The Hopefuls(72)

“I’m sure he’ll win,” I said. I doubted this was reassuring, but I felt like I needed to say something.

“I’ll feel sure when it’s all over,” Matt said and continued to stare at the ceiling, like he was waiting for answers.

—

Katie was taking the lead on planning the watch party for the primary. “It should be somewhere fun,” I heard Matt tell her one afternoon. “Not stuffy. Somewhere that reflects how young Jimmy is.” As always, Katie took down notes and nodded seriously. I’d seen her smile maybe three times, and that was only when she was first meeting people and forced the corners of her lips upward for a few seconds, because she knew she should. She wasn’t joyless—it was more she gave the impression that there was so much to do she couldn’t be bothered to waste her time with pleasantries.

Later that same day, Matt and I were sitting outside on the patio, enjoying the unusual seventy-degree late February day. Matt was in a rare relaxed mood—maybe the warm weather had tricked him somehow—and we were talking about his sister, Meg, who’d just announced that she was moving out of their parents’ house.

“I can’t believe it,” Matt said. “It’s like the end of times.”

“I can’t believe she’s lived there so long. What would’ve happened if she just never showed signs of moving out? Wouldn’t your mom eventually kick her out? Or gently suggest it?”

“Who knows?” Matt said. “I had visions of her being one of those weird adults that live in their parents’ basements forever.”

“Like a really well-dressed Boo Radley?”

“Exactly.”

I was enjoying this conversation immensely, just so happy that we were talking about anything other than Jimmy and the campaign for a few minutes. Katie came out the back door and cleared her throat, like she thought she was interrupting something and wanted to make her presence known.

“I came up with some options for the watch party,” she said, still standing on the edge of the patio. She waited until Matt answered to walk closer and hand him a paper. “It’s a list of five different sports bars, some pros and cons about the areas where each is, and some pictures of the interiors. We can bring our own food into all of them, which is great, since I figured you’d want it catered.”

Matt flipped through the pages, and they discussed a few of the locations before deciding on one. “That’s what I thought you’d pick,” she said. “I’ll send the owner a note now.” She was already typing away on her phone.

“That’s great,” Matt said. “Thanks so much.” We watched Katie walk to her car and waved good-bye as she pulled out of the driveway. I figured that the spell was broken, that we’d stop talking about Meg and go back to discussing contaminated water, but Matt surprisingly still seemed relaxed.

“Don’t be jealous, Buzz,” Matt said. “But I think I might be in love with that little OCD Texan.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” I said. “You probably dream about how organized your life would be with her. Your sock drawer would be legendary.”

Matt reached over and took my hand. “It would be,” he said, smiling and closing his eyes as he aimed his face to the sun. “But don’t worry. I’d never leave you for her, no matter how inferior your tweeting skills are.”

—

When the day of the primary finally came, I somehow felt surprised by its arrival. We’d been living at the Dillons’ for two months at that point, talking of little else, and still it felt like it had snuck up on us, like maybe we weren’t ready.

We were all up early that morning, nervous and jittery. Ash made a huge pot of coffee and by 6:30 a.m. was already brewing another one, although it was the last thing we needed. Matt was at the kitchen table, clicking away on his BlackBerry, his leg jumping up and down in rhythm with his typing. I put my hand gently on his knee to calm him down, and he stopped the bouncing for just a couple of minutes before starting up again.

Jimmy wouldn’t sit down, kept finding reasons to get up and walk into the other room before racing back to the kitchen like he’d missed something. Ash was ready for the day in a blue cocktail dress, her hair curled and makeup on, and it was only when she went to feed Viv that she realized her mistake.

“I’ll do it,” I said, taking the yogurt from her. Viv had recently discovered the joy of spitting food at the person who was feeding her, and there was no doubt in my mind that she’d do it today. I’d seen her laugh wickedly after spraying Ash’s face with oatmeal—she knew what she was doing.

“Oh, thank you,” Ash said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just opened my eyes at four a.m., wide awake, and figured I’d get a jump on the day.”

“You’ve been up since four?” I asked her. She nodded.

“I didn’t have a prayer of falling back asleep. I’ll probably be a zombie in an hour.”

Viv took a bite of the yogurt, eyeing my pajama pants and T-shirt, sizing me up and then apparently deciding it wouldn’t be worth wasting her breakfast on me. She was holding on to an extra spoon, banging it on her tray, telling me (I think) to hurry it up.

Katie knocked on the side door to announce her arrival, before opening it up and letting herself in. She was wearing a button-down shirt and dress pants with heels and carrying a pink bakery box. “I brought some reinforcements,” she said.