The Thorne at My Side

CHAPTER 1

“Are you high?”

MAGGIE

“Maggie I don’t care how good your date was last night, you need to focus.” Sam Gibson, my second in command, scolds over the phone.

“Trust me, I was not thinking about Mike,” I report. Mike, who was beige in every way. So beige that I didn’t even consider taking him home. Another date to add to the growing list of men that won’t get a second date with me. Little does Sam know, but my mind is stuck on the vague and ever-evolving image of a mystery man. My ideal man. The man I have yet to meet but after years of looking I feel closer to meeting than ever before.

Sam sighs and repeats herself. “This article says, over half, 54%, of students surveyed said they think using AI for school work is cheating."

"Well that's encouraging, I suppose," I say around a yawn as I hold the phone between my shoulder and my ear while I slip my running shoes on. Sam likes to call me first thing in the morning with whatever article kept her up the night before. We stumbled into this pattern when she learned that I went to bed early and woke up to run. She, on the other hand, burns the candle at both ends. "But then further down it says that 56% of students surveyed said they've used AI tools for coursework."

"Oh, that's just sad." I say as I stand and go to my white board. We’re working on a speech for an event at a technical college in Michigan next week. My boss, Senator Melissa Quinn, is running for president from the lovely state of Kentucky, and if you’re wondering if that’s easy or not, let me be the first to tell you; it’s not.

"This technology is the end of the world as we know it. People aren't going to think for themselves anymore. Our young people, who will run this country someday, will not be able to tell a machine generated news story from a human written one. It's almost like we need to include typos to prove we're real!"

“I love that idea, gosh it would save us so much time in editing!” I joke as I write “AI Issue” on a post-it and stick it on the board.

“So, tell me why Mike won’t make the cut.” Sam transitions as I sit down and tie my running shoes. This is the other part of the routine we’ve fallen into, a few minutes of non-work small talk. Relationships, recipes, funny things we saw people do on the metro.

I give Sam the rundown. How I met Mike at a workshop for political writers a few weeks ago. How we hit it off and after a few rounds of drinks we set up the date last night. I tell her that the conversation was really good, because it was. He believes in the same things I do. He might even be more passionate about the good old days, a true luddite.

I didn't believe him when he told me he only uses four apps so I looked. He has his email app, with the elusive inbox zero, a podcast app, and the news app. Then in one folder he's got everything else that comes preloaded on your phone and a weather app. I was impressed.

But in that placating a toddler way.

I took a minute when Mike went to the bathroom to envision him as my partner. He’d be fine enough in pictures, but I could easily see myself getting annoyed with him at the end of the day. He has a righteous tone to him like he wants me to think he’s smart.

Sam points out that he never gave me a chance to show off how smart I am either. She’s a good hype woman to have in your corner. We end the call and I finish getting ready for my run.

When I was hired as head speech writer for the campaign, I almost passed out. I'd been pitching her team for over a year because writing speeches for a national campaign was the last item on this phase of my career plan. So to be able to do it, and for a woman, is a dream come true.

My pitch was simple; focus on the issues, stick to your guns, rise above the criticism, and make your policies accessible.

Since I've been on the team her numbers have consistently grown with more and more independents coming on board. That will be the key to winning this election, getting people who identify with policies from both major parties to vote Quinn.

I’m excited about my job. It has been the opportunity of a lifetime, and one I’ve been working my lifetime for.

Two years in the prosecutor's office after law school, then three years as an assistant district attorney, two years clerking for the New York Supreme Court and then one year on staff as a press secretary for a House of Representatives member. Each step bringing me closer to this. And from here I’ll take the steps to become a candidate myself.

Maggie Collins, the right leader for you.

I just need to nail down Mr. Collins because watching Senator Quinn do it as a single woman confirmed I don’t want to do this alone.

Before I leave, I open up my bedside table drawer and pick up the little e-ink, text only, phone from SMS Connect.

SMS Connect is the latest craze for single Washingtonians. When you enroll you pay a fee, fill out a lengthy personality test, and then their service sends you a basic phone with one contact in it. You can't send pictures, you can't send links, and they suggest you don't meet until you've been texting for at least twelve weeks. Or you don't have to meet at all and you can send the device back. They even take care of telling your correspondent that you’ve terminated your service agreement.

The ads started appearing everywhere around the holidays. Their message was simple; now is the time to start a relationship because then you could go home and tell your parents you were seeing someone. I braved my way through Christmas, letting my mom focus on my sister’s engagement, and didn’t sign up until July when I completed my semi-annual progress review. With my 15 year plan in hand I noted that everything in the career section was moving along well. Everything in my health and wellness section was on track. But the relationship column was woefully behind schedule.

By 32, I was supposed to be dating someone seriously, with an engagement planned for my 33rd year and a wedding before my 35th.

I’m 36 and have had less than seven, but more than five, second dates in the last three years. Even fewer third dates.

But I didn’t need to review the numbers to know my dating life was pitiful. It’s not for a lack of trying! I date, I meet guys, I seek them out. I have hope, I have optimism, I have regular waxing appointments.

My mom thinks I’m too picky, not that I’ve asked for her input. It’s not even trust issues or problems with intimacy. I want to be in a relationship. I’m just looking for something specific.

Enter; SMS Connect.

With my second glass of wine in hand after my self-reflection, I snuggled up in the corner of my big chair and watched a couple walk hand-in-hand down my street. I felt jealous of their smiling faces, their comfortable laughter, and the affection in their eyes.

I slammed back the rest of my wine, hissed as it burned its path to my stomach, and visited meetyourmmc.com . I might have signed up in a fit of passion but when I got home from my run a week later and the little device was waiting at my door for me, it felt like Christmas morning.

I powered it up and sat on the edge of my bed wondering who I was matched with. The e-ink screen popped to life and I heard a quiet ping telling me a message was already there. I held my breath and read the first note. Laughing when he admitted to looking up questions to ask on a first date before writing to me.

And now, like there has been every morning since this little phone arrived, there's a message waiting for me from DCFox.

DCFOX: My cat Brinkley keeps getting calls from UFC to join the circuit. He's got a fierce left hook that he bops me with at least twice a day. But every time they call, he simply turns his tail on them and says he'd rather stay here and lounge in the windowsill watching the birds in the tree behind my apartment. I can’t say I blame him, it’s a pretty good life.

When I was out tonight, the air was starting to turn crisp. The humid summer mornings are hopefully behind us. Don't you hate that humidity? Although, maybe you don't, maybe you're one of those people who loves feeling like you're breathing in hot pasta vapors. And I bet your hair never gets poofy. But, if it does, let me know and I'll send you a bottle of the spray my sister swears by; just let me know your name and address.

I ’ m kidding! It hits me every so often how strange this arrangement is, but not knowing has its advantages. I find myself looking twice at women and wondering if by chance they’re you. Do you do the same?

I find myself nodding along as I read, and giggling quietly as I bite my bottom lip. The messages from DCFox turn me into a bumbling school girl.

It’s been that way for nine weeks. Three more to go until we can meet.

I slide the little phone into the drawer and head out the door for my run. The air is cooler and I smile as I take a quick turn to the heart of Adams Morgan. When I moved to DC, I was immediately drawn to the neighborhood’s colorful buildings, the bustling restaurant scene, and how there seemed to be little parks tucked away around every corner.

I lift my hand in a wave to Joanne at Sunrise, the local coffee shop and bakery, who is putting out her sidewalk sign. She smiles back before I turn again towards the wide paths in Kalorama Park. My Upbeat Morning Music playlist powers me past the playground where parents and nannies are unloading their strollers and guzzling caffeine. Past the basketball court where a group of guys are playing shirts and skins. I can’t help but slow down a little bit for a quick peruse. It’s been a while since I’ve had any skin-to-skin contact and watching their pecs and shoulders glisten revs me up. The final corner of the park takes me back to Belmont Road where it's a straight shot home by way of Sunrise Bakery.

I jog up the steps of the bright blue painted brick building and order my coffee and pastry to-go and pull out my phone while I wait.

An email from my favorite meal prep blogger with new recipes for the week catches my eye. I take a look at the baked chicken breasts that are served with charred broccoli and quinoa. Each ingredient can be made in a big batch and it makes enough to feed me all week.

Back in law school I skipped dinner more often than I ate it. The most I’d do when I did have dinner was to eat a bag of microwave popcorn and chug a diet coke. Then one day, I was on the phone with my mom as she was getting back from grocery shopping. It reminded me of the routines the Collins family stuck to each week.

I hung up with my mom, made a list, and put together my first week of meal prep that same day. It worked best for me to have dinner ready, breakfast was often grab and go, lunch was on campus or in between meetings. The travel schedule of the campaign makes things tricky but I’ve stuck with it and have started to use my freezer more so food doesn’t go bad.

Sunrise is only a few doors away but my croissant is down to its last bite by the time I open my apartment door. I finish it, take a drag of my coffee, and get ready for work.

I’ve got my routine down to a science. Dry shampoo and a shower cap, body shower, dry off, skincare, body lotion, get dressed. I don’t lay my clothes out the night before because picking an outfit doesn’t take much mental effort. I’ve curated a professional wardrobe of whites, creams, browns, and light blues. Tight fitting top or bodysuit, wide leg pant or pencil skirt, and a blazer. Nude or black pumps. Done.

After my makeup I pull my hair back into a low bun or claw clip if it’s a humid day. Again, the choice is already made for me so I work on autopilot while I listen to NPR.

I developed this system years ago when I realized how draining it was to pick an outfit every morning. One Labor Day Weekend I donated all but four items from my closet and restocked on basics. Now that I stand behind a woman running for president the clothing choices I make get commented on too. It isn’t as frequent as hers, you should have seen the stink people made about her sneakers, but the first time it happened I felt exposed on a level I wasn’t ready for. Now everything I wear is neutral. Designed not to draw attention.

I slide my notebook into my bag and check my phone before leaving. I find a text waiting for me from Sam. It'll be easier to just chat with her while I walk so I dial her number.

"Hello again Sam!" I cheer after I hear her quick hey. "Are you feeling as amazing as I am?"

"Are you high?" She asks seriously.

"On life!" I joke as I lock up behind me. "I had an exhilarating run, a perfectly flaky croissant for breakfast, and I've been thinking about the best products for frizzy hair all morning."

"What?"

Oh, right, that was just the text from DCFox.

"What happened to you in the last hour? Did you manage to sneak in some morning bedroom funtime?" She asks as I reach the sidewalk.

"No! Just a run and feeling the sun on my face. And running past a group of guys playing pickup basketball without shirts on. I might have slowed my pace and tried to perk up my tits a bit as I passed. "

"I've told you before Maggie, I know you’re hard up right now and you're a smoke show but I won’t date my boss."

I laugh. This is a running joke since I received her resume. It was the only one out of the bunch for deputy speech writer that got me excited but I was upset that it was a man. I had this idea of an all female writing team. I was mistaken because instead of putting Samantha down as her name, she wrote Sam. When she walked into the office for her interview Jorge, Senator Quinn’s assistant, called my office saying “Sam was here for an interview” and his voice had this teasing tone to it. I was expecting a wildly attractive man that Jorge and I could gossip about later but instead, in walked this feisty woman.

When I asked, she said it was a social experiment to see if she'd get more call backs as a man than as a woman. I laughed and said "marry me" in response because I am passionate about women's rights and try to surround myself with kindred spirits. And if I was going to trust someone to craft messages for the senator’s campaign I want someone who believes in the same things I do.

"I know and it kills me a little bit every time you tell me no.” We share a laugh. “How am I supposed to find someone who gets me like you do?” I ask her with fake exasperation.

"You could try SMS Connect,” Sam suggests. “I wonder if it really works.”

“I mean, it’s a pretty solid system.” I say with a physical shrug she can’t see.

“Wait, did you sign up for it?"

“Yes,” I admit quietly even though the other people on the sidewalk with me have headphones in and can’t hear me or Sam’s question for that matter. Something about needing to use the service makes me feel like a failure.

“You did? Ohmygod, Maggie. What do you think?” Sam asks and I can picture her sitting on the edge of her seat.

"Well the guy I'm talking to is great, but it's also confusing because I don't actually know him. And I hit it off with Mike and he was fine so maybe I should just end the SMS Connect thing and go with Mike."

"You hear yourself right? Don't settle for fine because it's in front of you."

"Yeah, okay, you're right."

"So what do you and Text Man talk about?"

"Oh it's nothing, we talk about D.C., podcasts, music, sports, hair products," I chuckle. "He's got a cat named Brinkley."

"So he's into pussy?"

I bark out a laugh as I reach the metro station. "I mean, a girl can only hope. Okay, meet you at the office in 30."

"See you then."