“What about them?”

“I…well, I want to help them, of course.”

“Help them how? Tell me their issues. Tell me their problems. What’s the average income for people in that district? How are the working poor faring? Graduation rate? Voter suppression is rampant. What do you plan to do about it?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why are you attacking me?”

“Attacking you?” I suck my teeth. “Boy, please, you ain’t ready. If you think this is an attack, try being in a debate, a hostile interview. I’m giving you the chance to show me you care about the people you would be representing. That you care enough to know how you can help them, not how this opportunity could help you.”

“You put every client though this wringer before you take them on?”

Oh, he has no idea.

“You still stepping out on Delaney?” I ask, going for that weak spot he thinks I don’t know about.

The silence between us is sticky and pulls like syrup.

“What?” he finally asks. “I don’t know—”

“I said are you still cheating on your wife?”

I hear him swallow, but no answer.

“Get your house in order,” I tell him, “before you think about running for mine.”

“Your house?”

“Oh, yes, sir. I grew up in that district, Stoke, and I may not live there now, but I’ll be damned if I’ll send an ill-prepared, incompetent narcissist who can’t keep his dick in his pants to the House of Representatives on their behalf. We have enough of those already. And I don’t care if you’re my brother. If you’re not in it for the people, you could be my Siamese twin and I wouldn’t stand with you.”

“Damn, sis. It’s like that?”

“It’s like that. What do you think I do? You think I elected a president accepting bullshit answers to tough questions? If I work with you, and that’s a big if because I’ll tell you right now, I’m not impressed, I will not be played…bruh.”

“You telling me the guys you help win elections don’t cheat on their wives?”

“Of course, half of them do. Probably more, but they aren’t carrying my last name into office.” I pause for a second before going on. “Plus, it’s trifling and your father raised you better than that.”

He doesn’t reply, but I hope he’s thinking about it.

“Be better prepared when I come home next week,” I finally say softly, “and we’ll see.”

“Thanks, Kimba.”

“I said we’ll see.” I will the rod in my back to relax. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“Kiss Delaney and the kids for me.”

He hesitates. “I will.”