Jennifer Close - The Hopefuls

“Writing, I guess. I think he had this idea that I’d write a novel while we were here. Or at least try to. That I’d do something worthwhile.”

“You should write,” Jimmy said. “You’re talented.”

I laughed. “The only things you’ve read of mine are the things I wrote for DCLOVE. Did you see a lot of talent in the ‘Ten Best Places to Meet a Man in DC’ article?”

“I certainly did,” Jimmy said, giving me a half smile. “But also, Matt’s always talking about how great your writing is.”

“Really?” I asked. It was weird to hear something nice that Matt said about me secondhand. It had been so long since I’d felt like his compliments were free of ulterior motives. He’d always told me he thought my fiction was great, but since we’d moved to DC it felt like he encouraged me to write because it seemed more serious; that it would be less embarrassing for me to spend my days writing blind items about presidential aides if I was also working on a novel.

“Also,” Jimmy said, “I googled you and read one of your short stories that was published on a website.” He had his face toward the sun and his eyes were closed again, which I was happy about because I could feel my cheeks get warm as he told me this.

“You did?” I asked. It wasn’t that I couldn’t imagine Jimmy taking enough of an interest in me to google my name — or maybe it was — but it surprised me that he’d never mentioned it before, like he was keeping it a secret.

“But that’s not how I know you’re a good writer,” he said. He opened his eyes then and turned on his side to face me. I was on my back on the chair next to him and our positioning felt strangely intimate, like we were lying in bed together. “It’s because you’re so observant,” he continued. “You’re always watching people and you notice these little things about them — what makes them tick, what they really want, what they’re afraid of. You can sum anyone up in two lines. Most people are too busy worrying about themselves, but you’re always paying attention to everything around you.”

“Thanks,” I said. My voice didn’t sound like my own and I hoped Jimmy couldn’t hear it. I was flattered that he’d bothered to notice this about me, but our whole conversation was a little odd, a little different from the way we normally talked to each other, though I couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. I was happy when Jimmy broke the silence and said, “How about we go to Torchy’s and stuff ourselves?”

“Sounds perfect,” I said. And by the time we were eating tacos, things were completely normal between us, back to the way they always were.

But that night, as I stared at the back of Matt’s head while he slept, I thought about Jimmy’s words and how nice it was to have someone say something kind to me; how nice to have someone think about me at all.

—

When Ash and I were together, we talked only of surface things: logistical parts of campaign trips, new clothes, reality TV. She must have noticed this, the tentativeness between us. I felt angry with her, but didn’t know why, exactly. One night, we passed each other in the hallway and she said, “Oh, I saved Parenthood for you on the DVR.”

“You watched it?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “It was a sad one.” Since I’d been in Texas, it had been one of the shows we religiously watched together (Matt and Jimmy both refused), and this felt like a slight. But I just said, “Thank you,” and left it at that.

It seemed to me that Ash was stepping back from our friendship, that she was the one setting new boundaries, putting distance between us.

But also, there was one week I’d barely talked to her, when I almost couldn’t bring myself to meet her eyes. I’d had a dream about Jimmy, one where he climbed on top of me, his body heavy. It was just a dream, but it had felt so real as I woke up pulsing with pleasure, surprised to see he wasn’t there, disappointed, really, to see that Matt was.

So sure, maybe that was part of it too.

—

The last week in October, Jimmy’s schedule was completely packed. He and Matt had planned a full swing through Galveston County, Austin, Waco, and San Antonio; five days and four nights of travel, with multiple events in each city. After that, Jimmy would stay in Houston, do a few local appearances, and ride out the end of his campaign, waiting for Election Day.

When this trip arrived, I couldn’t remember how or why we’d all agreed to it. It must have seemed like a good idea at the time, but it certainly didn’t now. The night before we were supposed to leave, Ash whispered to me that she didn’t want to go. “I’m flat-out exhausted,” she said. She was folding Viv’s tiny clothes as she talked. “But I can’t say no — if I tell Jimmy I don’t want to go, he’ll take it personally, like I don’t believe he has a chance.” She paused and folded a little pink T-shirt that said DADDY’S LITTLE TEXAN on the front, ran her fingers over the sparkly cowboy hat. “But the thing is, it is over. He doesn’t have a chance. So why are we still pretending?”

She sounded angry as she whispered this last part, and her eyes filled with tears. This was the most substantial conversation we’d had in a while and I put my hand on her back to comfort her. “Hey, it’s okay,” I said. “Of course you’re tired. This has been hard on you.”

“I know it,” she said, gulping in some air. “We’re all just so run down, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” I said. “This schedule would make anyone lose it.”

It was true, how all the crappy food and sleep deprivation had affected us, and I wondered if that was the reason for our disharmony. Was it possible that we were just too tired to get along, too run down to be decent to each other?

Ash told me that she planned to leave Viv with her mom while we were gone. “I don’t want to be away from her for so many days, but it’s too much. I’ll lose my mind.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” I said, rubbing her back again. I had a moment of feeling hopeful, of believing there was a chance we could go back to normal when this was all done. But then she straightened up and wiped her eyes.

“It’ll be fine,” she said. And there was a sharpness to her voice, like she thought I’d tricked her into being honest, like I’d made her cry. She pulled a tiny pair of Viv’s pants tight as she folded them, stretching the material as far as it would go to make a crisp crease. “I just need to get everything organized for this week and it will be fine.”

—

The next morning, Matt and I carried our bags to the front hall and walked in on Jimmy and Ash having a fight. They were standing about two feet apart, glaring at each other, and Ash’s arms were folded across her chest. They weren’t talking, but it was clear they were mad. Ash’s mom was also standing there, just to the side of them, looking like she wanted to slip right back out the front door. When she saw us, she gave us an awkward little wave, but Ash and Jimmy didn’t even glance our way, and we paused for a moment, unsure what to do.

“Jimmy,” Ash said, breaking the silence. “I’m not going to pack up all of her gear and drag this poor child clear across Texas just so you can get a photo op with her. She needs stability.”

“She has stability,” Jimmy said.

“She doesn’t. She doesn’t get her naps at the right time when we travel, she doesn’t eat as well, she’s cranky and out of sorts for days when we get back.”

“She’s a baby. She’ll adjust.”

“Exactly. She’s a baby,” Ash said. They stared at each other for a few seconds without talking and I wondered if this was the time to sneak out, but we just stayed frozen where we were.