The Hopefuls(82)

“I’m trying to get the points for the water conservation plan down. We need to get it on the website, make sure Jimmy starts working it into his talks.”

“It’s four in the morning.”

“I know.”

“You should get some sleep,” I said, “if you’re going to drive tomorrow.”

“I will. I just need to get this done.” Matt looked up at me then and I could see how tired he was. Part of me wanted to hug him, to make him come to bed. I knew that his recent irritability and bad moods were made worse by the fact that he wasn’t getting nearly enough sleep. But there was another part of me that didn’t want to bother because I knew how it would play out—I’d try to convince him to come to bed and he’d tell me he had too much work to do and would eventually get annoyed and huffy with me. It seemed like no matter what I did or said lately, it wasn’t the right thing.

“Okay, then,” I finally said. “Good night.”

—

Matt and Jimmy were out the door by 10:00, and Ash and I just looked at each after they drove away. “It’s so calm in here,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “Thank God.”

It was a relief to have Matt out of the house, to know that he wouldn’t be back that night. Which only made me worry that it wasn’t normal to feel that way, wasn’t right to only be able to relax when your husband wasn’t around.

Ash and I wandered back to the kitchen and sat at the round table. It was sunny and cheerful in there—like everywhere else in the house, there was thought put into every detail. But this room was by far my favorite, with its ruffly curtains and distressed table. I had a feeling that I’d never be able to create a similar space in a home of my own. Decorating skill, it seemed, was one more thing that I was lacking.

We discussed our plans for the day—Ash didn’t have to work and so we were free to do whatever we wanted. We were debating taking a walk to the park and having lunch there when I felt Ash hesitate and then she said, “I’m sure this is all normal campaign stuff, and maybe I’m just being sensitive, but I hate the way they’re acting with each other. It’s nasty.”

She’d clearly been thinking about mentioning something for a while—I could tell by the way it just spilled out, like she wanted to say it before she changed her mind. It was strange that we’d never discussed what was happening between Matt and Jimmy. We’d exchanged glances and a couple of comments, but never really acknowledged how bad it had gotten. Their arguments colored everyone else’s moods, cast a shadow over the house. If they were on good terms, everyone could be happy. If not, we all had to be on guard.

“I know,” I said to her. “It’s almost like they can’t help it. Like they can’t stop the fighting now that it’s started.” I was aware of how we both kept saying “they,” like neither of us wanted to assign blame to the other’s husband.

Ash was about to say something else, had her mouth open and ready, and then we heard Viv cry from upstairs and she sighed. “Duty calls,” she said, getting to her feet.

—

We ended up walking to the park, Ash pushing Viv in the stroller, Viv’s legs kicking out in front of her. It was a beautiful day—hot of course, but it still felt great to be outside. We stopped to get sandwiches on the way, and once Viv was set up in the sand, we unwrapped them and started eating. Every minute or so, Ash had to get up to stop Viv from putting sand in her mouth, or to take a stick out of her hand and replace it with a plastic shovel. I’d finished my entire lunch before Ash had even gotten through half of hers, and so I moved to sit next to Viv, trying to entertain her so Ash could eat.

It was interesting to be able to observe Ash as a mom so closely. What struck me nearly every day was how almost all of Viv’s care fell to her. She had help from all the family around, of course, which was more than most people got. But on a day-to-day basis, Jimmy didn’t do much to take care of Viv. Maybe it had always been that way—we hadn’t lived with them when she was first born, so how would we know? Or maybe it had changed once the campaign started. Either way, I was pretty sure there was no going back now. Jimmy would hold Viv or carry her to the kitchen, but he unapologetically handed her off to Ash when she needed to eat or get a diaper changed.

It was so personal, what Matt and I were witnessing, a twenty-four-hour view of the Dillons’ parenting. And it seemed extreme to me, although I couldn’t say how unusual it was since I’d never lived with anyone else who was raising a child. But when we were on the road, Ash never ate a meal uninterrupted. She’d try to take a few bites while feeding and entertaining Viv, but more often than not she just abandoned her plate altogether, while Jimmy sat back, relaxed and taking it for granted that he had both hands free. I wondered sometimes, watching this, if Ash knew what she’d signed up for.

Ash finished her sandwich quickly and carried our trash over to the garbage can. She walked back toward us and held out her hands to Viv, pulled her up to standing. “Do you want to go on the swings?” she asked, already leading Viv over there. I watched as they walked away, as Ash freed one hand to wave to another mom-and-daughter duo. “Hey, y’all,” she said, “isn’t this a perfect day for the park?”

—

Most nights, Ash put Viv down around 7:00, before we all ate dinner. Lately, I’d go upstairs with her and sit on the floor while she changed Viv into her pajamas and read her a story. It wasn’t like we needed any more time to talk or that she even wanted me there, it was just that I didn’t want to be left downstairs alone with Matt and Jimmy.