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“I’m not looking for a timeline or list of excuses. You need to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. And before you ask ‘why me,’you’rethe one who’s always against him. No one’s leaving this campaign. Especially not him.”

Talia gaped, confused. Why was she getting the blame? Also, she’d love to point out they were better off with him gone—hello? balloon crashes and moon jackets?—but it would definitely qualify as being “against him.”

“Glad we’ve come to an understanding,” Dad said. He pivoted and marched toward the house. “Now, let’s discuss the real reason I wanted to meet.”

“There’s more?” Talia said, scrambling to catch up. She’d intended to use this impromptu meeting to ask about construction on the art studio, but that was out. Ustenya said early on that she planned to use the space.If you need anything from it, now’s your chance. She’d told Talia to clean it out, and Talia had very specifically not done it. Did she even have a right to be upset?

“Youmuststop promising I’ll get people off the Section 8 waitlist,” Dad said.

“Oh. We’re talking about that now.” She paused to let her brain recalibrate. “Got it.”

“I understand why you’re so worked up. No one’s gotten off the list for eighteen months and counting. Unconscionable.”

“Wait. What?” Talia jogged after him again. “Eighteen months?” she repeated. Talia was rattled both by the math (seemed like the waiting list was fifty thousand years long, not fifteen) and the fact her dad knew something about the issue she didn’t.

“Alas, a United States Senator can’t change a city’s Section 8 machinations,” Dad went on. “Rules are set up locally. You know this. That’s what your little lawsuit is about. It’s whyyou’re suing the San Diego Housing Commission and not some state or federal agency.”

Talia smiled to herself. He’d been paying attention. “It’s not a ‘little’ lawsuit,” she said. “And I’m glad you brought it up! If federal laws were clearer, these things wouldn’t happen. Cities couldn’t skirt—”

Dad flipped around. “You need to stop.” He slammed his putter onto the ground, and Talia jumped. “All the stuff with the housing commission and LASD... you can do thatafterthe campaign. Right now, your focus should be on me. Name any other job where you’d be allowed to have so many side projects? Perhaps this is why you didn’t get the mayor’s endorsement.”

Talia’s mouth fell open. She was almost too discombobulated to speak. “I haven’t gotten ityet,” she said. If anything, she’dsavedthe endorsement after her brother nearly fucked it up. How come Dad couldn’t see that?

“Since you have such a surplus of time, I’d like you to plan the cocktail party.” The state Democratic Convention was coming up, and he wanted to hold a party beforehand. Dad swore they’d discussed this, but Talia was positive they had not. From what she’d read, the convention was a form-over-substance situation where people yammered and squabbled and ultimately decided nothing, and it struck her as quite silly to pre-game an event that did not seem like a big deal.

“But the work is for you—” she tried feebly.

“No more lawsuits,” Dad reiterated. “No more side gigs. Are we on the same page?”

“Yes. Of course,” Talia said, her eyes hot with frustration, although her dad wasn’t entirely wrong. Shehadbeen distracted from the campaign, and the Section 8 waitlistwasa local issue. Even if he were elected (ha!), he wouldn’t be able to do much. Talia wondered when she’d get a clue and stop expecting a job to be more than it was.

You’re not Norma fucking Rae, a partner she’d once worked forsaid.You need to learn that sometimes our job is to help people get a little something and move on with their lives.

“You’d better get cracking, kiddo,” Dad said, and patted her on the head. “You only have two weeks until the party.” With that, he strolled toward the house, whistling as he went, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Chapter Forty-Five

Gabby

On Saturday morning, I realized I hadn’t seen Ozzie in two days. He’d obviously been avoiding me, and enough was enough. We were there to campaign for Dad, and it was time to grow up. Plus, I refused to be estranged from my own brother.

First I checked his bedroom, only to find it empty, and his bed miraculously made. He wasn’t near the pool, or on the putting green, or in the recreation pavilion. HQ was the last place to look and although I doubted he’d be working at eleven o’clock on a Saturday, the barn door was open, which meant someone was in there.

“Hello?” I called out, my voice echoing off all the brick. “Is anyone around?”

It took a second to receive an answer. Finally, from the last stall on the right, Bea called out, “Me.”

I sidled up to her doorway. Bea waved but kept her eyes fixed on her screen as she explained they’d wanted to film some TikToks while the Ranch was relatively deserted. Montana just left. Some weather event was happening off western Mexico, and she planned to hit Suckouts, “the left-hand break off Cardiff Reef,” whatever that meant.

“Cool,” I said, like a dork. “So, um, have you seen Ozzie around?”

For the first time, Bea lifted her head. She stared at me,cross-eyed. “Are you for real right now?” She took a hit of her vape. “Like, are you actually serious?”

I scrunched my brow, contemplating what he might’ve done this time. Ozzie wouldn’t outright ask Bea or Montana to lend him money, but maybe he’d commandeered the TikTok account for financial gain?

“What happened?” I asked, heart thrumming. “Did my brother do something? God, it’s like he’s determined to break multiple campaign finance laws.”

“He didn’tdoanything,” Bea said with some disdain. “Aside from go home.”