#wine tasting over briefs in the oval office

[josefkavalier]

It wasn’t as biting that night as forecasted. Then again, alcohol had a way of warming a person from the inside out. Sam fingered the bottle of travel sized mouthwash in his suit pocket as he took another sip from his vodka-laced lemonade. He owned far too many tiny bottles for a sixteen year-old with parents who would always be preoccupied with matters more important than the occasional underaged drinking of their son. He could have walked out with a giant bottle of Grey Goose, he could have left the mouthwash behind entirely. But he would never be that cavalier, never knowing when one of his parents might pull him into a conversation and introduce him to some world leader. Boozy breath was not the kind of first impression he liked to make.

Sam didn’t even like alcohol, it’s just that he liked uptight parties with hundreds of guests even less. Perhaps he was leaning a little heavily into dramatics, escaping to go drink alone, but it was only because his sister had ditched him for her new boyfriend. Typically, he could trudge through anything, if Sofia was suffering by his side. They were not codependent, at least it wouldn’t be his choice of words, there was just something undeniable about sharing a womb with another person. Whenever someone said something stupid in front of their mother, his first impulse was always to make a face in Sofia’s direction, and always she would reciprocate with one of her own.

“You want a smoke?”

The unexpectedness of the address made him jump slightly, just enough to send lemonade spilling over the side of his glass. “No, thanks,” he answered, rubbing his hand along the inside of his suit jacket where it couldn’t be photographed, reprimanded, or thought of again.

The other boy shrugged and Sam watched the way he cupped his hand around the cigarette to shield it from the wind as he flicked his lighter on. The action probably shouldn’t have struck him as beautiful, but it was a thought that arose without warning, and he shook his head as if this would banish it from his mind.

Sam stared into his cup with fixed concentration, but his new company didn’t seem to mind. It was after a few more minutes that he spoke again, and Sam didn’t realize he’d been waiting for the other boy to break the silence in-between exhales of smoke.

“Hey, you’re President Huerta’s son, aren’t you?”

If only he had said anything else.

“Yeah. That’s me.”

It was one thing to be known as the first son, but he wondered if this guy even knew his name. Sofia was more well-known, because in some ways she played along with the constant attention. She put care into her appearance when she left the White House and Sam could wear the clothes all right, but he often read descriptions about how he looked tired or bored, while Sofia was described as “effortless” and “elegant.” 

“Sam, right?”

Realistically, there wasn’t a single guest there that night who didn’t know his name, but his pulse quickened as if this boy had paid special attention when Sam came up in the news. “Yeah. That’s me,” he said, again, not realizing until a second later that he had repeated himself exactly. Sam winced, turning away at the same time to hide his face, and coughed into the crook of his elbow as if that had been his intent. He turned back to the boy with a smile. “And you are?”

“Sisto.”

Sam waited a beat too long for him to reveal his last name. He was only sixteen, and had gone to school and lived almost a normal life for the first twelve years of his life, but even then, introductions had always involved the use of full names. His parents had fallen in love at the White House, working for a president who was out of office by the time he was born, and he had gotten used to the constant political energy around him before he moved into the White House himself.

“Cool. Um...nice to meet you.”

Sisto laughed, taking a long drag from his cigarette before speaking. “I always thought they forced the president’s kids to, like, take a shit ton of etiquette and public speaking classes. Just in case, you know?” He shook his head, smiling. “Guess not.”

Sam forced a smile in return, but it looked self-deprecating, even in the thin light streaming out from inside the White House, aided only slightly by the moon.

Giving Sam a sideways glance as he tossed his cigarette on the ground, Sisto let out a much quieter laugh this time. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh. It’s not?”

“No. You don’t seem as robotic as you look on TV.”

It was, surely, supposed to be a compliment. But Sam just looked at the ground, every fear and insecurity he’d ever had about standing silently behind his parents in front of a sea of cameras and reporters instantly validated.

“Hey,” Sisto said, his voice much closer than before, and then his hand was on Sam’s shoulder. “Sorry. I never took any etiquette classes either.”

“It’s okay, I get what you meant.”

“You sure? I feel like I oughta apologize now.”

“Really, it’s fine—”

Sisto took him by the elbow, tugging once. “C’mon. I want to show you something.”

***

They were supposed to be greeting the public during an afternoon tour of the White House, but Sam was too busy texting to notice the crowd shuffling into the Blue Room. Sofia elbowed him, much more roughly than necessary, and smiled sweetly as people start filing into the room. He only had time to scowl at her for a brief moment before he mirrored his sister’s expression and stepped forward to welcome everyone to his home, and even though it was exactly what he was supposed to say, it never felt true. It still felt like living in a museum or a history book, with Zachary Taylor’s ghost floating between the various rooms, and members of the Huerta family regularly greeting guests in the room uncreatively given its name by Martin Van Buren.

Sam shook hands and posed for photos, though he doubted anyone actually cared about his special brand of celebrity. At first glance, the tour group had been elated to see the first children, but he knew they would have preferred to see the president herself. As was often true, their mother had more important matters to address, and Sam and Sofia could never use that same excuse.

Once the group moved on, Sam turned his attention back to his phone, not even noticing as Sofia stood on tip-toes to look over his should. “Who’s Sisto?”

Sam whipped around, narrowly avoiding a shoulder to Sofia’s face. She would have deserved it. “Could you not invade my privacy?”

“What privacy?” Sofia asked as she dropped into one of the room’s blue and gold cushioned chairs. “Twenty people just took our photos and then immediately posted them all over the internet.”

Begrudgingly, he sat down across from his sister. No matter his level of annoyance, they would both have to wait for the next tour group together. “That’s different, and you know it.”

“All right, I know it. But why would you not tell me about someone you’re obviously obsessed with?”

He exhaled deeply, shoving his phone into his pants pocket where it was safe from unwanted glances. “You always have to make things so salacious. I never ask you invasive questions about whats-his-name.”

“You know his name. But I appreciate the feigned disinterest.”

Not only did Sam know his name, he also knew what Sofia’s boyfriend looked like, and not that he would ever voice the thought to Sofia, but it was uncanny how similar their tastes were. Sam was hoping to put off any twin jokes about the matter for as long as possible. But when it came to their parents, particularly their father, nosiness was not something that could be avoided entirely.

Sofia stared up at the ceiling, her eyes drifting towards the gaudy chandelier that hung in the dead center of the oval room. So many ovals in this house, something about George Washington preferring them to circles. “I wish dad would catch on.”

“Well. Keep wishing.”

It was easy for him to say, he could hear her already, the accusation in her voice completely justified. Had Sam ever wanted a love life before now, his father would not have paid the least bit of attention. But when it came to Sofia, he tried to keep track of her comings and goings as closely as possible.

“Tony is just so...non-threatening. Dad acts as if I’ve started dating the literal antichrist.”

“Hey, maybe next time.”

This time, it was Sofia who barely managed a glare before hopping out of her chair and hurrying over to the door in preparation for the next tour group.

***

It wasn’t until Sisto pushed him up against a wine rack, immediately sending an $80 bottle of Pinot crashing to the floor, that Sam considered maybe he was the one dating someone antichrist adjacent. Not that spilling wine was satanic – no matter how much the pooling of dark red liquid looked eerily similar to blood.

“Shit,” Sisto muttered against his mouth, and Sam didn’t want to open his eyes again, he would prefer to pretend the glass and wine spreading across the wine cellar floor was just his imagination.

Sam wasn’t sure what to do in this situation, or any awkward situations. When Sisto had suggested they break into the White House wine cellar, he had laughed. A little cruelly. They need not break in, really, just open the door and enter. The look of disappointment on Sisto’s face when he saw the cellar was exactly as Sam had predicted.

“This is the president’s wine supply? It’s...it’s even worse than my uncle’s!”

“It’s not all of her wine. But, officially speaking, this is it.”

They stood inside the closet-sized room, the two of them barely able to look at any of the labels without bumping into one another. The first few times, Sam told himself he wouldn’t let it happen again, but after the fourth time, Sisto abruptly stopped reading the labels and pulled a bottle out from the rack.

“Here. This one is good.”

Sam looked it over, not knowing enough to either agree or argue otherwise, so he nodded. Sisto produced a Swiss army knife from his pocket, expertly removing the cork in a way that made clear how many times he had done so in the past.

He put both the knife and cork in his pocket, then leaned his head back to take a generous sip. “Like I said,” he offered the bottle to Sam with a grin. “It’s a good one.”

Sam took the bottle tentatively, the neck almost slipping from his clammy hands. Before Sisto could comment, he took an ambitious swig from the bottle, swallowing more than he had anticipated. He handed it back to Sisto nervously, hoping he wouldn’t be forced to take another sip. While Sisto had aspirations of talking about wine for a living, Sam would happily never sample another bottle again.

He raised his hand to wipe away the stray wine from his lips, but Sisto reached out to grab him by the wrist. The wine lover was about to scold him for daring to waste a single drop, he thought, the only logical explanation for his action.

“Sisto, I just—”

But Sisto kissed him before he could finish protesting, an argument that was never going to be made in the first place, and as soon as Sam processed this, his head rushed to meet up with his lips, his hands, his legs. All at once, he kissed Sisto back with intention, the wine tasting much sweeter from the other boy’s mouth, his hand breaking free from the now slackened grip, reaching upwards to clutch at hair and jaw, his thumb swiping over Sisto’s cheek as he stepped in closer.

Of the few things he never discussed with his twin, romantic intricacies of relationships was one of them. They talked about whether or not they were seeing somebody, eventually, but even that took time, and they never dared speak about first kisses or dates. For Sam, there had never been anything to talk about, anyways.

Sam took a breath, and something in Sisto must have instructed him to steal it back, and that was when the pushing and the wine bottle crashing interrupted them, though Sam could have convinced himself that he hadn’t heard anything after all, if Sisto had been willing to play along. They looked at the spilled wine, neither saying anything or moving for a moment, then Sisto looked back at Sam, his hands still gripping the collar of his shirt, and he offered an unapologetic smile. “Well, if it’s already broken.”

And their lips met again.

***

When Sam stumbled upstairs to the second floor, still tipsy from the half drunk bottle of wine, he noticed Sofia’s bedroom door was open and gave a courtesy knock with his knuckles.

“Knock knock,” he said as if it was a joke, somehow, not noticing his sister’s faintly red-rimmed eyes.

“What do you want?” She asked, but her voice sounded wrong, and she turned onto her side to face away from him on her bed.

“Wait, what’s wrong?”

“Do you care?”

Although he was in a spectacularly good mood, and buzzed enough not to fully grasp Sofia’s mood, he felt offended that she could possibly ever believe he wouldn’t care that she was upset. “I always care, Sof.”

With a sniff, she hesitantly turned back to him, slowly sitting up and wrapping her arms around her middle. Sam entered her room fully, closing the door behind him in case one of their parents came upstairs, and sat down beside her. “What happened?”

“Pretty much exactly what you’d expect. Dad said I’m not old enough to date. Girls my age get married every day!”

“Not a great argument, but I understand.”

Not even bothering to complain about his criticism, she leaned into him, putting her head on his shoulder. “It’s not like I was going to listen to him, anyways. But he got Tony removed from his White House internship, so I’ll probably never see him again.”

“If he cares about you at all, he’ll make sure you still see each other.”

“Of course Tony cares—”

“I meant dad.”

Sofia peered up at him, disbelief temporarily replacing the sadness in her eyes. “He cares about me. He just doesn’t express it the right way.”

“Mom will talk to him. And she’ll get Tony his internship back. They kind of have to listen to her.”

She let out a weak, watery laugh. “Maybe you’re right.”

He was right. And he still felt guilty, anyways. Because it took so little for their father to punish Sofia, but when it came to Sam, he could practically get away with murder without detection. He wanted to defend Sofia without implicating himself, he just wasn’t sure how.

#i just reformatted this bc mac is whack and i reread it and oh boy can i skip class next week jakshdfjg #f: huerta #c: sam huerta #s: sistam #I THINK #writing