The Hopefuls(90)

“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.”

“That’s not exactly what I said. And anyway, it’s not even happening right now. There’s no plan in place. I was just talking, just saying what I thought in the moment.”

“Sure,” she said slowly. “But would you want him to do it? If something did come up right now?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Not really, no.” We both took sips of our wine, and I took a breath. “I mean, really, I don’t know. But he was so upset that I even questioned it, that maybe I wasn’t completely on board with the idea. He said that when he married me, he thought I’d be behind him on this.”

“Jesus,” Colleen said. “It sounds like he’s having a midlife crisis.”

“I know. And the thing is, maybe I don’t want him to run for office. But is that the end of the world? He made it sound like he only married me because he thought I’d always go along with what he wanted.”

Colleen shrugged. “Maybe that is what he thought.”

“Well, that’s really f*cked up.”

“Not really. I mean, every person expects something from the other one when they get married.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, everyone has their own reasons for getting married. Look at me and Bruce—he liked me because I was young and thought I was fun and I liked that he was more serious than the guys our age, that he was established. Marriage is a contract, same as anything.”

“That’s so depressing,” I said.

“Not really. It’s just realistic. I mean, marrying Matt because you liked that he was passionate and kind isn’t the same as a porn star marrying a ninety-five-year-old man because he’s rich.”

“Well, thank God for that.”

“And I mean, look at your favorite couple, Jimmy and Ash. Don’t you think he married her because she’s pretty and from Texas and looks great standing next to him while he makes speeches? And she married him because she gets to live in a big house and have luncheons.”

“Colleen,” I said. She held up her hands like she was surrendering.

“It’s just something to think about.” She waited a beat before she said, “Maybe you guys should see someone.”

“Like a marriage counselor?”

“Yeah. I can give you the name of ours.”

“You guys went to see someone?”

“Beth, grow up. Of course we did. I married a guy who’s almost twenty years older than me. We’ve had some shit to work out.”

Colleen rarely acknowledged the age difference between her and Bruce—she usually just pretended it didn’t exist, and it surprised me to hear her say it so plainly.

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

“It’s not so bad going to see someone,” she said. “It’s like this dinner, sort of, but without the wine.”

—

I texted Matt when we were done with dinner, but he didn’t answer, so I walked back to the apartment. We were returning to Texas in the morning, and I wished that we didn’t have to, that we could just stay here and slip back into our lives the way they were when we left.

Matt was home when I let myself in, watching TV with the lights off. “Hey,” I said. “I texted you. I thought maybe you’d still be out.”

“Nope. Everyone had to head home.”

“Oh,” I said. “Did you have fun?”

He shrugged. “Same old, same old,” he said, staring at the screen the whole time.

—

Here’s the thing I didn’t notice until it was gone: Matt stopped finding me funny. I’d always been able to make him laugh. I was my goofiest around him, my weirdest self. I’d hold up a banana and make it dance and talk, or I’d smooth one of his unruly eyebrows and say, “This guy is just really excited today.” And he’d throw his head back and laugh—really laugh from deep down in his stomach. Sometimes he’d shake his head at me and tell me I was weird, but it didn’t matter, because I knew he thought I was hilarious. Even in his worst moods, I could get him to smile.

I don’t know when it stopped, but I do remember once that summer in Texas, when he was sitting on the couch with his laptop in front of him, probably reading about a new oil well or cyberstalking Candace Elroy’s campaign team. I’d just gone for a run, and still had my headphones on, listening to music. He didn’t say hi when I walked in, didn’t even lift his head. There was some obnoxious Taylor Swift song playing, so I unplugged the headphones and turned the music up, started dancing in a crazy way, slapping the air in front of me like it was the ass of an imaginary person, waiting for him to look up and laugh. I knew he could see me out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t acknowledge me so I just kept dancing. Finally, he looked at me straight on and asked without smiling, “What are you doing?” and I stopped mid-slap and said, “Nothing.”