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November 5, 2024 — The Election Night Party
When Jack invited her to an election night gathering — and when she realized she didn’t have the energy to drive across town — she asked him to pick her up.
He said yes immediately. They had barely left her neighborhood when the car’s Bluetooth lit up with an incoming call.
RICK JAMISON — MOBILE
He tapped the steering wheel to answer.
“Hey, brother,” he said — warm, affectionate, the kind of greeting that carried real love.
His voice softened in a way she hadn’t heard before. Not performative. Just genuine.
She froze for a moment.
Rick Jamison.
She knew the name — not personally, but from the interfaith community work her congregation had done over the years. She knew that he was a pastor who had known her previous minister.
When the call ended with “Love ya,” she turned to him.
“Your best friend is Rick Jamison?”
He looked over, surprised. “Yeah… you know him?”
“I don’t know him,” she said. “But I know who he is from the interfaith work my congregation does.”
He smiled. “We’ve been best friends for twenty years. Small world.”
She nodded. Smaller than she realized.
The townhouse was warm when they arrived, but quiet — no music, just the low murmur of conversation and the TV showing early election returns. It was a small gathering, eight people at most. It was hard to ignore the fact that Jack and Violet were the only two white people present. Violet immediately wondered if Jack not preparing her for this situation was some kind of test. She was used to being in such spaces but she would not necessarily have assumed the same of Jack. She did not know what to make of it.
The host greeted her immediately. Warm, articulate, easy to talk to. She liked him right away. But she still felt awkward.
Parties had never been her thing. She was introverted, bad at small talk, and still carrying the exhaustion of her trip. She stayed close to Jack at first, letting the room settle around her.
Everyone was friendly. Open. Curious about her without being intrusive.
The election results weren’t what anyone hoped for, but the mood stayed supportive — a mix of frustration, humor, and shared resignation.
Rick arrived later. He greeted Jack with a hug, then turned to her with a warm, assessing smile. “So you’re Violet,” he said. “Good to meet you.” She smiled back, unsure what version of her he’d been told about. They had a brief conversation about local interfaith circles and some of the people they both knew.
Later, in a small cluster of conversation, Jack leaned toward her and said quietly: “I’m glad you have Black friends.” She blinked. Not offended. Not confused. Just… aware.
It was a revealing comment — one that told her more about him than about herself. It was clearly a reference to having met her best friend on their first date. She took note of the comment.
Throughout the night, he stayed close. While the election coverage was disappointing, it was also clear that final election results would likely not available until the next day. Jack asked Violet if she was ready to head home. They had only made it down the block when he suddenly stopped the car.
“Wait,” he said, patting his pockets. “My phone.”
He put the car in park right there in the street, got out, left the car door open, and walked back toward the house. A minute later he returned, holding her phone as well as his. “They were both in the bathroom,” he said, shaking his head.
She hadn’t even realized hers was missing until he handed it to her. It was ridiculous and familiar.
When they got Violet’s house Jack parked in the driveway and began talking — nothing heavy, nothing emotional — but it was the first time he didn’t sound entirely like himself.
He kept looking out the window instead of at her.
His voice dropped, rambling and a little mumbled. She couldn’t catch every word.
He seemed…scattered. Not upset. Just not as composed as he had been all evening. It was subtle, but she noticed it.
As he talked, he realized his phone was connected to the car via Bluetooth as the name of his phone flashed across the screen:
“JERRY’S PHONE”
He pointed to it. “That’s my given name.”
She stared at the display. Then at him.
“Jerry?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I go by Jack. But that’s my real name.” No explanation. Just a quiet reveal delivered by a Bluetooth connection. She was stunned. She didn’t know how to respond.
And then, in the same conversation, Jack told her he wanted to have sex with his therapist. As the conversation wound down, he apologized for oversharing. He leaned over and kissed her hungrily. “I really want to eat your pussy.” She told him that she was not ready for that yet and he again apologized, adding that he understood and would not pressure her.
The night had been steady until it wasn’t. She got out of the car feeling a mix of things — curiosity, confusion, a flicker of caution — but also the same quiet openness she’d been carrying since the second date. She wasn’t running and she certainly wasn’t rushing. She wasn’t deciding anything yet. She was just noticing, and there was beginning to be a lot to notice.