I shield the phone from the sun’s glare and scoot next to him to look at the photos. There’s one of her cuddling Boomer at Piedmont Park. Grandma and Boomer are wearing matching Hawaiian shirts in the next one. I smile at one with her sipping a frappé at a local coffee shop, and Boomer photobombing. The next one makes me pause—it’s an old-school photo. It’s clearly her, because she’s got some seriously fashionable frames on, but she’s younger—maybe in her twenties—and she’s next to a man with dark hair and a smile that looks like Jamie’s. They’re sitting on two matching Adirondack chairs with iced tea, gazing into each other’s eyes.
“That’s my grandpa.” Jamie points to the man. “He died when I was nine—my grandma shares their photos for Throwback Thursdays.”
“They’re so cute.”
“They really were. They’d been married over forty years, and they still used to hold hands all the time, completely lovestruck.”
My parents used to be that way. Holding hands. Looking at each other from across a crowded room and smiling in a secret language even I couldn’t decipher. I remember rolling my eyes when I’d walk into the kitchen early mornings before school and catch them standing next to each other, holding coffee mugs, heads pressed together as they took in the sunrise from our bay window. They made it eighteen years. They were happy for most of them. At least, I thought they were. I wish I knew why some people keep holding hands and why some people stop.
I’m not sure what the reason is, but the people in the next few houses we knock on actually open their doors. Five of them promise to vote in the special election, and one lady shrugs and says “maybe,” which is better than staring at closed doors while the owners peek down at us from their upstairs windows. I would call that behavior a bit creepy, except we’re the randos knocking on their doors.
When the person at the next house opens up, it takes a second to register that I actually know him. I’m not sure why that’s so surprising. We’re canvassing four miles from my house; it would probably be more weird not to run into someone I know, but it still throws me off guard.
“Kevin?” Jamie and I say at the same time. I look at Jamie. He knows him too?
“Maya?” He smiles at me and glances at Jamie. He’s wearing an Atlanta Falcons jersey. “And Von Klutzowitz, right? What are you both doing here?”
Von what?
“Um, we’re canvassing for the special election.” Jamie blushes. “We’re talking to voters about Jordan Rossum.”
“Yep,” I tell him. “Are your parents home, young man? We’d like to have a word with them.”
“My mom is running errands, but I’m eighteen, thank you very much. How about you try to get my vote too?”
“You’re a lost cause,” I say.
“Wait? Why?” Jamie asks.
“Maya’s right. Your words will be wasted on me.” Kevin takes a flyer from me and holds it up. “Look at this slogan. Just look at it. Rossum is awesome? Cheesy much?”
“But you’re not going to vote or not vote because of his campaign slogan, right?” Jamie asks.
“Jamie.” I side-eye him. They must not know each other all that well if he’s asking him to vote for Rossum. “This guy is as staunch a Republican as they come. Trust me, we had US history together.”
“I’m more of a Libertarian now,” Kevin protests. “But this race is getting ugly. I’m not sure I’ll vote for anyone. You know, if Newton wins, the GOP will have a veto-proof supermajority. They could pass any bill they want. So obviously, the trolls are out in full force against Rossum.”
“What trolls?” I ask. “I haven’t seen anything.”
“You haven’t heard of the Fifi-ing around town? It was on the news all last week.”
“Fifi-ing?” Jamie and I say together.
“You know, that meme with Fifi the poodle holding a cup of tea to celebrate white supremacy or some shit.”
“I’ve seen it,” Jamie says. “It’s all over the internet.”
“It’s not just online anymore,” Kevin replies. “Some local trolls make these Fifi stickers, steal Rossum car magnets on people’s cars, and stick the bumper sticker in its place.”
“My mom’s got those Rossum magnets on both our cars,” Jamie says.
“I think I saw a dog like that on someone’s car the other day . . .” My voice trails off.
“It’s everywhere. And once those things get on your car, they do not come off. You can try to scrape them off, but then you’re just going to damage your paint.”
“Wow,” I say slowly. “That’s . . .”
“Fucked up.” Kevin nods. “Exactly. I don’t love this Rossum guy, okay? He hardly has any experience, and I’m not impressed with his debate skills. But bumper-stickering without consent is peak trolling. And I’ve heard the stickers going up around town have anti-Semitic messages.” He tucks the flyer under his arm. “I’ll give this to my mom when she gets back. You can put her down as a yes. She’s definitely going to vote.”
We thank him, and Jamie and I head back onto the sidewalk.
“How do you know Kevin Mullen?” I ask as we walk to the next house.
“He works at Target, the one over by the Publix, where the Staples used to be. I . . . uh, met him there a while back.”
“I like that Target.”
“It’s basically the best place on earth.”
I laugh, but he looks completely and utterly sincere. “Wait, seriously? I mean, there’s Disney, the Grand Canyon, Iceland . . .”
“Maya, they hand out free cookies in the bakery! The sign says you have to be twelve, but no one bats an eye when I grab one. It’s so great. I’d live there if I could.”
“Well, you’re on your way if Target employees recognize you on sight.”
“I made a bit of an impression with Kevin,” Jamie says bashfully.
“What happened?”
“Just a little mistake.”
“Does it have anything to do with that Von Klutzowitz nickname?”
“It was a display of tangelos.” Jamie winces. “I pulled one out and everything went tumbling.”
“Wait.” I slow down. “That was you? I was there that day!”
“Uh, yeah.” He flushes. “I thought I saw you . . .”
“That was such a mess.”
“In my defense, a pyramid display of citrus, which is famously round, is kind of an accident waiting to happen. Kevin was really nice about it, though.” He looks at me sheepishly. “Kind of like how you were pretty understanding about the whole ‘destroying food at a place where everyone’s been fasting all day’ incident.”
“Trust me, if you’d tried the puffs, you’d know you did everyone a favor.” I glance at my watch, surprised it’s almost six o’clock.
“Good news,” Jamie says. “We have only one house left to go, the one across the street.” He nods to a gray stucco house.
“They’re definitely home.” I point to the opened garage and two cars parked inside.