal. And I really do think they should keep this program going, now that Betty took the reins.”

“It’s settled, then,” Josh says. “We lie.”

April turns to me and says in a stage whisper, “Guess we know which one of us will end up being a politician.”

We’re still laughing by the time the reporter comes into the room.

GABRIEL

Our Lyft comes up to the entrance of the gala, and Art, Tiffany, Matt, and I all tumble out of the back seat. We’re dressed immaculately in suits and dresses, and it feels a little like last year’s prom. The biggest difference is that I have a date for this.

Matt and I hold hands as we walk up and into the gala. Allen, the insufferably chatty guy from our intern group, is helping Laura check people into the event, and within seconds he’s talking Matt’s ear off about something. Always the savior, Art steps in and grabs Matt by the arm and says, “Oh, I think I see our table!”

They pull us along until we’re far enough away, and we all laugh.

“You’ve got to stop saving Matt like that,” Tiffany says.

“I can’t help it. He’s so helpless. I’d save Laura if I could.”

We do find our table—which is easy to do when you walk in with the girl who designed the seating chart. The others go up to grab a soda and bring some back for us.

Tiffany leans over to me and Matt and whispers, “Two things. One, stop touching so much—you’re gross. Two, I have a flask if you want to make this gala a little more interesting.”