The Hopefuls (31 page)

When the bartender brought us our drinks, Jimmy and I clinked them together, out of habit, obviously, since there was nothing about our night worth celebrating. I drank my vodka quickly, wanting something to make me feel less awful. Jimmy watched as I finished it, laughed, and then said approvingly, “Nice,” as he raised his hand to the bartender to bring me another one.

“You know,” he said, once I had my new drink. “Your husband thinks he's smarter than me.” He was staring at the bar, and for a second I thought he was embarrassed, but then he looked up and I saw that he was angry—angry in a way I'd never seen him before—and it was disorienting. Even when he and Matt were fighting, he could crack a joke a minute later, lighten things up. It always seemed like nothing bothered him for too long. Now his eyes looked dark.

“He doesn't think that,” I said, knowing that I didn't sound convincing. “He just gets like that sometimes, you know that. He's a know-it-all. He doesn't even realize he's doing it.”

“The reason it pisses me off so much,” Jimmy continued as if I hadn't spoken, “is because it's true. He is smarter than me. I mean, he went to Harvard, after all.” Jimmy made his voice high and snotty sounding when he said “Harvard,” then loudly crunched an ice cube between his teeth. “And he knows he's smarter, and he knows that I know it, too.

“He thinks it should be reversed, that I should be the one working for his campaign, that I don't deserve to run for office. Of course, he probably wouldn't hire me anyway.”

“I'm sure he doesn't think that,” I said.

“Of course he does, Beth. Of course he does.”

“Is Ash okay?” I asked. “She seemed so angry.”

“She's fine. We had a fight earlier and she's still mad. She just needs to calm the fuck down.”

“What was the fight about?”

Jimmy sighed. “She told me that the campaign was interfering with her career. Her
career.
Like selling that shit jewelry is going to get her somewhere.”

“She's been really successful,” I said, trying to be diplomatic, and Jimmy snorted.

“Whatever,” he said, dismissing the idea that Ash deserved any credit.

“Also, I'm sure she's just tired.” I felt a compulsive need to defend Ash. “The campaign's been hard on her.”

“You know what?” Jimmy said. “I don't really care if it's been hard on her. It's my name on the ballot. I'm the one that's going to lose—not Matt, not Ash. Me. That's all people are going to remember. My name and how I failed.”

“I don't think anyone thinks about it like that,” I said, putting my hand on his forearm. “I promise.”

We were quiet for a minute, and Jimmy raised his hand to order more drinks. I felt the vodka hit me then, my stomach full of liquid, my head fuzzy, and I wondered if the bartender would refuse to serve us, if we'd end this night by getting cut off at the Applebee's bar, which would be a new low. But he brought fresh drinks right over to us, and I noticed that the fat man at the end of the bar had his eyes closed like he was taking a nap, so maybe Jimmy and I weren't the drunkest customers of the night.

“Matt's been a real dick lately, hasn't he?” Jimmy said, turning to me. “I think that might be partly my fault. It's probably sucked for you.”

“It's not your fault,” I said. “It's just how he's acting.” Jimmy didn't respond, and then I said, “It's like he doesn't even really like me anymore. And he wants to have a baby, apparently.” I was bumbling, but I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth, feeling like I'd betrayed Matt somehow.

Jimmy just nodded, but didn't look surprised, and I wondered if he and Matt had ever discussed this. “And you don't?” he asked, his tone neutral.

“No, I do,” I said. “I've always wanted to. It's just now doesn't seem like the right time, you know? How can we have a baby if he doesn't even want to talk to me? It's like borrowing trouble or whatever.” I could hear how drunk I sounded.

“Yeah, I get that,” Jimmy said. “And I mean, you should be sure, because it's hard. It changes things.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I'm not scared of things changing, not like that. I'm just—I don't know what I'm trying to say.”

“I get it,” he said, which couldn't have possibly been true because I was making little to no sense. “You know, since we've had Viv, Ash never touches me, never wants me to touch her. Ever. And I don't mean to sound like some crazy husband, but I mean, never. If we're in public, she'll pretend. But by ourselves? Nothing.”

“Well,” I said, feeling clumsy. “I'm sure that's normal, right? Just like an adjustment period? I'm sure it is. I mean, I don't know personally, but I think that happens to a lot of people.”

“You know that Viv is a year and a half old, right?” Jimmy asked.

“I do,” I said. The bartender brought over two more drinks then, without us even asking. Jimmy and I had shared more intimate information in the past ten minutes than in all the time we'd known each other. We'd never talked like this—if we ever bad-mouthed our spouses it was always in the winking and joking manner of happy couples who are free to complain about dishes in the sink and unmade beds because they're so clearly in love. But because we'd gone this far, I said, “I mean, it really feels sometimes like Matt can't stand me. Like he doesn't care about me at all. He never thinks about me. I'm an afterthought, always.” I took a deep breath. “Sometimes I feel like we aren't going to make it, I really do.”

The words sounded too dramatic, but there was no taking them back, so I just stopped talking.

“I know what you mean,” Jimmy said. “I really do.”

“No, you don't,” I said.

“I do. And you know what, Beth?” He put his hand on my arm, and I turned to look at him. “You deserve someone who thinks about you. All the time. You're so amazing. You deserve the best.”

We kept looking at each other, past the point where it felt comfortable. And somewhere in my head, I was aware that his hand was still on my arm. That was the only part of us that was touching, but we kept staring into each other's eyes, and it felt like more, like we were doing something inappropriate, crossing a line. Jimmy reached up and brushed my hair off my shoulder, and finally I broke my eyes away from him, stared up at the TV in the corner of the bar.

“Beth,” Jimmy said, but I couldn't look at him. For some reason, I felt like I was going to start crying. “Beth, look at me.” I shook my head and rubbed one of my eyes and then felt Jimmy's hand on top of my head, in a gesture that was almost brotherly, like he was about to ruffle my hair or give me a noogie. I did look at him then, and he took a deep breath. “You're going to be fine,” he said. “We're all going to be fine.”

It was hard to keep him in focus; everything around me was rocking back and forth. “We should go,” I said, sliding off the barstool. “We're drunk.” As I stood, I knew there was a good chance I was going to be sick and just hoped I'd make it back to the room before it happened.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and I nodded.

“Good,” he said.

We walked back to our rooms, which were right next to each other, and Jimmy laughed as I closed one eye to concentrate on sliding the card into the lock. “You got that?” he asked in a stage whisper, and I gave him a thumbs-up before going inside.

I did get sick that night, violently so, and I cursed myself as I knelt on the bathroom tile—for how stupid I'd been, for how much I'd had to drink, for how much I'd said. But when I finally brushed my teeth and climbed into bed, empty and wrung out, I thought of Jimmy's eyes on mine, the way he'd brushed my hair away, and even with my stomach still turning, I smiled into the darkness.

The next morning when we got to the car, Jimmy was leaning against it, wearing sunglasses and holding a tray with four cups of coffee in it. “Here, man,” he said, handing one to Matt. “This one's yours. Black.”

“Thanks,” Matt said and nodded at him. It appeared this exchange was going to be a satisfactory apology for both of them.

Jimmy took out another cup and gave it to me. “One coffee with cream, for you,” he said, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head and winking. Jimmy always winked, just like he always called waitresses sweetheart. This was nothing new, but as I took my cup of coffee from him, my stomach flipped.

Ash came out of the hotel then and Jimmy held out a cup of coffee in her direction, which she accepted wordlessly before getting in the car. I settled in the backseat next to her and put my seat belt on. Matt began to drive, and I drank my coffee, willing my headache to go away. A few minutes later, my phone beeped with a text from Jimmy, who was sitting directly in front of me:
Chin up, ok?
I felt my stomach flip again, told myself it was just from all the vodka I'd had the night before, although I knew better.

We were pretty quiet on the ride home, but not in the same way as we'd started the trip. There was a resigned sense in the car, the way it feels when you know something is over and you're just waiting for the end to come.

B
ack in Houston, the last few days before the election crawled by. Friday was Halloween, so after Jimmy stopped by a community center and a church group in the morning, he and Matt returned home so he could take Viv trick-or-treating. Ash had decided months earlier that Viv should be a pumpkin for Halloween. (“Because she's our little pumpkin,” she explained, as if they were the only people in America who referred to their baby as pumpkin.) Beverly made the costume herself, and it was a beautiful one—a soft round pumpkin body with a jack-o'-lantern face on the front. Viv wore green striped tights and sparkly green shoes and (of course) a headband that had a leaf attached to it.

Ash got her dressed upstairs, then had us all wait in the front hall as she brought her down. Both sets of grandparents were there, and we all stood at the bottom of the stairs, clapping as Ash presented her. Viv laughed at the attention and then started clapping for herself. We all agreed that she made an exceptionally cute pumpkin.

Jimmy and Ash posed with her in front of the house, and I took pictures of the three of them smiling and looking adorable, which were immediately posted to Facebook. (What you couldn't see from the picture was the fight they'd had right before, when Ash asked Jimmy to put on a different shirt so they could better color-coordinate and he said, “What is this, a fucking catalog shoot?” before stomping up the stairs to change.)

Sugar Land went all out for Halloween—there were costume parades and haunted houses in the town square. Families decorated with huge cobwebs and spiders on their lawns, ghosts hanging from trees, scarecrows propped up by front doors. By 3:30, the sidewalks were flooded with groups of tiny costumed children. Matt and I stayed at the house to hand out candy while Jimmy, Ash, and the grandparents took Viv trick-or-treating. (She only made it to about five houses before she was ready to call it quits.)

Later, we all ate the chili that Mrs. Dillon had brought over and drank pumpkin beer and ate leftover miniature Milky Ways. We were acting chipper, maybe for the benefit of the grandparents, but the evening had a strained feeling to it. I got into bed early that night, before 9:00. I wasn't all that tired, but I was ready for the day to be over, impatient for morning to come so we could be one day closer to putting this all behind us. If we could just get through the next week as planned, I felt that things would be okay. But it took me a while to fall asleep that night, possibly because my mind was busy, thinking, Hurry, hurry.

On Saturday, we went to a Rock the Vote rally and I handed out push cards as fast as I could—I'd noticed there were still boxes of them in the den and I figured the fewer that were left, the less depressing it would be. (I noticed that Matt and Ash were both handing out their own push cards at an impressive speed, which made me think they had the same thought I did.)

Candace Elroy wasn't at this event—the Republicans were always invited but rarely participated—so Jimmy was one of only three Democratic candidates who spoke. As he came up to the stage, I took note of how handsome he looked. He'd always been handsome, of course. This wasn't anything new. And it's not like I'd never thought about it before—it was, after all, the very first thing I'd noticed about him when we met. But my awareness of it now felt different. It wasn't just a fact that I knew about him—like that he was tall or from Texas—it was something I was conscious of all the time, in a way that seemed stupid and dangerous. When we got out of the car that day, he'd brushed by me and my whole body had buzzed. As we walked into the event, he said, “Are you ready for this?” and I said, “As ready as I'll ever be,” and then he held up his hand for a high five, and when I awkwardly slapped his palm, I felt my cheeks get warm.

Katie stood next to me while Jimmy spoke. She was as serious and diligent as ever and had plans to move to DC in January. Matt had already hooked her up with a few people there, and I knew without a doubt that she'd find a job easily, that she'd be successful. She was so certain of what she wanted to do, and I felt something like jealousy that day as she smoothed her ponytail and clapped at Jimmy's words. When he was done, she turned to me out of the blue and said with complete seriousness, “You should be proud of how you handled the social media. Not everyone your age can navigate it so well.”

That night, we picked up pizza on the way home and ate an early dinner in front of the television, balancing plates on our laps. We were all quieter those last few days—there was no more fighting or at least none that I saw. Matt wasn't quite so forceful with his opinions, and Jimmy didn't push back as much. The two of them were acting like a couple who are getting divorced but still have to live in the same house after the decision's been made—there was nothing left to fight for so they may as well be civil.

The TV was on MSNBC, but as soon as we sat down, Jimmy said, “Does anyone mind if I put on the Texas game?” We all shook our heads no, and I was happy as the noise of football filled the room, sick of listening to the news.

Ash took tiny bites of her slice and then got up and walked her plate to the kitchen. I sat a few minutes longer, staring at the game, pretending to be interested, but I didn't care about either team and it wasn't particularly close anyway. I got up to take my own plate to the kitchen, grabbing Jimmy's and Matt's as well, both of them saying “Thanks” while keeping their eyes glued to the TV.

In the kitchen, Ash was on her laptop at the table but looked up as I walked in. “Everyone's done?” she asked, and I said, “Yeah.”

I rinsed the plates and put them in the dishwasher, then turned to face her and said, “What are you up to?” It wasn't that I was really interested, but it felt rude to leave without saying anything else.

She sighed. “I'm trying to get some things on the calendar for the winter months. You have to book so early for the holiday season. People just get so busy, but they're also in the mood to buy things.”

“True,” I said. “I can't believe it's November.”

She shook her head. “I know it. And then the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas goes like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“Always,” I said. This conversation was one I would've had with my mailman, which was depressing, and I wanted it to be over, for us to stop saying these generic things to each other.

“You're leaving so soon,” she said.

“I know.”

“Do you know what you'll do when you get back?”

“No clue. I thought I'd have a great idea while I was here, but no such luck.” I didn't realize this was true until I said it out loud, that some part of me was hoping I'd figure out what I wanted to do with my career while I was in Texas. But I didn't. Almost a whole year had passed and not one thing had changed—I still felt as ambivalent as ever.

“Well, I'm sure you could always go back to DCLOVE,” she said, and then laughed at the face I made. “Or you could come work with me. You could corner the jewelry market in DC.”

My answer was completely sincere. “I'm not sure I'd be any good at it,” I said. “I don't have your charm.”

When we'd returned from the last trip, Matt had suggested that he and I move to a hotel on the Sunday before the election and stay there until it was over. “To give Jimmy and Ash some space,” he said, which was sort of a ridiculous idea since we'd been living in their house for the past ten months. Why would we give them space now? I knew the real reason was that he didn't want to be there after Jimmy lost, that he thought it would be easier if we could go somewhere else that night.

But I agreed to the hotel because I also thought space would be good, just for different reasons. I didn't want to be in the same house as Jimmy—as hard as I tried, I couldn't stop wondering what would've happened if we'd stayed longer at the bar that night; kept imagining him kissing me, hard, his hands all over me.

It was normal, I told myself, to have thoughts like these. Once, I almost googled it, to reassure myself that adulterous daydreams were common and harmless. (Surely Oprah had done a show on the topic at some point.) But then I imagined Matt using my computer, finding my search history, and decided against it. Which was maybe proof that I was guilty of something.

So I told Matt that I agreed, that I thought the hotel was a good idea.

We each took just a small bag to the hotel, leaving most of our clothes at the Dillons'. We'd need to pack it all soon enough. Matt had already started boxing up some things, eager to get ready so we could leave as quickly as possible.

I thought it would feel weird to stay in a hotel, but we'd stayed in so many the past year that when we got to the Holiday Inn Express, it felt a little like home, which was equal parts reassuring and depressing.

Jimmy's parents were hosting a small get-together for family and friends the night of the election, but Mrs. Dillon insisted that the four of us come over on Monday night as well. “You all deserve a home-cooked meal,” she'd said, rubbing Jimmy's back. I could see how much she wanted to do something—anything—to make Jimmy feel better.

Matt and I drove to their house from our hotel and arrived before Jimmy and Ash. As Mr. Dillon opened the door, Matt handed him a bottle of wine that we'd stopped to pick up at Whole Foods. “For you, sir,” he said, and I couldn't help but notice what a kiss ass he sounded like. He'd insisted on buying a fifty-dollar bottle of wine, which seemed too much, but when I said something about it, he said, “The Dillons always serve really nice wine,” making me feel like I'd suggested getting them a box of Franzia.

The four of us sat down in the living room and made small talk, which mostly meant that Matt talked to Mr. Dillon while I sat stiffly on the couch. (At Jimmy's parents' house, I always had the feeling that I was going to get in trouble for something or be yelled at for having poor manners, like I was a friend they didn't approve of.)

Almost twenty minutes went by, at which point Mrs. Dillon said, “I don't know where they could be. I'm starting to get worried.” But just as the words left her mouth, we heard the front door open and Jimmy call out, “Hello?”

Mrs. Dillon got up to give him a hug as he walked into the room, looked behind him, and then said, “Where's Ashleigh?”

“She's not going to make it. She was at her mom's this afternoon and Viv got a fever, so she gave her some Tylenol and put her down. She's still sleeping, so we thought it was best to just let her be.”

“Well, that's a shame,” Mrs. Dillon said. She pursed her lips, but made no further comment.

Once Jimmy got there, we sat down for dinner right away, and everyone ate quickly, mostly because no one was talking much so we had a lot more time to concentrate on chewing. Once, I said to Mrs. Dillon, “This roast is delicious,” and she answered by saying, “Aren't you sweet?” (Another question I was pretty sure she thought the answer to was no.)

After the plates were cleared, Mr. Dillon asked if anyone was interested in a glass of port, and Matt said, “That sounds great,” which was the exact opposite of how I felt. I wanted to say our good-byes so we could get out of there, and it looked like Jimmy felt the same way, but we all followed Mr. Dillon back to the living room and accepted the tiny glasses that he poured. I hate port, but I took it anyway, just wanting to get on with it.

For the most part, just like at dinner, Mr. Dillon and Matt were the only ones talking. They were dissecting the other races taking place on Tuesday, picking apart the campaigns and making predictions. I snuck a look at Jimmy, who seemed tired, and sipped my port, which made me feel warm. When Mr. Dillon picked up the bottle to pour us each another glass, I said, “Oh, I shouldn't. We should probably be going. It's getting late and I still need to stop by Jimmy and Ash's to get a dress for tomorrow—I forgot to pack one before we went to the hotel.”

I could feel Matt's displeasure with my announcement. I'm sure he thought it was rude of me to end the night, but I didn't care. And when I looked over at him, he said, “We'll just stay a little longer.”

Jimmy put his glass down on the table and said, “You know what? I should call it a night. Beth, I'll go back with you to the house if you want. Matt can pick you up when he's done.”

“Perfect,” Matt said.

Jimmy and I said our good-byes, and if I felt strange about being alone with him or thought that it was a bad idea, it was too late to do anything about it. Changing my mind then would've seemed weird, so I followed him outside. It was only when the door shut behind us that I realized his car wasn't there.

“You walked?” I asked. Even though Jimmy and Ash lived so close to his parents, they always drove. It was the Texas way.

Jimmy shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “The other night I had a little too much to drink and drove home.” I started to say something and he held up his hand. “I know, I know. You don't have to tell me. I already know. It was stupid and I shouldn't have done it. Believe me, I feel like an asshole.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Anyway, tonight I figured there was a chance I'd want to get stinking drunk to deal with my dad, so once Ash wasn't coming I figured walking was the best bet.”

“Is Viv okay?”

“Yeah, she's fine. She really does have a fever,” he said, answering the question I hadn't asked but was thinking. “I mean, I'm sure Ash was thrilled to have an excuse not to come, but the fever part was true.”

We walked down the sidewalk and then turned left at the pond, wound our way back to the house. I would never get over the weirdness of Sugar Land, how appealing and repulsive it was, with its large and beautiful homes, its pretty but artificial terrain. We didn't talk for a few minutes, just walked silently past a pond, and then Jimmy said, “So, how's things?”