An Absolutely Remarkable Thing (An Absolutely Remarkable Thing #1)(82)

“But, I don’t mean to be a dick about this, but is that going to put me in the strongest position?”

“It might or it might not, but it’s definitely the safer choice, and I think you owe it to a lot of people right now to make some less risky decisions.” He said this very confidently and without the castigation that he could easily have put there.

He let his words hang in the air as he walked to the door and opened it, apologizing to Vi the stylist as he let her back into the room.

“Just freshen me up a little bit,” I told her. “If you can make me look young, that might also be good. Basically, I’m feeling terrified and vulnerable and weak”—I turned to Robin—“and I think the right thing to do is be honest about that.”

Fifteen minutes later Putnam walked in. “She’ll be here in less than half an hour,” she said, obviously referring to the president. “And what the HELL was the stylist thinking?! Is she still here? You look like a fourteen-year-old orphan.”

“It’s all right, Jennifer,” I said.

“No, it’s fine, there’s plenty of time to fix it.”

“No,” I said, getting annoyed, “that’s not what I’m saying. This is what I asked for.”

“To look weak?”

“No, to look how I feel. To look like a human when everyone is going to want to make me a symbol.”

“But, April, you need to be a symbol. That’s what you’ve always wanted to be. This is a huge opportunity, maybe the biggest one you’ll ever have. You need to make an impression. It’s the president! You need to look good!”

“What do you want me to look like, a movie star in a hospital bed? A hero?” And then I was suddenly, actually angry, but I kept my voice low. “Like the Messiah or like Judas? Which one will sell more books, Jen?” I had never called her Jen before. I don’t know that anyone had.

Her face was unreadable for a fraction of a second before she spoke.

“Oh god, April, I’m so sorry, I honestly do forget sometimes how extremely savvy you can be. It’s not often that someone is a step ahead of me, but you’re absolutely right. You have every right to be angry with me, I hadn’t thought about it fully. I just wanted you to look good.”

Textbook Putnam. As soon as she’d understood she wasn’t going to win, she agreed with all the vigor and flattery she could muster.

“No, it’s all right,” I snapped. “It’s just been a stressful day.”

“Is there anyone you want to talk to before we get this show on the road?”

“Um, I actually have no idea what this show is going to be, so maybe someone to explain that to me?”

“Ah, yes, there will be a representative from the White House to go over all of that with you soon.”

And there was. Five minutes later a young woman in an extremely well-tailored suit told us all what to expect, how to behave properly and not make fools of ourselves and avoid having the Secret Service tackle anyone.

For ten terrifying, mostly silent, awful minutes after that, my parents, Andy, Jennifer, Maya, Miranda, Robin, and I twiddled our thumbs in my hospital room, waiting for word. A soft “ting” from Jennifer’s wrist signaled an incoming message. She looked at her watch and said, “She’s arrived.”

“Oh holy fuckballs,” my mom said. Everyone laughed. It was cute watching them all freak out. I was nervous, though, not about the president but about the cameras. I would have to be clever and also respectful and also somehow find a way to humanize myself. It was going to be a delicate balance and my brain was turning to mush.

I definitely had to pee, but it was too late for that.

Two guys with that “I am obviously a Secret Service agent” look about them came in and analyzed the room, not seeing people as people but as potential threats to be categorized and monitored. One of them left; the other stayed by the door.

Then came a small camera crew: one photographer, one videographer, and one sound guy with a boom mic. They crammed themselves into the far side of the room. Then the president walked in. I heard the shutter on Andy’s camera open. Good ol’ Andy.

She spent a bit of time schmoozing with my parents, with Andy and Robin and Miranda and Maya. They were all beaming. Then she came over to my bed.

“April, how are you feeling?”

“They say I should be able to go home shortly,” I replied, not sure if we were just going to replay our conversation from yesterday.

“You had a pretty close call there.”

I thought of several cute, clever things to say and discarded them all immediately in favor of, “Very. It’s so unreal, that someone would do something like this.” I was directing the conversation, a habit that was hugely difficult to break. But also one that the most powerful person in the world is used to dealing with.

“It’s nice that you have friends and family with you.” She gestured to the quiet line of bystanders. I felt immediately guilty and did my best to pretend I didn’t know why. “And know that the thoughts of the American people are with you as well.”

“Thank you, Madam President.” We shook hands again, and then the cameras were off.

“That’s it?” I said.

“That’s all they’ll need. Pretty ballsy trying to direct the conversation.”