The Hopefuls (28 page)

“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.

I
n 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.

So, the fight wasn't really over, it was just that neither of us saw the point in discussing it anymore. Which, when you thought about it, was so much worse.

The afternoon before we left, Ash and I were out back with Viv, who was toddling around in the grass, and Ash turned to me and said, “How are things going with Matt? I've been worried about you.”

She looked at me with such pity, like she couldn't imagine how I was dealing with my horrible marriage. I wanted to ask her if she was delusional, if she remembered all the fights she'd had lately with Jimmy. They'd been on strange terms since Luling, talking mostly through the baby, trading veiled insults all day. I'm sure it made her feel better to tell herself that Matt and I were much worse off than they were. At that moment, I wanted badly not to be living in her house, wished that I was far away from her. The trip to DC was well timed.

“Things are fine,” I finally said. “I'm not worried about anything.”

Matt and I landed at Reagan on Sunday afternoon and went right to our apartment, which had been vacated the week before by our renter. Matt walked all over the apartment, examining our furniture and the walls, almost like he was hoping to find something that was damaged so he'd have a reason to be angry. But it all looked fine. Babs had sent Rosie over a few days earlier, so it was shiny and clean and smelled like Murphy's Oil Soap. “It's good to be back, isn't it?” I said. “I missed this place.”

“Mmm,” Matt said, which could have meant yes or no or I don't give a fuck.

I didn't ask him to clarify.

Babs had (obviously) arranged for everyone to come over for Sunday dinner, and I was actually looking forward to it. Part of it was that I didn't like being alone with Matt—when it was just the two of us, it was impossible to ignore that something was wrong—and I thought it would be nice to have the distraction of his family.

Our car was in Texas, so we took an Uber to the Kellys', and I hoped that since Matt didn't have to worry about driving, he'd be able to relax and have a few beers. He spent the car ride looking down at his BlackBerry, which I'd started to think was just a convenient excuse to ignore me.

When we pulled up, Babs opened the door before we even had a chance to get out of the car. “They're here!” she yelled over her shoulder and into the house, not taking her eyes off Matt. She hadn't seen him in six months, which was the longest they'd ever been apart, and it looked like she wanted to run right over to him, but she managed to wait until we got to the door before folding him into her arms. “You look tired,” she said to him, and he pulled away from her. “I'm fine,” he said. She frowned, looking first at him and then at me. “And you look like you've lost weight. Are you taking care of yourself?”

“He's been working so hard,” I said.

“Well of course he has,” Babs said and put her hand on Matt's back as she led him into the house.

For once, I was grateful for the noise that the Kellys made. It was hard to think about anything amid the chaos. My nieces ran toward me, shrieking and jumping into my arms, being overdramatic and silly as they took turns hugging me. Jenny and Nellie grabbed me and took me out to the patio. “We already got you a glass of wine,” Nellie told me. Rebecca greeted me with a smile, sat outside with us for an unprecedented fifteen minutes before going to check on Jonah. “We really missed you,” she said before she got up, putting her hand on my forearm. It was the most affectionate she'd ever been with me. Even Meg hugged me before returning into the house to resume texting.

Jenny and Nellie chatted, and I kept an eye on Matt, waiting to see if he'd smile or relax or at least look less miserable. I did see him smiling when he talked to Babs, but even from across the lawn, I could tell it was a weak smile, an obligatory one.

For whatever reason, we were there for over two hours before we sat down to dinner—maybe Babs thought everyone would want extra time to visit or maybe something had gone wrong in the kitchen. (Although I don't think that was the case, because Babs didn't seem annoyed, which she would've been if Rosie had messed something up.)

A little before 7:00, most people had gone inside, but Matt and I were still sitting on the patio. “Are you okay?” I said. I asked him this question all the time during those months—when he was quiet, when he was mad, when he seemed spaced out. It probably made him angrier that I kept asking, but honestly, I couldn't help it.

“Yeah,” he said. “I'm just tired. I'd like to eat at some point. This is taking forever.”

“Your mom said it was almost ready,” I told him, and he nodded.

Our nephews Bobby and Conor were on the lawn, still playing with a kickball, getting goofy and kicking it high in the air, twirling to make themselves dizzy before trying to catch it. They stumbled close to where we were sitting, and Matt said, “Watch it, guys,” but they barely paid attention to him. He didn't normally discipline them, but we were the only adults in the backyard at the moment, so maybe he felt like he had to say something. Still, it was unusual.

On the next kick, the ball sailed to our table and knocked a few almost-empty drinks over, one of them landing right in Matt's lap.

“Jesus Christ, you guys. I said to watch it.” Matt's voice was so sharp that even I was taken aback, and the two boys stood there, frozen.

“Matt, take it easy,” I said quietly, but he just pointed to his pants and said, “Look at this. I'm a fucking mess.”

“Sorry, Uncle Matt,” the boys said together. They sounded so somber, and I waited for Matt to tell them it was fine, but he just made a big show of wiping himself off with a napkin, before saying, “Fuck,” and then standing up and walking inside.

“Is he mad?” Bobby asked me. His eyes were wide. Normally, they would've laughed at Matt's swearing, but they just stood and stared at me. Bobby and Conor weren't strangers to getting in trouble—they were rough boys, mischievous—but I don't think they'd ever heard Matt yell, and they'd certainly never had him yell at them.

“He's just in a bad mood,” I told them. “Don't worry about it. Really, it's okay, I know it was an accident. But maybe let's cool it with the game, okay?” The boys nodded and abandoned the ball on the grass, then ran inside themselves.

Right before we sat down to eat, Jenny came up next to me at the bar as I poured myself a glass of wine.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice low. “The boys said Matt yelled at them.”

I turned to face her and shook my head, then shifted my eyes to the side so they wouldn't meet hers. “Sorry about that,” I said. “He's been in the worst mood lately. Anything sets him off.”

“Oh, don't worry about that,” she said. “I'm sure the boys deserved whatever they got. I just meant, is everything okay with him? With you guys?”

“Yeah, he's just—” I started to tell her it was fine, but got choked up and she put her arm around me. The rest of the Kellys were in the dining room, and I prayed that no one could hear us. “He's so frustrated with the campaign,” I finally got out. “It's not going well and he's doing everything he can, but it doesn't really matter.”

“Listen,” she said. “This is just how men deal with their shit. Remember when Michael lost all that money in the investment with Chester?” I nodded, even though I had only a faint memory of a deal gone bad years earlier, had never gotten the whole story. “Well, he was a nightmare for months. Once he smashed a plate on the floor when one of the kids left it in the sink. Men don't know how to work through things without being total dicks. They just can't stand feeling like failures.”

“I don't know what else to do,” I said.

“Just wait it out,” Jenny said. “He's wound so tight right now, he can't even see straight. But he'll get through it.”

“What if he doesn't?”

“He will,” she said, firmly, and I understood that she wasn't going to explore any other possibility with me. But then she gave me a little squeeze. “Just hang in there. Eventually things will right themselves.”

On our ride home, I tried to tell Matt that the boys were hurt by the way he'd yelled at them. “I mean, too bad,” he said. “They can't just do whatever they want. I know they were just playing, but they were bugging the crap out of me.”

I wanted to tell him that six months earlier, he wouldn't have yelled like that. He would've laughed at the spilled drink, maybe jokingly chased after the boys. He'd always had endless amounts of patience with his nieces and nephews, found their rowdiness amusing. But he was already looking at his BlackBerry, so I dropped it.

That night, I lay awake with Matt sleeping next to me and wondered if this was just a phase, like Jenny said, or if it was something more. What if Matt's sunny personality, his happy nature that I'd fallen in love with, had just been conditional? What if he was only pleasant and kind when everything was working out for him, when good things were easily coming his way? This past year had turned him into a miserable person. So what was going to happen now?

The next night, I went to meet Colleen for dinner, and Matt met Benji and Alan and a couple other guys for a few drinks. “Maybe we'll meet up with you later,” I said, and Matt shrugged like he didn't really care. “Sure, maybe,” he said.

I went to Colleen's place first so that I could see Bea before we went out. Bea was already bathed and in pajamas when I got there, smiling at me from Colleen's arms. I reached for her, not sure she would come to me, but she did, diving right into my arms.

“She's so cute,” I said.

“I know,” Colleen said, matter of fact. “She's a really pretty baby.”

I was biting back a smile at this when Bruce came into the room. He took Bea from my arms and kissed my cheek hello.

“It's nice to see you,” he said. Colleen was already throwing keys in her purse, ready to go.

“You too,” I said. I squeezed Bea's leg. “And you too.”

Colleen kissed Bruce good-bye. And then he said, “You girls have fun,” which made him sound like he was our dad.

We went out for sushi, because that's what we always did. It was our tradition. Colleen had been the one to introduce me to sushi in college, acting like it was unbelievable I'd never eaten it before. “Seriously?” she kept saying. “You've seriously never had sushi before? That's so funny.” But she sounded more condescending than amused.

I was the first person Colleen ever met from the Midwest, and she liked to let me know how much more worldly she was, like I grew up on a farm. Once, when I'd reminded her that Madison was a city, and a really nice one at that, she'd smiled and said, “Sure, but a city in Wisconsin,” like that explained everything.

We went to Raku, which was just a few blocks from my apartment. It felt weird to be back. Weird, but nice. The waitress came over, and Colleen ordered for us, which was another habit we'd gotten into, but I didn't mind. She knew what I liked.

“I think I've been in Texas too long,” I told her. “We drive everywhere, basically. It's so nice to be able to walk to a restaurant.”

“So what's new?” she asked. “Tell me everything.”

I hadn't decided if I was going to tell Colleen what was going on with Matt—I didn't know that I'd really feel like discussing it all night. But once she asked, I started talking and couldn't stop. I told her how angry he was, how much we'd been fighting. I described everything that had happened in Luling, and how cold things were between us now.

“Whoa,” she said when I was finished. “Why did you wait so long to tell me this?”

“It wasn't something I wanted to get into on the phone,” I said. “Plus, I still don't even know what this is. I don't know what's going on. The other day, Matt told me he felt like I wasn't supporting him. Honestly. The only thing I do is support him. I'm in Texas supporting him. I moved to DC to support him. He's crazy.”

Colleen nodded. “Well,” she said. “He probably meant you weren't supporting what he really wants to do. Since you told him you didn't want him to ever run for office. I can't imagine he took that well.”