The Hopefuls (33 page)

“Hi,” he said back, looking in the mirror as he knotted his tie.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I'm just ready for this to be over.” I sat up and pulled the covers off, and he looked at me. “You don't have to get up. Stay here and sleep. Just be ready to go around five.”

That was the time we'd have to leave for the election party at the Dillons', and I was surprised that he still wanted me to go, but I just nodded and said, “Sure.”

I spent most of the day in the hotel room, imagining what Matt and Jimmy were saying to each other, if they were saying anything at all. What was Ash doing? She hadn't called to yell at me, but that didn't mean she didn't know. I left once to get a salad, but found it impossible to eat and only managed to choke down a couple of bites of lettuce before abandoning it. My stomach twisted and I thought I might get sick.

By the time Matt came back to get me, I'd been dressed and ready to go for almost three hours. He didn't bother to come up to the room, just texted that he was downstairs. As I walked out the door, I tried to think if I'd ever dreaded anything as much as I was dreading this party and decided that the answer was definitely no. I would've given anything to stay at the hotel, even if it meant I'd have only my paranoid thoughts to keep me company. I didn't know why Matt even wanted me to go—maybe he thought it would look bad if I didn't, maybe he wanted me to feel uncomfortable and embarrassed, to pay for what I'd done.

When I got in the car, Matt was typing on his BlackBerry and didn't say anything for a minute. Then he put it down and said, “Ready to go?” and pulled away before I answered. On the way, I asked him about the day, and he answered me in a tone that was both polite and removed, like I was a reporter that he didn't particularly care for, but knew he couldn't ignore. I hesitated, and then asked him if Jimmy told Ash what had happened—I didn't want to, but I felt like I had to know before we got to the party so I could be prepared.

“I don't know,” he said, evenly.

“You didn't ask?” I said.

“We didn't talk about it,” Matt said. It seemed unbelievable to me that they'd spent the whole day together and never once acknowledged what had happened, but Matt's jaw was firm and his answer didn't leave any room for further discussion, so I dropped it.

As we pulled into the driveway, I said, “Matt, I'm so sorry.”

He turned off the ignition and let out a long sigh. “I know,” he said.

The actual party wasn't quite as bad as I'd feared, mostly because by the time we arrived, there were already about twenty people there, which made it crowded enough so I felt like I could sort of blend in. When we walked inside, Jimmy was in the corner by the fireplace, talking to one of his father's friends who had donated quite a bit to the campaign. “I should go check in,” Matt said, before walking away and leaving me alone by the door.

One of the caterers came up to me with a tray of white wine, and I took a glass, just to have something to do with my hands. Through the doorway, I saw Ash in the other room, standing alone and looking at her phone. I'd already decided that I was going to say something to her right away, to apologize. To wait any longer would just make it worse.

She smiled as I walked over, and before I could change my mind, I said, “Ash, I just wanted to explain about last night.”

She waved her hand in the air, like the whole thing was a silly misunderstanding. “Oh, you don't have to,” she said. “Jimmy already did and it's fine.” She lowered her voice. “I guess we can't be too surprised they had a fight before this was all done, right? It was coming for a while, I guess. But still…it all seems so childish.”

“I know,” I said, unsure of how to continue. Was it possible that Jimmy had only told her that he and Matt had fought and left out the reason behind it? I had assumed that he'd tell her something, even if it was just a watered-down version of events. But now I wasn't sure she knew any of it.

“I think we're all a little loony after this, don't you?” she said.

“Yeah,” I said. “But still, I'm sorry for what happened.”

I could've been referring to the fight between Matt and Jimmy, could've been apologizing for Matt's behavior, if that's all she knew about. But something told me it wasn't, because she smiled then and it looked a little tight as she said, “Really. It's fine.”

It's funny how unimportant election night actually felt. This was what we'd been working toward all those months, it was why we'd driven all over Texas and gone into the homes of strangers, attended church picnics and potlucks. But that night, there was no more adrenaline, no more excitement. We just waited for an answer we already knew was coming. In some ways it felt like the most insignificant part of the whole campaign.

The call came pretty early, around 8:00 p.m. The television was on in one of the rooms, the sound turned low, but we all noticed when they called the race. It didn't feel especially sad—it was more exhaustion and relief, like the whole room exhaled at once. I'd spent most of the night standing next to Matt while he talked to different guests, not really participating in any of the conversations, just observing. When they called the race, I put a hand on his back, but he didn't give any indication that he felt it.

Jimmy gave a short speech to thank everyone—his supporters, his parents, and finally Ash and Viv. “I know this wasn't easy for you, and I appreciate all of the sacrifices you made. You two are the best.” He looked over at Ash, sounding absolutely sincere as he said, “I'm a lucky guy.”

After Jimmy spoke, people started leaving pretty quickly. I was scared we'd be left alone with just the Dillon family, something I didn't think I'd be able to handle, and I was relieved when Matt started saying good-bye to people so we could make our exit.

Before we left, I thanked Mrs. Dillon and said good-bye. She gave me an air kiss and then held one of my hands in hers and said, “Do you know how much you'll be missed around here?”

I refrained from saying, “Not one fucking tiny bit,” and instead just smiled and squeezed her hand.

Once we were in the car, Matt drove a couple of blocks without talking. The feeling between us was so strange—not anger or avoidance, more like he was too preoccupied to notice I was there.

“I can't believe it's over,” I said, just to fill the silence.

“I know,” Matt said.

“Do you think you still want to leave Friday?” I asked. This had been our tentative plan, but we'd left things up in the air. Now I figured we both wanted to get out of Texas as quickly as possible.

“Beth,” Matt said. He cleared his throat and didn't take his eyes off the road. “I think you should go home tomorrow.”

“You want to leave tomorrow?”

“No, I think you should go home. I looked online and put a flight on hold for you for tomorrow night.” Matt sounded so calm as he spoke that it took me a second to understand what he was saying. “I don't think we should drive home together,” he continued. “You go and I'll take the car. I want to take some time.”

“Some time away from me?” I asked. My voice sounded panicked, and I felt blindsided although I probably shouldn't have. What did I think? That we'd forget what had happened and have a nice drive home together?

“Some time,” he said. “A week or two. Maybe more.”

“When will you come home? Will you let me know?”

“I don't know,” he said. “I'm not trying to be mean. I'm really not.” He almost looked like he felt sorry for me. “I'll be in touch.”

“Can I text you?” I asked, and he shook his head. I swallowed hard. “Are you sure about this? You don't want to talk about it?”

“No,” he said. “I don't.”

I nodded into the darkness, feeling like a child being punished, being sent home after behaving badly. I'd been an idiot to think this wouldn't happen—hadn't we already been on shaky ground? Wasn't that why this had happened in the first place? Of course he might leave me, of course this could break us. I thought about arguing, about fighting to stay, but it felt like I'd lost that right for the time being, so I just said, “Okay.”

M
y flight landed at Reagan late on Wednesday, and after waiting at baggage claim and then again in the cab line, it was almost midnight by the time I got home. All the lights were off as we pulled up and the streets were empty, and as the cab drove away, I felt a surge of fear—it was creepy standing there alone in front of my dark apartment, like something or someone could be lurking inside, just waiting for me. I didn't want to go in, but what choice did I have? And after I unlocked the door and turned on the lights, I almost laughed at how childish I was being. Why was I bothering to invent something to worry about when I already had plenty? No need to borrow trouble, my mom would've said. (Although I still triple-locked the door behind me.)

We hadn't been back to the apartment since July, and even though Babs was sending Rosie over every couple of weeks, it felt stuffy and dusty. I carried my bags to the first floor and left them there as I continued to the bedroom. The bed was made, but when I pulled back the duvet, I saw that the sheets had been stripped and not replaced. I stood there for a minute, trying to decide if I should get a clean set, then decided it wasn't worth the trouble, took off my clothes, and climbed onto the bare mattress, pulling the duvet over me. I turned on the TV, thinking I'd be up all night, but lying there I was so tired I was almost dizzy.

Normally, whenever I traveled anywhere, Matt would say, “Let me know when you get there.” It didn't matter what time it was or what else was going on—he always wanted to know that I'd made it safely. But that day, when I'd left the hotel, he'd just said, “Take care.”

I plugged the phone in right next to me so I could hear it, just in case. I kept thinking that habit would take over, that he'd check in to make sure I was okay. But my phone was quiet all night.

When we were in college and horribly hungover, Colleen used to look at the clock and say, “By two o'clock we'll feel better. We just have to make it until then.” There were times it was hard to believe her, when it seemed like my headache would never go away, felt like my body was permanently damaged. But it always helped, just a little, to have something to aim for, to have some hope.

I found myself doing this while waiting for Matt to come home. In one week, he'll be back. In one month, things will be better. And then, before I could stop myself, I'd think, In one year, I'll be divorced, and my chest would get so tight I'd lose my breath. I felt sick all the time.

For two days, I stayed inside the apartment, checking my phone obsessively and leaving only when I absolutely had to. I let my thoughts run wild: What if Matt never came home? What if Rosie came over to clean and found me there? How long could I survive on takeout? Was I heading toward a Grey Gardens–like future?

I called my parents to let them know I was back in DC, said that Matt was finishing up things in Texas but would be home soon. I kept the conversation short, making it sound like I was superbusy, like there was a ton to catch up on.

“What an adventure you two had,” my mom said.

“I know,” I told her. “We really did.”

On Saturday morning, my phone rang and I grabbed it, hoping it was Matt and feeling my stomach drop when I saw it was Jimmy. My first instinct was to drop it on the table, like it was contaminated, but then I picked it right back up again. I couldn't ignore it, because then I'd spend all day wondering why he was calling. I answered, hating how unsure my voice sounded as I said, “Hello?”

“Hey, Beth, it's Jimmy.”

“Hi,” I said. I thought how strange it was that people still felt they had to identify themselves on the phone, when we always knew who was calling before we picked up.

“I was just on my way to the store and I thought I'd call to see how you are.”

“I'm okay,” I said. And then as a reflex more than anything else, “How are you?”

“Not so bad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he answered with a laugh in his voice.

“Okay,” I said. “I just—”

“What?”

“I don't know. I'm actually not okay, you know? I'm not good at all. I feel awful about what happened.”

Jimmy was silent for a while, and I wondered if he was surprised or annoyed that I'd brought it up. Did he really think we were going to have a phone call and not talk about it? “Me too,” he finally said, but he didn't sound remorseful at all. “But look, things happen. We were both upset. It's been a crazy year.”

“I guess,” I said, and right then I knew that this wasn't the first time Jimmy had had to make a call like this, that the rumors about him were true. I knew it in a way I hadn't before, knew because of the way he said “Things happen” so calmly.

“Don't beat yourself up about it,” he said. “That's what I really called to say.” He sounded a little impatient then, like he wanted me to stop being so dramatic. It was a sensation familiar from college—a guy making me feel like I was making a bigger deal out of something than was necessary, who thought I should just (and oh, how I hated this word) relax.

I didn't say anything for a few seconds while I debated pushing further, making him admit that I—that we—deserved to beat ourselves up a little. But what was the point?

“Did Matt pack our stuff?” I finally asked, changing the subject and giving him what he wanted.

“Oh yeah, he couldn't get out of here fast enough. He left on Thursday.”

“Thursday?” I asked. This meant that Matt could be in DC soon, could possibly be home tonight. Although I was pretty sure he wouldn't be coming back so soon—or at least, not to the apartment.

“You didn't know?” Jimmy asked.

“No. I haven't talked to him since I left.”

Jimmy let out a low whistle. “That's tough,” he said. “But listen, you two will work it out. Like I said, things happen.”

I envied how casual he sounded and I hated it too, because I knew he wasn't faking it. How easy it must be to go through life being Jimmy Dillon, to always be so sure that things would work out for you, that your messes would be cleaned up.

“How's Ash?” I asked.

“She's good,” he said. “Staying busy.”

It was ridiculous for me to think there was any chance that Ash didn't know what was going on—the way I'd left Texas, suddenly and without saying good-bye, was absurd. Surely, if she didn't think I had anything to be blamed for, she would've called me by now. And thinking of Ash being disappointed in the type of friend I'd turned out to be—to tell you the truth, it felt worse than anything.

“Thanks for calling,” I finally said.

“Sure thing,” he said, as breezily as if we'd been discussing dinner plans.

I called Colleen as soon as I hung up with Jimmy. She'd texted me a few times in the past week, asking when we'd be back, and (not knowing how to respond) I'd ignored her. When I told her I was home, she sounded thrilled, started talking about when we could get together, but I interrupted her and said, “I have to talk to you. Now. Are you free?”

“Now?” she asked. She must have heard the neediness in my voice, because she told me to hold on and I heard a muffled conversation take place as she covered the phone. When she came back, she said. “Okay, Bruce can watch Bea. Do you want to meet somewhere?”

“Can you come here?” I asked. I felt slightly ridiculous that I was being so cryptic, but I couldn't imagine getting into the details over the phone, and I was thankful when Colleen told me she'd be right over.

As soon as I answered the door, I started crying, but Colleen didn't say anything, just walked in and closed the door behind her. I must have looked pathetic, sniffling in my sweatpants and T-shirt. Colleen put her hand on my back and led me up the stairs gently, like I was elderly or maybe just plain crazy.

She must have wondered what was going on—if someone had died or there was another sort of emergency, I would've just told her on the phone. But I think she guessed that it had to do with me and Matt because she sat and patiently waited for me to start talking.

“I did something horrible,” I said. Colleen tilted her head at me, like she thought I might be kidding, but then I continued, telling the whole story, all of it coming out in one big mess of words.

When I was done, she leaned back on the couch and looked at the ceiling and then the floor and then the ceiling again. She blew a gust of air up at her bangs, making them flutter, and finally said, “Well, Jesus, Beth. That is not what I thought you were going to say.”

“I know,” I said, and then surprisingly let out a laugh. “I know, right?” It was shocking how much better it felt to have someone else know what I'd done, like confession. Already, I felt the release of telling her, knowing that she'd talk it through with me.

“How did it happen?” she asked, but she wasn't judging me. She sounded genuinely interested, like she needed all the details before she could understand it.

“I don't even know,” I said. And I really didn't, which might have been the worst part. Was I looking for attention? Trying to get back at Matt? Was I bored? Was it a moment of weakness? I'd been attracted to Jimmy, I couldn't deny that. But I certainly wasn't in love with him, didn't picture us running away together. The phone call with him that afternoon, his casual dismissal of things, had reminded me of his worst traits.

“You don't know?” Colleen asked.

“No,” I said, and let out a little sob. “Maybe I'm a sociopath.”

Colleen rolled her eyes. “All right. Let's not get carried away,” she said. And part of me agreed with her, but another part of me wondered how I could so easily betray so many people—not just my husband, but also one of my best friends.

“This isn't me,” I said, although wasn't that everyone's first reaction when they cheated? No one ever stood up and owned it, declared that cheating was just a part of their personality.

“I know,” Colleen said.

“I feel like a horrible person. No really, listen. Who does this kind of thing? What if I keep doing things like this?”

“Yeah, I wouldn't worry about that. I mean, I don't think you're about to start trying to seduce Bruce.” She couldn't help but smile after she said this, and then she looked serious again. “Beth, people make mistakes, you know.”

“Not like this,” I said.

Colleen looked at me as if she was unsure of how to continue. “Do you have feelings for him?” she finally asked, and I shook my head forcefully.

“No,” I said. “It was just a mistake.”

She nodded and then perked up, as if just remembering something, and pulled a bottle of wine out of her bag. “I brought reinforcements,” she said. I stayed on the couch as she opened the bottle, poured us each a glass, swirling it around before tasting it.

“I don't know how things got to this point,” I said. Colleen sat back down and refilled my glass, which I'd already drained.

“Well, it's not like things sounded good the last time we talked.” She said this almost gently, like she was telling me something I didn't know. I had a childish desire to correct her, although I don't know why. She was right.

“I know,” I said. “I just kept thinking things would get better if I waited it out. And then I made it worse.”

“So, Dogpants is still going through his mid-whatever crisis?” she asked. I just nodded. “Well, I mean, look. Couples go through this all the time. I don't think it's as weird as you think it is.”

“Maybe. That doesn't mean Matt's going to forgive me, though.”

“Maybe not,” she said.

“I just—I know I fucked up. But, Colleen, he was awful too. He really was. And I'm not saying that's an excuse, but it's true.”

“I know. I don't think you're trying to make excuses.”

“He didn't even care if I was there or not. It was like I didn't exist. Like he couldn't even be bothered to talk to me. I moved to Texas for him, for his job, and he just didn't even give a shit.” I got angry as I started telling her this, felt the wine warming me up.

“Well that sounds shitty.”

“It was. It was completely shitty. He was mean. It was like he was a different person or something. And I was so mad, but it didn't matter. I'm still mad.” I got louder with each word.

“Good. You should be mad, Beth. Get mad.”

And then I felt my anger crumble and I was near tears again. “I don't want to get divorced,” I said, sniffling.

“No one's talking about that right now.”

“What would I even do?”

“I don't know,” she said. Part of me appreciated her honesty and part of me just really wanted her to lie and tell me it would all be fine. “I don't really see you eat-pray-loving your way through this. No offense.”

I assumed the “no offense” meant, no offense that you're not brave enough to travel alone, no offense that you're such a baby you'd never go to Bali. But I couldn't have cared less that Colleen thought I was an emotional wimp, so I didn't even bother responding.

“Did you eat yet?” she asked, and I shook my head. I think my wild swing of emotions in a three-minute span—from apologetic to angry to pathetic—had alerted her that the wine was hitting me quickly.

She took charge then, and I was happy to let her. I watched from the couch as she ordered dinner and got more wine and called home to tell Bruce that she'd be staying over.

“You don't have to do that,” I said. “What about Bea?” I tried to sound convincing, but I wanted her to stay, badly, and I was happy when she just shook her head in a businesslike way.

“It's fine,” she said. “Plus, I think you could use the company.”

Later that night, after making me drink a glass of water and take two Advil, Colleen got into bed with me. I was drunk—incredibly so—and tired and grateful that she was there. We talked into the darkness, like we had for so many years, the pauses in our conversation getting longer as we each neared sleep. The last thing I remember her saying was “It's not the end of the world, Beth.”