The Hopefuls(69)
There was an undercurrent of competition with these girls—everything from house size to how many children they had. I wanted to think that Ash was above it all, but once when we were over at her friend Louise’s house, she went on and on about Stella and Dot, talking about how thrilled she was that she found success in a career that still let her spend loads of time with Viv. “You know, it’s not about the money, obviously. I think working makes me a better mother,” she said. “Not to mention how important it is for Viv to see an example of a strong female.”
Later, although I was pretty sure I knew the answer, I asked Ash if Louise worked. “Oh no,” Ash said, “she’s a SAHM.”
“A what?” I asked. She’d pronounced it all as one word, and for a minute I thought she was telling me that Louise was part of some strange religion, maybe one that didn’t allow women to have jobs outside of the home.
“A stay-at-home mom,” Ash clarified. “That’s what she does.”
—
In all the years I’d known her, Ash hadn’t told me much about these girls. I’d seen a couple pictures of them in their house, and I knew she’d been a bridesmaid in a few of their weddings, but she always just referred to them as her high school friends and didn’t elaborate. Now talking about the Dozens was about 90 percent of her total conversation. She updated me on every aspect of their lives, spent at least an hour talking on the phone with a few of them a day, texting constantly, trading information about the others. None of those girls could so much as have an episode of diarrhea without the other twelve knowing about it.
As soon as Ash started talking about one of the Dozens, I could see Jimmy’s eyes glaze over. He was polite when he saw them, smiling and kissing them on their cheeks, but I could tell he didn’t think much of any of them.
“I don’t give a shit about where Kelsey got her furniture recovered,” Jimmy said during dinner one night. He wasn’t exactly yelling, but his voice was loud and annoyed. “Seriously, Ash. No one f*cking cares.”
Matt and I glanced at each other and quickly looked back down at our plates. We’d both been pretending to listen to Ash (which was what we did when she talked about her friends), and I could tell he was just as surprised as I was at Jimmy’s outburst. Jimmy didn’t often get angry, and I don’t know that I’d ever heard him talk like that to Ash—they bickered sometimes, sure, but I’d never heard him sound so frustrated at her, so disgusted really.
“All right,” Ash said. “I was just telling a story. You don’t need to get angry about it.”
“That’s not a story you were telling,” Jimmy said. “I don’t know what that was, but it certainly wasn’t a story.”
“Okay, Jimmy.” She gave me a funny look across the table, like she couldn’t believe how weird he was being, but I knew what he meant. When Ash talked about those girls there was always an agenda. It was never just a story. We never left an interaction with any of them where Ash didn’t immediately start talking shit, telling me about a failing marriage or an accidental pregnancy that resulted in a shotgun wedding, which everyone suspected wasn’t accidental at all. All girls—all people really—talk behind their friends’ backs. I knew that. And most of the time, I think that’s just human nature—people don’t mean to be malicious, but it happens out of jealousy or frustration or sometimes genuine concern. Hadn’t I spent hours talking to Ash about Colleen’s marriage, dissecting each part, trying to understand how she ended up with Bruce?
But this felt different. Before we moved to Texas, I would’ve described Ash as kind, and now I wasn’t so sure. We still had a great time together, just the two of us, but I couldn’t quite get over the extra bite in her voice when she gossiped about her friends, as if she were secretly hoping they’d all fail miserably at life.
—
Matt and I were sharing a small space, but it felt like we were talking less. He was always distracted when we were together, either actually on his phone or computer or sometimes just lost in his head, planning the next event, trying to think of ways to get Jimmy’s name out there.
One night, I asked him what he was working on, not because I actually cared all that much, but because we needed something to talk about. The campaign was the one thing that would make him chatty, and it happened again that night. He went on and on, telling me about a nun he’d contacted who was working to educate people about fracking in the Eagle Ford Shale and how she might do a joint event with Jimmy. He got so excited when he talked about these things. Whenever I told him about my day (and granted, I didn’t do anything all that interesting most of the time), I could feel his attention wander.
“It’s impressive how much you’ve learned,” I told him. “Seriously, it sounds like something you’ve been passionate about your whole life.”
“It’s so disturbing, Beth,” he said to me. “I just didn’t really know much about it before. I don’t think a lot of people do, even here. But we have a chance to change that.”
I moved closer to him in bed and kissed his shoulder. “Did anyone ever tell you how smart you are?” I asked. “And also, how nice?” I ran my hands over his stomach, letting my fingers brush under the waistband of his boxers. But he just pulled my head toward him for a hug and started reading an e-mail on his phone, wordlessly shutting me down, letting me know that having sex with me was less interesting than a nun and some oil drills. Not exactly what I’d hoped for.