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“My mother’s in town.” I slowly looked up from the phone in my hands to meet his gaze. Jamil was trying to understand, like the saint that he was, but was grasping at straws. “She wants to meet for lunch in an hour at some restaurant.”

“Okay, let’s go,” Jamil replied, like it was the simplest answer.

“I don’t think you understand what you’re agreeing to. The last thing I want to do is subject you to a lunch with her.”

Jamil pursed his lips. “If you don’t want me to go, you can just say so.”

I shook my head, rushing to stop his train of thought. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just really don’t want to go to lunch with her, but there’s no way of backing out now.”

“Then we go. I’ll be your backup.” It was clear there was no way I could talk him out of going with me.

Poor Jamil had no idea what was coming for him.

*

“So you two are”—my mother glanced between the two of us—“friends?”

The moment we sat down at the table in the corner my mother had selected for us, her attention immediately zeroed in on Jamil.

“Yeah,” I told her, trying to keep my attention on the menu in my hands rather than see the way my mother was scrutinizing us. “He plays for the new team I’m covering.”

My mother narrowed her eyes, and I felt Jamil shift uncomfortably next to me. He was right to prepare for impact because whatever was about to come out of my mother’s mouth next was sure to hit its mark. “Do you think that’s professional?”

“Actually, Jamil was the one that helped me get the interview with Derek Allen and we’re currently working on another one.” I’d hoped that the news of another interview would pique my mother’s interest. But her eyes became glued to her phone as she typed away yet another email for her job.

Disappointment sank in me like a brick. Suddenly I was twelve again, vying for my mother’s attention while she was too preoccupied with politics.

A hand squeezed my leg and I glanced over at Jamil to see him giving me an encouraging smile.

His sincerity was the only thing keeping me from wanting to disappear into the booth I was sitting in.

“That’s nice, sweetheart. Maybe this one will get you that promotion you’ve been wanting.” My mother finally put her phone down. I could already see her attention moving away from my life.

“What are you doing in Boston, Mom?” I asked.

“Well”—my mother cleared her throat as she pushed the salad around on her plate that the waiter had dropped by—“I’m meeting with a few potential donors.”

My brows pulled together. “Donors? This isn’t your district.”

“It isn’t,” my mother agreed. I watched her eyes flick questioningly to Jamil before she decided he was harmless. “I’m testing the waters for a presidential run.”

Her words doused me like a bucket of cold water. There had been whispers of a presidential campaign over the years, but nothing ever serious. It still didn’t make the reality of it any less jolting.

“I’m stopping at a few different cities to meet with some potential donors to see if this can even be possible, but it’s promising.

” My mother lit up as she began to detail out her plans.

That look meant this lunch was about to be hijacked by her.

“Do you think you could pencil in some appearances if I do a campaign trail?”

Jamil’s pinky slipped around mine as he watched my accomplishments get pushed to the side to make room for hers once more.

“I’ll have to check my work schedule when the time comes,” I managed to reply as I focused on the way Jamil’s fingers were slowly wrapping around mine until he was squeezing my hand.

The rest of the lunch was much of the same.

My mother filled us in on various bills and meetings she was leading in congress while I attempted to feign interest. Jamil was apparently much better at it than me and by the time our plates were being cleared, my mother was enjoying Jamil’s story about the final World Series game.

When he placed his card down to pay for the lunch despite my mother’s protests, I caught the wink he sent my way that loosened the claw being in my mother’s presence normally placed on my throat.

“Thank you,” I told him when we emerged back out on the street. “For being .?.?. a buffer back there.”

Jamil slid his hands into the pockets of his sweats, looking more relaxed after a lunch with my mother than I felt. After being in Chicago for a month, away from my parents, I’d forgotten just how overwhelming being around her could be.

“You didn’t mention your relationship with your mother being quite like that.” He tossed me a glance, but there wasn’t an ounce of judgment in his eyes.

“I think that’s because I don’t know what to say.” Jamil stayed quiet as he waited for me to elaborate, just a steady presence next to me that I could rely on. “Both of my parents are exceptional at what they do. They’re the definition of a power couple.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Jamil asked cautiously.

“It is when they expect you to follow in their footsteps and live up to their own standards. The level of success they expect has felt like a moving goal post my entire life. Then when I do have something good happen, it’s suddenly overshadowed by a new campaign or a surgery with low success rates that my father was able to do. ”

Now that I’d gotten started, I wasn’t sure I could stop. An entire childhood worth of anger and trauma was bubbling up out of me.

“Sometimes I feel like my parents had a kid just to check a box and they have this idea of the perfect family that they expect me to mold myself into to fit. It’s like I’m fighting for my life trying to get them to appreciate what I do or at least to support me.

I wish I had half the support it seems like your family gives you.

The way you talk about your family in Florida made me realize just how far from a family mine feels. ”

Jamil placed his hand on my arm to pull me to a stop. There was a sadness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and I knew that it wasn’t for me.

“My family isn’t as perfect as you think it is.

” A muscle popped in his jaw as he ground his teeth together.

“Trust me when I say I know it’s difficult to accept what it is our family members are telling us.

We turn a blind eye to it and expect that they’ll be different, and they won’t keep breaking our hearts.

Eventually we need to decide if it’s worth sacrificing our own happiness because of someone else’s lack of it. ”

I searched Jamil’s eyes, surprised to find such anguish in them. It seemed I continued to underestimate the weight that he carried on his shoulders. Sometimes the deepest sorrows hid behind the happiest of smiles.