“Why not? This is how it works, Ary. Some of them have probably already done this for other politicians. I could use your help finessing a pitch to them. What issue matters most to physicians, and how can I angle myself so that they’ll be motivated to support my run?”

I put down my fork.

“Adam, I didn’t ask for this, and I don’t want to be part of it. No, I won’t be the token demographic on your arm, and I’m not going to cold-call my colleagues for you.”

Adam looks at me for a beat, then slides back in his chair. He has his hands on either side of the table, as if he’ll be blown away if he doesn’t hold on.

“Wow,” he says finally. “That’s incredibly supportive of you.”

“Are you serious? You didn’t want to come with me to our holiday party last year, but now you want to schmooze with my coworkers? You’re asking me to do things that make me cringe, to put it mildly. That’s a big deal, and it’s too bad you can’t see it.”

“This would be good for both of us, Aryana. We could get in with the kind of people who make things move, the kind of people who matter in this city. To get there requires stepping out of our comfort zones. And it’s not exactly sinister to try to get a leg up on my opponents.”

“You’re doing this for both of us but didn’t bother to ask me if I wanted to be in with these special people. You didn’t ask me if I wanted any of this.”

Adam taps his fingers against the table. His ceviche sits untouched.

A long stretch of silence passes.

“Why did marriage just come up now? Did it really have anything to do with your lease or is it about the campaign?” I ask.

“C’mon, Aryana,” Adam says. “Are you serious?”

By the look on my face, he can see that I am serious. And by the way he avoids answering, I can see that I’m right.

“Aryana, be smart,” he says in a low voice. “Strategy isn’t a sin. People vote for people they like. We are the kind of couple people would like. And we were headed that way, weren’t we?”

My head drops. I can see now with such clarity that it feels like a cataract has been removed. Somewhere along the line, I became a pawn in a game I never wanted to play. I take my napkin off my lap and set it on the table. I open my tote and take out two $20 bills. I place them on the edge of the table and rise, slipping one arm and then another into the sleeves of my coat as Adam stares at the money I’ve left on the table.