The Election Watch Party
A short story
Markus grimaced as he hurried, hunched over, across the street to the Uber that was waiting for him. It was raining lightly — not enough to bring an umbrella, but enough to add to his discomfort. He had taken a shot of tequila before leaving his apartment, to calm his nerves. Now, with his nerves setting in anyway, he already regretted it, worried that he might make a fool of himself.
“Headed to Greeley Street?” the driver asked as he settled into the back of the red sedan. Markus nodded, then pulled his phone from his pocket and tried to look occupied. Sometimes he welcomed small talk with drivers, but this time, he just wanted to be left alone.
But after only a few minutes of scrolling, he realized that his phone was only making him more anxious. It seemed like every other social media post was about the election. Most of his feed was Harris supporters: showing off their “I voted” stickers, begging their followers to recognize the existential stakes of the election, showing off their election day cookies, making fun of Trump voters for voting against their own interest, expressing how angry they were that this was even so close. But there were also a few pro-Trump posts interspersed, bragging about Trump’s odds in the betting markets and feigning confidence that America’s future would soon be rescued from the libs.
With each post he saw, he felt his stomach twist a bit. He had voted for Harris a few days ago, and had even phone-banked for her once with a friend. But the people posting online seemed so obnoxious, anxious, and hateful that it almost made him feel bad about his own participation. Was this really the end of democracy, like everyone kept saying it was? And even if it was, did that make it okay for everyone to act like this? He stuffed his phone back in his pocket and turned toward the window, where he watched tiny droplets of rain trace each other’s paths in a downward race, as suburban townhomes flitted by in the middle distance.
On one sidewalk corner, a small group of Harris supporters in rain coats sat on mesh camping chairs and waved handmade signs. Honk if you voted today!, read one of them. The driver honked his horn, then laughed.
“Nah, I don’t vote,” he said to Markus, grinning at him through the rearview mirror. “But I like seeing all the cheerleaders out on Election Day. It’s like the Fourth of July or something. Makes you feel like a real patriot for a minute, like everyone in the country can really finally come together about something.”
“Yeah,” Markus mumbled. He wondered how his driver could possibly feel like a patriot if he wasn’t voting himself, but he didn’t want to engage. His phone buzzed, and he saw that his friend had texted, asking for his ETA. He typed out a quick response.
“You headed to one of those election watch parties?” the driver asked.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound too excited.” He laughed again. “To be honest with you, I’m glad I’m working tonight. My wife’s at one of them parties. She wanted me to come, but her friends are a bunch of corporate assholes. And anyway, I can’t be around all that anxious energy. I told her, what’s the point? We’ll all find out who wins by tomorrow. It’s not a football game — there’s nothing to watch.”
Markus actually agreed with this point. He was only going to this watch party because a friend he knew from an old job had invited him. He had almost no interest in sitting around a TV with a bunch of strangers and old acquaintances making small talk about shared political enemies. But still, he didn’t say no. Sitting alone at home during it all felt somehow worse.
The driver pulled to a stop in front of a modest, but stylish cottage house, with a shingled roof, wood trim, and grey brick siding. He could see through one of the windows that a small crowd was already gathered in the living room. He thanked the driver and made his way to the front door, while hastily leaving a tip using the app on his phone. He could hear the evening chatter of the ongoing party through the door, so he only knocked briefly before trying the handle. Finding it unlocked, he gently pushed open the door and let himself in.
“Markus!” cried his friend, Anne, who was standing in the kitchen, chatting with a couple, when she saw him enter. She put down her drink and walked over to Markus to give him a hug and take his coat. “I’m so glad you could make it! Here, let me introduce you to my coworker Eric, and his wife, Hannah.” She ushered him into the kitchen, and poured him a glass of wine.
“I was just talking about Trump’s tariff plan,” Eric said, after they had introduced themselves. “I think it’s genius that the Harris campaign has reframed it as a sales tax. I just can’t understand how anyone who thinks the economy is bad now would be willing to vote for a man who wants to raise their taxes by 10, 15, 20 percent.”
“I know!” said Anne. “I can understand the rich corporate donors who are voting for him; you just know he’s going to pass another bill to lower their taxes. But it’s so frustrating to see the polls saying that so many middle class people are willing to vote against their own interests.”
“Don’t get me started on ‘voting against their interests,’” said Eric, taking a brief pause to gulp down the rest of his cocktail. “Have you seen the numbers on immigrants and minorities? I don’t know how he’s convinced so many of them to go along with his blatantly racist agenda. You’d think these people would know better than anyone how bad it’s gonna be for them to have a racist president in office.”
“I heard it’s mostly the men,” said Hannah quietly.
“Yeah, you know sexism has to play a role in it,” Eric continued. “Too many men can’t stand to see a woman in charge. And listen, I get it; I wasn’t a fan of Hillary in 2016, and I know Kamala ran a poor campaign in 2020, but still. At some point, you have to get over yourself and recognize that this is a choice between a narcissistic sociopath and a normal, decent politician.”
As Markus listened, he sipped his drink anxiously, felt the same twisting in his stomach that he felt when he was scrolling through social media. He wasn’t sure he could point out anything that he disagreed with, but something about the whole conversation felt soul-sucking to him, even if they were all ostensibly on the same side. It was as if a group of older siblings had come together to complain about their stupid younger brother. Even if he agreed, he felt the whole thing was somehow debasing to everyone involved. He began thinking about a cousin of his who had voted for Biden in the last election, but had told him he was voting for Trump this time. He had told Markus that it was because the Democrats had forgotten about ordinary people like him. He said they were only concerned about coddling the freaks, the illegals, and the college-educated elites who called themselves “middle class,” even as life got harder for everyone else. Markus had felt the same twisting in his stomach then as well.
“What do you think, Markus?” Anne asked, perhaps noticing his discomfort. “Why do you think so many people are voting for Trump, even if he’s going to raise their taxes?”
“I don’t know. What’s wrong with higher taxes?” Markus heard himself saying. “I’d be okay with paying higher taxes if I felt like it was going to the sorts of things I care about. Maybe they’re all just frustrated with the way the whole country seems to have left them behind.” He felt oddly defensive of his cousin in that moment — even though he strongly disagreed with him. Something about Eric’s attitude felt hostile, and he didn’t like the idea of being hostile to people like his cousin, who were so obviously reacting with anger because they knew people like Eric didn’t respect them. He thought that Eric was just perpetuating a vicious cycle of growing resentment — he wanted to be more generous. He also felt a little bit tipsy, and worried that he might be a bit in over his head.
Eric laughed. “I guess that may have made some sense in 2016, but now they’ve seen what a Trump presidency is really like. He certainly doesn’t care about them any more than the Democrats do. He only cares about his own power and his own wealth.“
“But at least he makes them feel listened to, right? At least he doesn’t hate them like you do.” Eric frowned, and Markus winced at his own directness.
He immediately tried to explain himself. “I don’t know. I don’t disagree with you; I just . . . I guess I don’t think any of this is really about who pays what in taxes, or even the rich versus the poor. I think it’s about who we let in and who we push away.” He thought about his Uber driver. “Who feels welcome at the election party and who doesn’t. I think a lot of people are voting for Trump because they think a lot of Democrats would prefer that they weren’t around.”
“Yeah, well, truth be told, some of them I don’t want around,” Eric said. “The racists, the incels, the religious nuts. The people whose whole thing is excluding other people. Do you think the Republicans are the more welcoming party? Their entire platform is just being anti-immigrant and anti-trans.“
“Listen, I’m on your side,” Markus protested. “I just don’t think it’s that simple. I think you’re right that they’re a party of exclusion. But I think, increasingly, we are too. I just think everyone wants a place to belong, a community that values them and gives them a way to contribute, to participate. And when they find that place, they’ll commit to it, even if it means higher taxes or excusing a tyrant. Some of us find that here. But you have to recognize that this—” Markus gestured around the room. “This just isn’t a place that values everyone.”
“I don’t know. I guess a lot of us are just tired of tolerating racists and sexists.”
“Yeah,” said Markus softly. “Maybe on both sides we’ve done too much tolerating of hate.”
At this, Eric spent a few moments in thought. “Yeah, maybe.”
After a few more moments of silence, Anne spoke up. “Hey Markus, do you want to get some fresh air?”
Anne and Markus stepped outside onto the front porch and looked out at the rows of houses, lit by the soft yellow haze of streetlights. Each home had its own unique style, but all lined up together, they looked remarkably uniform. “You know, I never really liked Eric,” Anne said with a smile. “But I’ve never heard him talk like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s always like that, of course. He’s always so sure of himself, even if he’s always right. But I think you triggered something in him. You pressed him in a way he wasn’t used to; you pressed him on his kindness, his generosity of spirit. In return, he was honest, and he listened.”
“I’m glad you felt that way, because I just felt kind of stupid.”
Anne laughed. “I’m really glad you came,” she said seriously. “You bring something . . . different. I swear it changes people.”
Suddenly, they heard a number of gasps and then excited chatter coming from inside. Markus checked his phone; it was 8 o’clock, and the first election results had begun to pour in.