Jennifer Close - The Hopefuls

“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.