Natalie Ashdown: A Short Story

We were supposed to meet on the Brooklyn Bridge at 11 pm. We had only been New York for 12 hours and the plan had already turned into a disaster. The night was cool and dark, stars like pinpricks in a black blanket of sky. Traffic noise was the only thing I could hear besides the relentless pounding of my heart. Something had happened; I grappled for my phone and frantically tried calling him and texting him, trying to get a hold of him in any way I could. Mason looked up from his usual disguise of reading the newspaper and raised his eyebrows. Then I saw him realize; Leo was gone. The love of my life had disappeared. It all started three weeks ago, when President Miller asked his chief of staff, Natalie Ashdown (A.K.A my mother), to help

What we didn’t know, however, was how deep the hatred for these immigrants ran. He had a bomb, and he wasn’t afraid to use it.

Leo was in his the oval office, seeing his father for the first time this week. His previous smile lines had turned into worry lines, which almost always occupied his face. His eyes looked tired, and his hair and suit were disheveled and ragged. Being the president, it was obvious why. They were just finishing their conversation when someone knocked and his father’s assistant, Heidi, walked

Everyone loves New York, it’s like treason to not love New York,” he argued. “Well then put me on death row and call me a traitor,” I teased. “Kennedy. . .” My mother chastened. I rolled my eyes. My mom could be so serious sometimes. The car came to a lurching stop as a chorus of honks rang around us. I mentally added too much traffic to my ever growing reasons to not like New York. “So. . . mom. What are me and Leo going to do when you’re having your super-secret-super-important meeting?” I batted my eyes and smiled innocently. “No, you may not come, no I will not give you details, and yes! Mason can go with you two to supervise you.” My mom finished with fake enthusiasm.

I stuck out my tongue at her and sat back in my seat, defeated. Leo smiled and held my hand, supporting me. Gosh, I love him. After an excruciatingly long drive, we finally rolled up to the capitol. I live in the White House, and I was impressed. The building was grand, with the steeples on the taller sides, and the old English stone design. The building looked like somewhere that a government would be run; the gardens were pristine and the lake peaceful. Secret service men followed the governor Leecham outside as he came out to greet us. He was about six-foot even, with pale skin and white hair. He looked about mid-50s, but it’s always hard to tell with government