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“I’m not writing this,” Josh said. He flicked the paper back at Sam, who set it on Josh’s desk and slid it back.
“Someone has to,” Sam said.
“I have more important things to do than write a response to a conservative cooking magazine who wants to know why the president is allowed to eat bananas imported from Central America instead of ones grown in the good old US of A. Give it to the new guy.” He held out the paper to Sam, who didn’t take it.
“How do they even know we eat imported bananas?”
“Because nobody grows bananas in the United States. Give it to the new guy. Donna!”
Donna reappeared in the doorway, walking backwards.
“Yes.”
“Can you find CJ for me, she’s not picking up her phone and I have questions about the union—”
“Sure,” Donna said, and was gone.
“…thing,” Josh finished.
“What was that about?”
“What was what about?”
“She didn’t even let you finish your sentence.”
“It’s nothing. I notice I am still holding this page that I don’t need.”
“I don’t need it either.”
“You need to give it to the new guy.”
“We don’t have a new guy.”
“Yeah we do. The guy with the hair and the glasses.”
“Joe?”
“Sure.”
“Joe’s worked here for a year and a half.”
“Then he has more than enough experience for this.”
“Found her,” Donna said, her voice flat. The second CJ crossed the threshold, Donna turned to leave.
“Donna!”
She turned, her expression very dark.
“Reason number 16, his clothes. He looks like he walked off the set of Leave it to Beaver. And he was playing Beaver.”
Donna scowled, turned on her heel, and left.
“What was that?” CJ asked.
“Nothing. I had a qu—”
“No, what is that,” CJ repeated, pointing at the paper.
“Someone wants to know why we don’t eat domestically grown bananas,” Sam said.
“Why don’t we?”
“Because there are no domestically grown bananas,” Josh said.
“Why not?”
“We don’t have the climate for it.”
“Are you sure? It’s a big country; we have a lot of climates.”
Josh hesitated again.
“Yes, I’m sure,” he said, but sounded much less sure than he had a moment before.
“Maybe you should double check,” Sam suggested. Josh glared at him, but Sam’s expression was open and innocent. Josh very pointedly turned away from him to focus on CJ.
“I had a question about the union thing.”
“I don’t think there’s a banana union in South America.”
Josh dropped the paper and put his face in his hands.
Donna sidled up to one of the aides.
“Is Josh in his office?” she asked, quietly.
“I think he’s still in that meeting, why?”
“I’m avoiding him. Don’t ask,” she said, preemptively. “I’m going to lunch. A very long lunch.”
“Could you do me a favor?” the aide asked. “Could you take this to Toby’s office on your way out?”
Donna took the folder and walked down the hallway as quickly as she could without actually breaking into a run. The door to Toby’s office was open; she swung in and stopped dead when Toby, Sam, and Josh looked up at her. Toby immediately turned back to the notepad on his desk, but Josh’s gaze was fixed on Donna.
“Annie wanted me to give these to you,” Donna told Toby, holding out the folders, not looking at Josh. Toby muttered something that sounded like thank you and held out a hand without looking up. Donna pushed the folders into his hand, and made it one step out the door.
“Reason number twenty-nine,” Josh said, abruptly, and Donna closed her eyes briefly. She turned and leveled a murderous stare that did not deter him in the slightest. “He’s from Nantucket.”
“What’s wrong with Nantucket?” Donna demanded, throwing up her hands in exasperation.
“Nobody is from Nantucket. Only people from limericks are from Nantucket. There once was a man from Nantucket, who—”
“What is this a list of?” Sam asked. “This morning you were at sixteen.”
“I’m going to lunch,” Donna said, firmly. "A very long lunch." And left.
“Donna went on a third date with a guy last night and he proposed to her,” Josh said.
“And the numbers are…?” Sam prompted.
“Reasons not to marry him. Oh! I just thought of number thirty: the guy’s last name is Green.”
“Why can’t she marry a man named Green?” Sam asked.
“Because she’d be Donna Moss-Green.”
Toby finally looked up.
“Are you telling me you’ve spent all morning coming up with reasons why she shouldn’t marry someone else, and you hit thirty by lunch time?”
“Yeah, it was easy,” Josh said.
“Was it really.”
“He’d be terrible for her! Besides, who proposes on a third date? This isn’t day-time TV, you have to get to know someone.”
Toby’s expression was inscrutable, but Josh squirmed under its intensity.
“What? What!”
“We have less than twenty-four hours to come up with a speech on women’s health that will not get the president run out of the state of Alabama on a rail; I would appreciate it if you would focus on this and not the marital prospects of your assistant!” The sentence ended in a bellow that made both Josh and Sam wince.
“Right,” Josh said, weakly.
Sam said nothing as he and Josh walked down the hallway towards Josh’s office. He was waiting.
“He asked her on the third date—what?” he said, defensively, when Sam sighed heavily.
“Why does this bother you so much?”
“It doesn’t bother me.”
“Then why can’t you stop talking about it?”
“Because it’s just such a bad idea! It’s like—”
“Trying to give a pro-abortion speech in the deep south?”
“Way worse,” Josh said. “Losing an election takes one day, being married to a guy from Nantucket could last a lifetime.”
“Josh,” Donna said, appearing around the corner. “I spoke with the agricultural department.”
“What? Why? I didn’t ask you to.”
“I did,” Sam said.
“Once again, why?”
“To ask if we grow bananas in the United States.”
“Again with the banana thing! Why does it matter where the president gets his fruit?”
“Leo thinks it could be an optics thing.”
“You took this to Leo?”
“I mentioned it in passing. Do we grow bananas?”
“Hawaii and Florida.”
“I am not writing about bananas! Give it to the new guy!”
“We don’t have a new guy,” Sam said, and peeled off into his office.
Josh scowled after him, and then after Donna, who was drifting towards Josh’s office with the serenity of a three-masted ship coming into the harbor on a clear day.
“I thought your job was to make sure I don’t get bogged down with fluff pieces,” Josh called, trailing after her. Donna entered his office and stood by the door, waiting. Josh, oblivious, walked right in.
Donna slammed the door shut.
“Reason one,” she said, rounding on Josh with a burning glare. “He’s a good guy.”
“Wh—”
“Reason two, he has a stable job and a good career.”
Donna began to stalk towards him. Josh backed up until he hit the desk.
“I—”
“Reason three, he’s very good looking.”
“He’s not that—”
“Reason four, I’m not getting any younger.”
“That is the worst reason to—”
“Reason five, the most important reason, he asked.”
“Those are terrible reasons,” Josh said, weakly.
“Why do you care this much? How is it any business of yours who I marry? What is your problem?”
“Are you seriously going to say yes to him?” Josh blurted, aghast.
“I asked first!”
“I came up with fifty-three reasons—”
“Josh!”
“You can’t marry him!”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you to marry him, I want you to marry—” Josh’s mouth slammed shut around the last word. He stared at Donna—or rather, in her direction—as that little word shot back up throat and into his brain where it slammed around like a bouncy ball in a blown glass sculpture display.
Me.
“What is this, the 1500s?” Donna demanded. “I have to get your permission before I can get married?”
Josh didn’t answer. ‘Are you telling me you’ve spent all morning coming up with reasons why she shouldn’t marry someone else,’ Toby had said. Josh hadn’t caught it the first time. But he’d been right. That was exactly what it was. That was the real reason.
“You’re right,” he said, weakly.
“Yeah, I am! You have absolutely no say in this, and I don’t want to hear another word out of you about it.”
She turned to leave and Josh caught her wrist.
“Wait.”
She glared at him, but waited. Josh’s eyes flicked around the room. Thoughts he had been ignoring and denying for years were now rising in his brain, all clamoring to be heard at once.
“Yeah?” Donna demanded.
“So, my fifty-three reasons were all valid—”
Donna rolled her eyes and made a noise of disgust, yanking her wrist free. Josh caught her again, this time by the hand.
“—but they aren’t the real reasons. There’s only one reason. But it’s a really big reason.”
Donna’s expression had turned wary and uncertain.
“You shouldn’t marry him because I love you more than he does.”
Donna stared at him. Her eyes went very wide, and then very wet.
“Are you crying because I proposed to you, and if so, are they good tears or bad tears?”
“You didn’t propose to me! That’s not a proposal!”
“It’s a confession!”
“This is what I get? This is what I have to choose between? ‘I’ve known you for three days let’s get hitched’ or ‘read between the lines the proposal is in there somewhere’?” Her mouth trembled, but her chin stayed stubborn.
“In my defense, I only figured it out two seconds ago so…”
“I want a real proposal. I need to know that you mean it and you’re not just being petty and jealous.”
“But I’m being petty and jealous because I mean it.”
“Prove it.”
Josh opened his mouth, and nothing came out. He tried to stick the glass shards of his brain into a coherent shape.
“I can have a rough draft on your desk in the morning?” he tried, weakly.
Donna’s mouth trembled again, but this time at the corners as she tried not to smile.
“I’m going home,” she said. She sniffed and blinked hard, and when she spoke again her voice was steadier. “You,” she jabbed him in the chest, “have until midnight. It has to be in person. You have to go down on one knee.”
“Do I need to bring a ring?”
“It would help,” she said, her smile still small but stronger now, and kissed him.
It was soft but it was certain and if Josh had a thousand years to write a proposal he would never be able to say as much or as well as that kiss. He tried to put his arms around her but before he could pull her close, Donna stepped away again.
“Midnight,” she said.
Josh watched her leave, watched until the door closed behind her, then waited a few more seconds.
Then he bolted out of his office.
“Sam!” he hissed, trying to shout without being heard. “Sam!”
He stumbled into Sam’s office, praying Sam was still in.
Josh’s prayer was answered, but God liked to make his life difficult, because Toby and CJ were still there too.
Didn’t matter. He didn’t have time.
“I need you to help me write a proposal.”
“It wouldn’t be hard to switch our banana source,” CJ said, “but the liberal crowd will think we’re pandering at best and performative jingoists at worst.”
Josh ignored her.
“I need you to help me write a proposal to Donna.”
“I think the list of reasons you gave her was enough—”
“I have two and a half hours to come up with a marriage proposal that convinces her I mean it seriously and not just being petty and jealous.”
“But you are being petty and jealous,” Toby said.
“Because I mean it seriously!”
“If Toby and CJ can finish hammering out the Alabama speech without me—”
“Are you kidding?” CJ interrupted. “Forget Alabama! You think I’m passing up a chance to help you successfully make the most important argument of your life and win fifty dollars off of Leo?”
Josh bit back any questions about a bet and who else was involved. He could ask those questions just as easily from cloud nine as he could from the bottom of a bottle.
He looked at Toby.
“Screw Alabama,” Toby said. “Sit down and start talking.”
“It’s midnight-fifteen,” Donna said, folding her arms and leaning against the door frame.
“I couldn’t find a place to park,” Josh wheezed, trying not to breathe as hard as he needed to after running four blocks. “I did get a ring. It’s made out of plastic and I got it out of one of those little prize capsules but I spent about three bucks in quarters getting the right one. But it is, technically, a ring.”
“Do you want me to get you a glass of water?”
“I’m fine. Can I still…?”
She sighed dramatically, but there was a fond smile tucked away in the corners.
“Fine. But only because you got a ring.”