Prognosticate
They say it takes all kinds of people; she is a tall, witty, elegant woman from Dayton, Ohio. He is a balding Jewish writer from New York. They don't seem right for each other, but who really does. She's his best friend; he came to Los Angeles and got her to join the Bartlet campaign. She calls him Pokey when trying to make an argument about the healthcare bill. They say it takes all kinds.
They say it takes two to tango; their dance, dizzying and powerful, is the basis of their relationship. Hating and loving each other simultaneously, his occasional chasing and her response of a flirt and a step back. She finds it both enjoyable and torturing, as long as nothing happens; she'll die if something does, but she'll hate him if it doesn't.
(He writes her a letter, and she melts in return; she knows it'll never be the same again between them. She spends the night at his place; soon, she'll have her own toothbrush there).
They say he'll never leave his wife; not his wife anymore, she corrects them, and they pretend to believe her. She pretends to believe her words and his, when he kisses her and promises to never let her go.
(Their relationship takes a semi-public turn as they tell their friends of their affair and still manage to conceal it from the press. She considers it a step in the right direction, and he gets pissed sometimes about Josh's knowing looks. She finds them cute).
They say rain on your wedding day brings bad luck to a marriage; so she schedules it for June. He slips the ring on her finger, and she thinks about the lovely way the bright sunlight shines on the golden circle around her skin. He stomps on the glass and breaks it into a million tiny pieces (to be picked up later by the janitor, she thinks absently). The sound of glass shattering makes her flinch, but everyone around her is smiling and it feels genuine.
(They spend their honeymoon in Paris, and he complains about the stench as they take a stroll along the Seine. She feels stoic and wraps her fingers around his. The lights from the tour boats make the water glitter; stoicism intermixes with poetics because he's just too busy looking at her to notice the glittery water).
They say it takes fights to pepper a marriage; about Andi and the kids, all that could've been and ended up not being, about work, and why he never does write her those letters anymore, and maybe they should take a break. She shuts the bedroom door, and he doesn't even bother trying to get her to open it.
(He moves out two weeks later, and it hurts like hell because they really do love each other).
They say it's only temporary; and she wonders when she turned into "them." She signs the divorce papers, and her stomach cringes as she hands them to him. She excuses herself; she goes into the bathroom and throws up. They say, at least you got to keep the apartment.
They said she'd get over him, but she never really did.