Page 41 of Marriage (Red, White &) Blues

“How many stops on the campaign?” I asked Blake over lunch. He surprised me with a classic Italian sub and kettle-cooked chips, which happened to be the first I’d talked to my husband since Candice Reed left. No, it wasn’t Blake’s fault, but I needed some alone time to fully come to grips with the fact that I was expected to go to adress fittingin the morning for acampaign fundraisingdinner.

“Jesus, Glory… I’m so sorry,” he replied again.

Shaking my head, I stood up and rounded the table. He pushed back his chair, allowing me to drop onto his lap. I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him.

“Stop, Blake. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

He looked at me with his “Are you serious?” eyes.

Yes, I was serious.

“You’re being forced into this too.”

“I grew up with all this. You… Their doing this to be vindictive.”

“Listen, I could’venotAmerican-married you. I met the family. I knew what they were about from that first night when your father showed up here. No, I wouldn’t say I’m super geeked to get fitted for a dress and have to go to a donor dinner. But atthe end of the night, I’ll be here, sleeping next to you—the man I married. The man I love. I can handle it.”

It was sort of the truth. More like IhopedI could handle it, but he didn’t need to know that part.

“It’s sweet that you think you’ll be sleeping, Mrs. Parker,” Blake replied and we both laughed. I refused to let his family or a campaign come between me and my husband. We were in this together. We had to be.

“You still didn’t answer my question, Blake. How many stops?”

He blew out a breath. “It’s a presidential race. My guess is as many as they can fit in right up until election day.”

I nodded once. “Okay. What’s a few months?”

“It’s a few months in our first year of marriage. First years have an adjustment period and campaigns are known to be stressful.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” I asked. I knew he wasn’t.

“What?” he practically shouted. “No. Never…” His shoulders slumped. “I just want you to have all the facts.”

“Do you love me?” I asked.

“You know I do.”

“Okay. Well, here’s what I propose. Yes, this will be a challenge for us, so we talkevery night. A sanity check. Making sure we’re both hanging in there.”

“Good idea.”

“We should come up with a word. Something that only you and I would know and would say. It’s a word that means the speaker is hanging on by a thread and needs to leave ASAP. Then we take a couple of days to recharge, and we rejoin the next family shindig once we’re feeling better.”

“You just suggested a safe word.”

“I’m being serious, Blake.”

“I know, sweetheart. And I have to say, I like the idea of a safe word with you.”

Right. I shoved up off his lap to go back to my sandwich. “You’re an idiot.”

And how did my husband respond to my little dig? “Mingati.”

I laughed. “What?”

“Mingati. That’s our word. No one on the campaign trail is going to know that name. If you or I are about ready to go allHulk smash, then we say, ‘Mingati.’ You’ll whisk me away or I’ll whisk you away for a weekend. Then we’ll come back refreshed and ready to tackle the road again.”

Mingati. It was as good a word as any, seeing as Mingati happened to be the reason for me living in Vermont to begin with.

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