In These Times — The Election of 2032

[America Needs R'hllor]

Finished the Senate list.

Just a tiny nitpick, but you put both James Lankford and Ben Sasse as SoS. Anyway, it's great!

[Galaxie]

That Senate is NUTS

[Canis]

Whens the next update coming to this timeline I really love it!

[Nyssus]

Whens the next update coming to this timeline I really love it!

[MAINEiac4434]

Suffering major writer's block on all of my TLs at the moment (except, inexplicably, The Unlikely Speaker, which is the one I've worked on the least).

[MAINEiac4434]

Washington, DC
December 1, 2030
7:47

I locked my office door in the Hart Building behind me, and checked my watch again. I had exactly 13 minutes to get to my place in Foggy Bottom to catch the tip-off of the Celtics/Bulls game in Chicago. It was my birthday, but because the Maine Legislature and Congress were both in session — as well as it being a school night — I wasn’t  going to see either Blake or the kids except on FaceTime.

The moment I pressed the button to call the elevator, I heard a female voice calling my name. I turned to find the Junior Senator from New York and my good friend Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez striding towards me.

“What’s up, Alex?” I asked as she approached me.

“There’s something you need to see, can you step into my office please?” She asked, somewhat quickly. I glanced at my watch. So what if I miss the start of the game I thought.

“Sure.” I said. She smiled and gestured for me to follow.

“I’ve been working on this for some time. I think you’ll like it,” she said mysteriously. I gave her a quizzical look.

“Cotton will veto any bill that dissolves DHS, Alex. And we don’t have the numbers to override it.” I told her. She grinned even wider, pausing as she reached for her office’s doorknob.

“I know,” she said, still smiling. “But you should still see this.” She opened her door, and I saw dozens of people crammed into her office.

“SURPRISE!!” They shouted. I saw some of my House and Senate colleagues, dozens of aides and staffers, former Governor Sweet and...Blake?

“Happy birthday, Senator.” Alex said as Blake approached and wrapped her arms around me.

“Surprised?” She smiled.

“Stunned,” I said, before looking around the room. “Wow, thank you all.” Then a thought ran across my head, and I turned to my wife. “What about the kids?”

“They’re gonna Skype in. Troy’s watching them.”

“Troy Jackson? As in the President of the Maine Senate?” I asked, incredulous. Blake nodded. I turned to Alex.

“And you did this all?”

“Don’t look at me, it was your wife’s idea.” She nodded towards Blake.

“Enough chit-chat, blow out the candles so we can cut the fucking cake!” Yelled Kirsten Gillibrand, who was slightly more profane than Blake and I.

Over the next several hours, I cavorted with the various movers and shakers of American politics. By midnight, the party had mostly petered out, and Blake and I were relaxing on Alex’s couch with she and her boyfriend. As it always does with politicians, the conversation turned to elections.

“The next President was probably at this party,” Alex intoned, sipping her wine.

“The next President is probably in this room,” I joked, as it was basically the four of us and a handful of our closest aides. Blake’s look turned serious, and she looked at the various staffers.

“Could you guys give us the room please?” She asked them. They sighed dejectedly, but nodded and slowly filtered out, closing the door behind them.

We sat in awkward silence. Blake sighed and broke it.

“Alexandria, we need to know if you’re running.”

The Senator from New York said nothing for a moment.

“I mean...I’ve definitely considered it,” she said, choosing her words carefully.

“Alex, we can’t split the left like in 2020. Having Liz, Bernie, Merkley and Ellison all run gave Kennedy the nomination,” I began. “You know we love you. You backed me over Strimling in 2022. You’re one of my closest allies — and, more importantly, one of my very best friends, but...” I paused, and looked at Blake.

“Alex, I’m running for President.” Blake said. A jolt of excitement went through me. It happened every time she said it.

Alex sighed, sounding somewhat melancholy.

“I figured that much. You have Sydney Perkins and Tim Rowan working for you. There’s no way they’d join the team of a Governor of a small state unless there was a campaign element involved.”

“And you’re right about not wanting to split the left. We all agree Joe’s a nice guy, but it was a total missed opportunity for the left. He did nothing on immigration or mass incarceration...”

“I will.” Blake said. It gave me shivers. She didn't sound like the woman I was married to. She sounded...Presidential. Alex nodded.

“I will support you one hundred percent,” Alex said slowly. “You will make a great president, Governor.” They got up and hugged each other. Blake looked down at me.

“Let’s roll.”

[America Needs R'hllor]

Great! I'd be quite afraid of a President AOC, though, I guess she matured by now ITTL from her current... mode.

[MAINEiac4434]

Washington, D.C.
December 2, 2030
12:04 AM

We had left my office party at the Hart Building and ended up at the Columbia Room in Logan Circle. It was just Blake, Alex and I.

"I used to tend bar at a place like this," Alex intoned. Blake and I chuckled.

"We know. We followed your campaign religiously." Blake said.

"I keep on forgetting you guys got into electoral politics much later than I did," Alex said. "You guys are so little!" She teased. I snorted.

"You're only five years--uh, four years older than me, Alex." I said matter-of-factly.

"Like I said: little."

We were silent for a moment, enjoying the ambient noise at the bar. Blake sighed and rested her head on my shoulder.

"You guys are adorable. I've never met two people more in love and more perfect for each other than you are." Alex said. We giggled.

"Thanks. We've gotten that a lot over...god, how long has it been? Almost 17 years?" I said, turning towards Blake.

"It'll be 17 years next May that we've known each other, but we just passed the 16th anniversary of our first kiss." Blake answered.

"You guys know when you met and when you first kissed? How?!" Alex almost shouted.

"They were important dates for the both of us." Blake answered.

"Okay, then. Start at the beginning. How'd you guys meet?" Alex asked.

Concord, New Hampshire.
May 29, 2016.
2:32 PM.

It was my first presidential election. I wanted to dive headlong into it.

I was the caucus captain for my precinct caucus. I was a delegate at my state party convention. Now I was an employee of my party.

I was just a kid. I strolled into the Hillary for New Hampshire HQ so sure that my candidate, the brilliant, the experienced, the overqualified Hillary Rodham Clinton was on her way to the White House, and perhaps, if I was lucky, so was I.

When I walked through the door, I’d reached heaven. Rows of tables with burner cellphones, “I’M WITH HER,” “HASSAN FOR SENATE,” “KUSTER FOR CONGRESS” posters on the walls, large photos of Clinton and Barack Obama, a cardboard cutout of the candidate herself. A girl, probably younger than me, spoke up when I entered.

“Hi, are you here to volunteer?” She said, looking over excited. “We haven’t gotten too many thus far...”

“No, actually, I have a meeting with a Blake Walsh? Do you know where he is?” Except for the girl, the cardboard cutout of Secretary Clinton and me, the HQ was empty.

“Oh, Blake’s a girl. But come on I’ll take you to her office. What was your name?” A few moments later I was sitting in the office of a girl with short brown hair, mysterious blue eyes and a nose ring.

“Your résumé’s impressive, Ben. Veteran of Obama for America and Michaud’s gubernatorial campaign, all before you could vote. And of course, caucus captain and delegate for Hillary.” Blake had said.

“Well, I consider myself very passionate about the party. And Secretary Clinton.” I told her.

“I was a Bernie girl. What part of Maine are you from?”

“Portland, the greatest city in the world.” I said. She laughed.

“I love Portland. I’m from up north though.”

“Maine?” I asked. She nodded.

“I’m from the County.” She said. I was surprised. I hadn’t picked up the typical Aroostook accent. I frowned at the thought that she may have had to suppress it for her career. But this girl was unlike any of my preconceived notions of Aroostook people.

“So,” she began, “you were initially assigned to Chris, who’s in Franklin. But I like you, and you’re from Maine, so I’m gonna poach you, which means you’ll be working here in Concord with me. You should thank me, Franklin’s a shithole. The first thing you see there is a giant Trump sign.”

“Sounds great. I’d love to work with you.” I said, almost accidentally. She smiled, almost to herself.

“Welcome aboard, Ben.” She shook my hand, holding it just a beat longer than usual.

[MAINEiac4434]

Concord, New Hampshire.
September 14, 2016.
4:37 PM.

“I can’t believe we met Molly Fucking Ringwald!” Blake exclaimed as we set out for canvassing. It was chilly, and the leaves crunched beneath our feet.

“I’ve had a crush on her since I saw Sixteen Candles when I was like 14,” I said.

“Oh yeah? You have a thing for redheads Ben?” She teased.

“Nah...brunettes on the other hand...” I grinned. She blushed. We walked in pleasant silence for a few minutes.

“I’m glad she didn’t get a psycho.” I began “Did I tell you about this one lady I had who told me she knew Hillary was a satanist?”

“Yeah, I overheard you tell Molly that.” We were quiet for a moment as we approached our neighborhood. “What’s the matter?” She said, looking at me.

“It’s just...this thing that’s been bothering me. That was the most full I’ve seen the HQ since I started working here over three months ago. In 2012, in Maine, the HQ was always full. Here we are in New Hampshire, the swing state, with a senate and a gubernatorial race, and we can only fill it up when we trot out these celebrities.”

“Meh.” Blake said. “It’s still kinda early. Plus some people might think she has it in the bag already and can’t lose.”

“Then they should come out for Maggie, and Carol, and Colin. They could lose. God forbid this state sends Kelly Ayotte back to Washington to be the one Senator to give the GOP the majority. God forbid we have a GOP governor undoing all of Maggie’s hard work. God forbid Frank Guinta wins again, and makes it that much harder to get stuff through the House.” I said. She grabbed my hand.

“We’re not going to lose. Trust me.”

And I trusted her.

Concord, New Hampshire
November 8, 2016
6:45 PM

“I bought champagne!” Blake bellowed as she entered the Hillary HQ. Pizza and sandwiches were on a table, as staffers and supporters huddled around computer screens and a TV that was broadcasting MSNBC. She pulled me aside. “I know you’re too young, but I got you a little something, too.” She pulled out a small bottle of absinthe, my favorite.

“You shouldn’t have. And I mean really, you shouldn’t have, I don’t want one of the best nights of my life ruined with an underage drinking charge.” I told her, barely suppressing my smile.

“Hush,” she said, and poured two shots. She raised one. “To Governor Colin Van Ostern, Congresswoman Ann McLane Kuster, Senator Maggie Hassan and President Hillary Rodham Clinton.” We clinked glasses and drank. She began pouring us another one.

“Seriously?” I said, somewhat bemused.

“I have another toast,” she stated matter-of-factly, and handed me the glass. She looked me in the eye. “To new friends.” We clinked and drank again, and went back to the rest of the party.

Concord, New Hampshire
November 8, 2016
10:08 PM

Things were quiet. Much too quiet. Virginia was too close. Wisconsin was too close. New Hampshire was too close. Trump was leading in Florida. Pennsylvania was uncalled. Michigan was uncalled.

I needed to find Blake.

She was sitting by herself in her office, clicking back and forth between the AP, New York Times and FiveThirtyEight.

“Blake,” I began. But I didn’t know what to say after that. So I went to the only thing that was going through my mind.

“What the fuck.”

She got up and hugged me. We walked back to the main room. She held my hand. We found a nice spot at the back. She rested her head on my shoulder.

“And we have a major projection to make...Donald Trump will win the state of Florida and its 29 electoral votes.”

It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Things were silent for a beat. Then there was noise. Crying.

I looked at Blake. “Oh my god.” I said. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

I started to cry. She held me close. “We need to get out of here,” she whispered. I nodded. She escorted me to her car and drove me to her apartment.

In her apartment, we didn’t put on the TV. I sat on her couch, tears running down my face as she made me tea.

“Blake,” I choked out.

“What, Ben.” She said.

“She’s gonna fucking lose!” I wailed, and started weeping. Blake rushed in.

“Ben...she’s up in Michigan and Pennsylvania...if she wins those and Nevada and Colorado, and holds Virginia, she’ll get over 270.” She said, wrapping her arms around me.

“Blake...look,” I sniffled, handing her my phone. Trump had just taken the lead in Pennsylvania.

“Oh no,” She whispered, as she buried her face in my shoulder, her breath catching in her throat.

I started worrying. “Blake...what about Merrick Garland? What if you need birth control or an abortion? What about my dads?” She looked up at me, her makeup smeared.

“Ben. We stick together. We’re going to have to.”

We held each other longer.

“Ben...” she whispered, “I’m scared.”

“Me too.” I sniffed. I kissed the top of her head. “As long as we’re together though,” she let go of me, and looked up. “I think we’ll be alright.”

She smiled slightly to herself, leaned in and kissed me.

[MAINEiac4434]

Portland, Maine
June 12, 2018
7:47PM

"Make sure we don't drink the absinthe early this time," I said to Blake as we entered the Think Tank Building, the headquarters of Betsy Sweet's gubernatorial campaign.

"Hush," she told me, not looking up from her phone. "Turnout numbers are looking excellent."

"Great, I need to go feed the vultures. See you upstairs." I said, as she continued into Betsy's upstairs office and I detoured to the frontroom, where the victory party would be held. Only a few supporters were there, along with the media. It was still mostly empty. Polls wouldn't close for another fifteen minutes.

"Ben, anything for us?" a grizzled reporter asked me.

"Betsy remains confident that the people of Maine will choose change and progress tonight. She expressed congratulations on a well-fought campaign to the other Democratic candidates, and wants to remind voters that they still have time to get in line. If they're in line before 8, they will be allowed to vote."

"Any comment on the power outage at the polling place in Kingfield?"

"The Sweet campaign, and several other campaigns, filed a lawsuit to extend voting hours in Kingfield because of the power outage. We believe the lawsuits will be successful." I looked at my watch. "Okay, one more question guys, better make it good."

"Why'd you go to some of the most conservative areas of the state in the last week?"

I paused. "Betsy Sweet is running to be governor of all of Maine, not just the progressive parts of Maine. The people of Piscataquis and Aroostook and Penobscot have voices that deserve to be heard, too. And they may just deliver us victory tonight. Alright, I'll see you guys around 9."

I went upstairs to the war room. I looked at the handmade sign on the door. "Welcome to the Sweet Suite." I smiled to myself, knowing Blake had something to do with it.

She was sitting on the couch, a donut in hand, still staring intently at her phone screen.

"Hey babe," she said.

"Hey..." I said. At that moment I noticed our reflection in the mirror. Goddamn, we looked grown up. I was only 20, Blake 23. Here I was, in a blue suit, my curls replaced with a crew cut. Blake in a black blazer and pencil skirt. I'd never even seen her in a skirt until we got this job.

"First results! From Andover!" Blake yelled, breaking me from my thoughts. About a half dozen people crowded around her, including me. "Russell, 12;" she read, "Cote, 34; Mark Dion, 6; Donna Dion, 2; Eves 68; Mills 55; Sweet...98!" We cheered, and high fived.

"Game on," I said, looking Blake in the eye.

"Game. On." She said back.

10:03

"Betsy is confident in the ranked choice voting process." I told a particularly annoying reporter. The victory party was in full swing now. And the race was close. While Mary Mayhew easily swept away opposition on the GOP side, it had turned into a real nailbiter between us, Adam Cote, and Janet Mills.

"Have you received any concession calls?" another reporter said.

"Mayor Dion, Senator Dion and Representative Russell have each called Betsy. Though I believe they've also called Mr. Cote and Attorney General Mills to express their congratulations. Speaker Eves is upstairs with Betsy right now, as I'm sure you saw. It's important to remember that this party is united behind whoever wins tonight. Alright, I'll see you guys soon." I left.

Back upstairs, everyone was staring at a screen. Blake had her phone, iPad and laptop all in front of her.

"Has Cote called to concede yet?" I said. She shook her head. "Well, we know that bastard's stubborn." I sat next to her, and looked at the numbers.

Maine Democratic primary
99% of precincts reporting
Too close to call
Betsy Sweet: 48,782, 30.87%
Janet Mills: 48,399, 30.63%
Adam Cote: 21,590, 13.66%
Mark Eves: 20,612, 13.%
Diane Russell: 12,398, 6.74%
Mark Dion: 4,201, 2.28%
Donna Dion: 2,135, 1.16%

"Good God, I hope we're everybody's second choice." Blake said, somewhat glumly.

"Don't look so disappointed, darling." I said to her. "It's only our careers." She smiled ruefully.

"You suck," she said, suppressing a laugh. Just then her phone vibrated.

"This is Walsh," she said into it. "Bath's three precincts are the only ones left, I think." She listened. Her eyebrows raised. "Really?" She looked at me. "When will we see this?" she grabbed her iPad and began running her fingers around the screen on it in earnest. "She's how far behind? Cote's above her?" She dropped her iPad on her lap and grabbed my wrist. "Well, thanks again Rachel. I'll be sure to tell Betsy." she calmy hung up the phone, and looked at me. "We won." she said simply, a smile crawling across her lips.

"We won?" I said, not quite believing it.

"We won!" she yelled this time, and through her arms around my neck. "She landslided Bath! We won! We won!"

We cheered, and hugged the other staffers in the room. Betsy came in and took a shot of absinthe with us ("Don't remind me of your age, Mr. Johnston"), before heading downstairs to the party. I fed the vultures one more time.

"This is a victory for progress. Politics as usual has come to an end in the Democratic Party, and on November 6th, it will come to an end in Maine. We are confident we received enough second-choice support from the supporters of other candidates, especially those of Speaker Eves."

"In her victory speech, Mary Mayhew alluded to Betsy Sweet by saying 'the Democratic candidate has no political experience, only radical activism.' Care to comment?" Jack asked. A surprisingly softball question.

"Secretary Mayhew can claim Betsy has no experience. Betsy's lifetime of work achieving major victories for women, disabled people and LGBTQ people in this state, from both inside and outside Augusta, speaks volumes. What also speaks volumes is Secretary Mayhew's experience. Her experience of limiting access to healthcare to Maine's most vulnerable, cruelly cutting food programs for the hungry and lobbying for Big Tobacco." Blake walked over.

"Guys, it's midnight," she said to the reporters. She slung her arm around my shoulders, though she had to stand on her toes to do it. "He's mine now." I shrugged my shoulders.

"She's the deputy campaign manager...she's technically my boss." I said, as she pulled me toward the elevator by my tie.

June 23, 2018
Augusta, Maine
2:48 PM

"After five ballots of counting, the nominee of the Democratic Party for Governor of the State of Maine is Elizabeth Ann Sweet." Secretary of State Matthew Dunlap declared after a week of tracking down every ballot box in every town in this state, and transporting them to Augusta. The actually ranking took less than an hour.

It shouldn't have been a surprise; Janet had run a staid, boring, centrist campaign, completely misreading the temperature of the party. Betsy -- with no small help from Blake and I -- was able to capture progressive rage aimed at Donald Trump and Paul LePage, and was able to paint herself as an outsider to the dysfunction in Augusta but with deep policy expertise.

But even we did not expect to actually finish first on election night. We had hoped to be everyone's second choice, hopefully leapfrogging Mills on a later ballot. Instead, we were in the lead from the get-go.

On our way out of the Secretary of State's office, we caught a TV playing CNN.

"And we have some breaking news from Maine, as the result of the first statewide use of ranked-choice-voting is known. Maine Democrats have chosen Betsy Sweet, a progressive activist and first-time candidate over establishment favorite Maine Attorney General Janet Mills. This is a major rebuke to both the state and national party establishment, as Mills was supported by dozens of legislators and several Attorneys General throughout the country..." I shared a smile with Blake.

"Come on, you two," Betsy said from behind us. "We have a lot of work to do."

[MAINEiac4434]

Are ppl reading this

[P. Clodius Pulcher did nothing wrong]

ya

[scutosaurus]

ya

[OBD]

ya

[GM Team Member and Senator WB]

ya

[Atlas Has Shrugged]

This timeline is getting hot!

[Sestak]

You are the best timeline writer on Atlas - of course we are.

[Cold War Liberal]

You are the best timeline writer on Atlas - of course we are.

[MAINEiac4434]

Fort Kent, Maine
October 30, 2018
7:32 PM

"Moving on to healthcare -- Secretary Mayhew, your campaign has made it abundantly clear you will continue Governor LePage's opposition to Medicaid expansion in Maine. Care to elaborate more on your healthcare plan?"

This dingy high school gymnasium was in a reddish town was not my ideal location for a debate. But Betsy was crushing it.

"Well, obviously, we need to increase options in the health insurance market by decreasing regulations and lowering taxes to bring in more opportunities. Medicaid expansion, putting more people on the government dole, won't work. It will create a state of takers instead of a state of entrepreneurs."

"Betsy, your response?"

Betsy paused for a second, then smiled to herself, put down her pen, and folded her hands.

"There it is. That's the Republican response to everything. Less regulations, less taxes, the market will fix everything!" She shook her head. "Look at what that's gotten this state. One of the lowest in job growth. The least healthy in New England. Child poverty has increased. There are places, not far from this very gymnasium, that look like a third world country, and whose social services are even worse than third world country." She paused for a second, than met Blake's eyes here in the back of the room. "On the first day of a Sweet Administration, I will take the government's medicaid expansion, as the people of Maine voted for two years ago. But I won't stop there, because we can't stop there. I met people on the campaign trail who ration insulin or rely on donations from strangers coming across their GoFundMe profiles for the medical care. That is an abomination, and something that should not be happening in this country. So we don't just need medicaid expansion. We need universal, single-payer healthcare at a federal level. And if I'm lucky enough to be elected, I will fight for it every god damn day I sit in that office. Anything less than that is a betrayal to the people of this state, and this country."

As the audience burst into applause, I looked at Blake. And at that moment, something clicked in both of our minds.
Holy shit, we thought. She's going to fucking win.

Fort Kent, Maine
October 31, 2018
6:47 AM

Diner's like Rock's are not unique to Maine by any means, nor is politicking at them a uniquely Maine experience. But as Blake and I sat at the bar and watched Betsy work the early crowd, something felt different. Everyone was responsive, and not in that Maine polite way. Usually you get a small handful of people rebuking you. Not today.

The waitress delivered Blake's pancakes and my western omelette. She looked at the button on my lapel curiously.

"You guys work for her?" she asked.

"Yes," I somehow managed through a mouthful of eggs and peppers, as Blake attempted to swallow her pancakes with scalding coffee.

"My daughter has a pre-existing condition. Tell her to keep up the good work. That speech she gave at the debate...no politician, Democrat or Republican, ever spoke to me like that."

"Well, we're glad you enjoyed the debate. Did you go to the meet and greet afterward?" Blake asked. The waitress gave a quizzical look.

"You were at the debate, right?" I said. The debate wasn't broadcast on any local television, only streamed on Facebook from a camera run by some 14-year-old.

"What? No...I saw the speech on Twitter this morning. Anyway, I gotta get back to work." Blake and I looked at each other bewildered for a moment, then we both scrambled for our phones.

Opening up Twitter, the number one trending topic in the United States of America was...Betsy Sweet.

The number four topic? #medicareforall.

I tapped Betsy's name on Twitter. The first thing that popped up was a tweet with over ten thousands retweets from Sean McElwee.

"At a debate in rural Maine last night, #MEGOV candidate Betsy Sweet laid out the problems with the American healthcare system - and its solution." Blake was now reading over my shoulder, something I normally hated.

There was also an embedded YouTube video in the tweet, clearly taken from someone's cellphone in the audience. As I was seemingly frozen, Blake had to reach out and tap the YouTube link.

"Mother of god..." she whispered.

712,388 views. A cellphone video of a debate answer had become one of the most viral moments of the campaign season.

My phone suddenly started vibrating. A New York number was calling me. I answered it.

"This is Ben Johnston," I said, my voice shaky.

"Yes, is this the Ben Johnston who is Betsy Sweet's press secretary?" A man's voice said.

"Uh, yes, who's speaking?" I said, standing up from the bar.

"This is Will Davison, I'm one of the producers on the Rachel Maddow Show. We'd love to have Betsy on tonight."

I damn near dropped my phone. I looked over to Blake, who know had her phone at her ear.

"Anderson Cooper? The Anderson Cooper?" She said into her phone. I caught Betsy's eye.

"Ben...you there?" Will Davison, one of the producers of the Rachel Maddow Show said from my phone.

"Yes...can you hold on for a moment?" I said. Betsy walked up to us.

"What's going on? You two look crazy right now." She said. I grinned at her.

"Rachel Maddow or Anderson Cooper?"

[MAINEiac4434]

[MAINEiac4434]

Portland, Maine
November 6, 2018
8:00 PM

"...and in Maine, we can call the Governor's race: Betsy Sweet, the longtime activist endorsed by the Democratic Socialists of America, has won overwhelmingly, cruising past Republican Mary Mayhew and independent Terry Hayes. Sweet won the Democratic primary on the backs of enthusiastic, young volunteers, and she's won the general based perhaps in part of that viral debate video that was floating around last week. She got lots of positive attention after that. Sweet has never held elective office, and makes her personal story -- the fact that she's a small business owner and single mother -- the centerpiece of her campaign, and she's absolutely cruised here, winning over 60% of the vote, though that margin may decrease as more conservative, rural areas come in. Nicolle, what's your takeaway?"

"Well, Rachel, we should note that the Republican Mary Mayhew is one of the least popular politicians in the state, she couldn't even break 50% approval with Republicans. Her office has been implicated in the deaths of two children,* she is closely associated with the unpopular administration of Paul LePage, and wasn't a good campaigner. Obviously, the Maine GOP paid the price for nominating her tonight. I mean, she was a Big Tobacco lobbyist for God's sake! How anyone thought she could win is beyond me..."

I didn't hear any MSNBC analysis. We were already celebrating, Mayhew having called to concede just moments after the polls closed.

There was no big release of emotion like in the primary. It was a slow burn. We had the momentum since the Fort Kent debate, and all day reports had been beyond even our wildest expectations. We knew we had it when Mayhew sent out a tweet that began with "Regardless of what happens tonight..." at 2:30 in the afternoon.

I dismissed myself from the party and ran up to the rooftop of our headquarters, and I started to cry.

No, I started to weep.

It all came out. The stress of the campaign, the elation of victory, the pride in working for someone who I actually cared about, the joy in doing it beside the love of my life.

A short while later, Blake found me on the roof.

"There you ar--oh my god, what's wrong?" she almost shouted, rushing to get next to me, grabbing my hand.

I sobbed wetly for a second. "I'm...so...proud..." I managed to get out. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she embraced me tightly. After a few moments, I had collected myself, relatively. "This is the greatest night of my life." Blake nodded, and smiled.

We sat together in the peace and quiet, the only noise the celebrations on the street in front of the HQ.

"Let's get married," I whispered. I surprised myself saying those words. I was running off of pure emotion, pure adrenaline.

Blake stared at me, her eyes the size of saucers. "What?" she said.

"Let's fucking get married. I love you in ways I cannot even express. Let's get married and do this for the rest of our lives, electing progressives around Maine -- no, around the country. We'll be like Matalin and Carville. Except, you know, not shitty."

She paused for a second.

"Yes. 100% yes! I love you, Benjamin Johnston. Let's change the world. Together." She threw her arms around my neck. I lifted her up. We kissed.

Somewhere beyond Back Cove, fireworks went off. Or maybe it was just our imagination.

*this is real