As she’d suspected all along, Obama’s strategy of appeasing White America isn’t working. She feels vindicated and shocked out of her vacillation. McCain and Palin cannot be allowed to win without a fight. Her previous doubts and misgivings now seem irrelevant.

She decides to join Bill on his trips to Nevada. In this climate of impending doom, fundraising feels too abstract and too remote from the actual work of getting voters to the polls. The advantage from all that money Obama has raised so far is illusory, easily nullified by an energized Republican base.

When Bill learns of her intention, he casts aside his impassivity gratefully, voluble now in discussing his fears, his hopes that the setback is somehow only temporary. This apprehensive Bill is new to her, needing her in a way he hasn’t before.

But Divya bursts into tears when Seema informs her of her decision. At the bar where they’re having drinks after work, all eyes are immediately drawn to them in sympathy: Is Seema dumping her? It doesn’t help that Divya is dressed with customary stylishness—a smoky emerald-green dress, her lips pale dusk rose, eyes lined—as if out on a date. Divya takes the tissue Seema extends her, but seems unable to control herself until Seema says in a gentle voice, “Divya, my decision has nothing to do with you.”

Seema waits until Divya’s sobs subside. She hadn’t expected such an overt display, since Divya has never given her any sign of wanting more than amusing flirtation. “This isn’t about fundraising, is it?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. It’s just that—”

Seema decides to be direct. “You know I’m married. Besides, believe me, we won’t suit. We’re too alike.”

Divya smiles wanly. She is not yet out to her parents; it’s been hard dating women in the South Bay, living with her parents as she is. They’re liberal in many ways for Brahmins from Pune—they didn’t mind her dating boys in school and have even met a boyfriend or two, but it would be so much easier to come out if she had an eligible girlfriend to point to, in case they ask her how she’s sure.

“And you are very eligible!” Divya’s pouty smile and dimples are out again.

“No more flirting if we continue to work together,” Seema admonishes, though she is pleased and moved by Divya’s admissions. Perhaps Divya is right, but having Chloe hadn’t helped her, though that was a decade and a half ago. “I can’t do any more weekend events—I’ve promised Bill already—but I may still be able to squeeze in something on a weekday.”

“Do you mind if I ask—do you identify as bisexual now?”

“I do mind,” Seema snaps. “Does it matter what I identify as? Do I even have to?”