Jennifer Close - The Hopefuls

What disturbed me the most about what was happening between Ash and Jimmy was that they were acting like we weren’t even there. We’d spent enough time together as couples that we’d been witness to each other’s arguments. But this was different. It was like they didn’t even notice that anyone else was around, too far gone to remember that they weren’t alone.

Matt was pretty quiet during dinner, almost like he wasn’t aware of the fighting at the table. I made a halfhearted attempt to talk about the melon that had won the contest that day — it was so big it seemed almost pornographic — but no one joined in and we finished our meal in silence.

—

Back at the hotel, Matt sat on the bed and read e-mails on his phone. “Don’t you want to take the comforter off the bed first?” I asked, and he looked at me and shrugged, moving just slightly so I could pull it off and throw it on the floor. “Comforters are the dirtiest parts of hotels,” I said.

“Actually, I think it’s the remote controls,” he said without looking up.

I turned on the TV and watched for a few minutes, then finally looked over at Matt. “That was some dinner, huh?”

“Yeah,” Matt said, still not taking his eyes off his phone.

“Matt,” I said. He finally looked at me. “I hate when you ignore me.”

“I’m not ignoring you. I’m just — I’m busy. It’s all bad news we’re getting. It’s not looking good.”

“Okay,” I said. “I get that. But I also think you should at least talk to me for five minutes a day. It shouldn’t be so much to ask. You can’t just shut me out.”

“I know that,” he said. He sighed and looked at me, and I had this weird feeling that he was going to set a timer for five minutes so that he could go back to work after he suffered through a conversation with me. I felt irritation rise in my throat, and I should’ve just dropped it, should’ve gone to bed. We were both tired and annoyed — but we’d been tired and annoyed for months now. So instead I said, “I felt bad for Ash tonight. Jimmy just really doesn’t help much with Viv.”

“I think he’s doing the best he can.”

“Yeah, but I mean, it’s still impossible. She’s taking Viv to all these events for him.”

“She knew what it would be like,” Matt said.

“Did she?”

“Yeah, I think she did. Campaigns aren’t easy.”

“Well, that’s sort of an understatement. Look what it’s doing to them.” What I really meant was, Look what it’s doing to us.

“What do you want me to say?” Matt asked. “This is part of it — it’s exhausting for the family too.”

“I guess I didn’t realize just how exhausting it would be,” I said. We were getting snippier with each thing we said, and I knew we were teetering on a fight.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Matt asked.

“Just that this”—I moved my arms around, gesturing at our room—“is disgusting. And you’re in a bad mood most of the time.” I saw Matt glance down at his phone and I wanted to say something to get his attention, to make him look at me. “Sometimes I just wonder why we did this. Why anyone would want to do this.”

“It’s hard, Beth. But this experience hasn’t changed my mind. I still intend to run for office one day. I still want that.”

“What if I don’t want to do it anymore?” I asked. And right then a look passed over his face, and I felt it — that if it came down to it, if he had to choose between me and running for office, he wouldn’t choose me.

Matt’s eyes narrowed. “I knew you were happy when I didn’t get the chance to run for that senate seat.”

“That’s not true,” I said.

“You can honestly tell me that you would’ve been happy about it? That you wanted it to happen?”

I didn’t say anything, and then Matt said, “I knew it. You know, I would never ask you to choose between me and your career.”

“You have asked me,” I said.

Matt snorted. “What? DCLOVE? It didn’t take much to convince you to leave that place. You didn’t really care about it. And you didn’t even have a job anymore when we left New York.”

“If I’d have known how miserable you’d be here, I never would’ve agreed to this.”

“We can’t all be delightful all the time,” Matt said in a snotty voice. We were loud, almost screaming, and I thought for a second that the Dillons could definitely hear us, but then I was too angry to care.

“Look,” I said. “I know that this has been hard for you. I’m sure you’re a little jealous of Jimmy and I know that—”

“You think I’m jealous?” Matt had an incredulous look on his face, like this was the craziest idea, and I almost laughed.

“Maybe jealous is the wrong word,” I said. But there was no backtracking.

“I don’t want to run for the Railroad Commission,” he said.

“No, I know. That’s not what I meant.”

“That’s what you said.” He turned away from me. “If you think this is about jealousy, then maybe you don’t know me at all.”

“Matt, come on.”

“Come on? Look, just because you don’t understand this, just because you don’t know what it’s like to have a job that you care about, don’t blame me. If you had anything like this — if you cared about writing, if you were passionate about anything, maybe you’d get it. But you’re not.”

I was silent for a full minute. Was this what Matt really thought of me? I shouldn’t have felt totally surprised — didn’t I sometimes think this very thing? — but it was strange and awful to hear my husband say what I feared about myself.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to run for office first,” I said, my voice making it clear that I was anything but. “I’m sorry you’re so jealous of Jimmy that you’re about to burst. But don’t you dare take it out on me.” I was so angry that my hands were shaking. We’d fought in the past, of course we had, but it had never felt like this, like things would be different after, like what we were saying couldn’t ever be taken back.

Matt stood up and walked right out the door without turning around. I didn’t call or text him that night. I assumed that he got another shitty room in this shitty hotel, but we never talked about it. I lay down, still fully dressed, and pulled the sheets over me. I slept fitfully that night — it felt like I woke up every five minutes or so, just long enough each time to remember that my husband wasn’t there.

In July, we went back to DC for a couple of days. Babs suggested it and I was adamant that we go. There was no way we were going to make it to St. Michaels in August, and I thought maybe seeing his family would cheer Matt up, or snap him back to normal, or do something, anything. His parents had talked about coming to see us in Texas, but Matt flat-out told them not to, said that we didn’t have any time to spend with them. The fact that I was now pushing to go see the Kellys should’ve been a red flag for everyone. But I was desperate.

Matt and I were on civil terms, but just barely. After the fight in Luling, we’d ridden home without talking to each other, which was surprisingly easy to do with two other adults and one baby in the car. Ash and Jimmy were still mad at each other too, so our car ride was like one big bizarre game of telephone: Each person could talk to anyone in the car except their spouse. Once, Ash slipped and asked Jimmy to turn down the radio, and then she sat back in her seat, put her sunglasses on, and frowned out the window. No doubt upset with herself for losing the game.

That night, back at the house, I said to Matt, “I’m sorry we fought,” which wasn’t the same thing as actually apologizing. He looked at me and said, “I’m sorry we fought too,” and then we both stood there, waiting for the other one to say something more. Neither of us did. There were moments when I thought about bringing it up, trying to resolve things — and then I’d remember what he said to me, how much his words stung, and I didn’t think there was anything that would make it better.