The Hopefuls(97)

“Well,” I said, feeling clumsy. “I’m sure that’s normal, right? Just like an adjustment period? I’m sure it is. I mean, I don’t know personally, but I think that happens to a lot of people.”

“You know that Viv is a year and a half old, right?” Jimmy asked.

“I do,” I said. The bartender brought over two more drinks then, without us even asking. Jimmy and I had shared more intimate information in the past ten minutes than in all the time we’d known each other. We’d never talked like this—if we ever bad-mouthed our spouses it was always in the winking and joking manner of happy couples who are free to complain about dishes in the sink and unmade beds because they’re so clearly in love. But because we’d gone this far, I said, “I mean, it really feels sometimes like Matt can’t stand me. Like he doesn’t care about me at all. He never thinks about me. I’m an afterthought, always.” I took a deep breath. “Sometimes I feel like we aren’t going to make it, I really do.”

The words sounded too dramatic, but there was no taking them back, so I just stopped talking.

“I know what you mean,” Jimmy said. “I really do.”

“No, you don’t,” I said.

“I do. And you know what, Beth?” He put his hand on my arm, and I turned to look at him. “You deserve someone who thinks about you. All the time. You’re so amazing. You deserve the best.”

We kept looking at each other, past the point where it felt comfortable. And somewhere in my head, I was aware that his hand was still on my arm. That was the only part of us that was touching, but we kept staring into each other’s eyes, and it felt like more, like we were doing something inappropriate, crossing a line. Jimmy reached up and brushed my hair off my shoulder, and finally I broke my eyes away from him, stared up at the TV in the corner of the bar.

“Beth,” Jimmy said, but I couldn’t look at him. For some reason, I felt like I was going to start crying. “Beth, look at me.” I shook my head and rubbed one of my eyes and then felt Jimmy’s hand on top of my head, in a gesture that was almost brotherly, like he was about to ruffle my hair or give me a noogie. I did look at him then, and he took a deep breath. “You’re going to be fine,” he said. “We’re all going to be fine.”

It was hard to keep him in focus; everything around me was rocking back and forth. “We should go,” I said, sliding off the barstool. “We’re drunk.” As I stood, I knew there was a good chance I was going to be sick and just hoped I’d make it back to the room before it happened.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and I nodded.

“Good,” he said.

We walked back to our rooms, which were right next to each other, and Jimmy laughed as I closed one eye to concentrate on sliding the card into the lock. “You got that?” he asked in a stage whisper, and I gave him a thumbs-up before going inside.

I did get sick that night, violently so, and I cursed myself as I knelt on the bathroom tile—for how stupid I’d been, for how much I’d had to drink, for how much I’d said. But when I finally brushed my teeth and climbed into bed, empty and wrung out, I thought of Jimmy’s eyes on mine, the way he’d brushed my hair away, and even with my stomach still turning, I smiled into the darkness.

—

The next morning when we got to the car, Jimmy was leaning against it, wearing sunglasses and holding a tray with four cups of coffee in it. “Here, man,” he said, handing one to Matt. “This one’s yours. Black.”

“Thanks,” Matt said and nodded at him. It appeared this exchange was going to be a satisfactory apology for both of them.

Jimmy took out another cup and gave it to me. “One coffee with cream, for you,” he said, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head and winking. Jimmy always winked, just like he always called waitresses sweetheart. This was nothing new, but as I took my cup of coffee from him, my stomach flipped.

Ash came out of the hotel then and Jimmy held out a cup of coffee in her direction, which she accepted wordlessly before getting in the car. I settled in the backseat next to her and put my seat belt on. Matt began to drive, and I drank my coffee, willing my headache to go away. A few minutes later, my phone beeped with a text from Jimmy, who was sitting directly in front of me: Chin up, ok? I felt my stomach flip again, told myself it was just from all the vodka I’d had the night before, although I knew better.

We were pretty quiet on the ride home, but not in the same way as we’d started the trip. There was a resigned sense in the car, the way it feels when you know something is over and you’re just waiting for the end to come.





Chapter 20


Back in Houston, the last few days before the election crawled by. Friday was Halloween, so after Jimmy stopped by a community center and a church group in the morning, he and Matt returned home so he could take Viv trick-or-treating. Ash had decided months earlier that Viv should be a pumpkin for Halloween. (“Because she’s our little pumpkin,” she explained, as if they were the only people in America who referred to their baby as pumpkin.) Beverly made the costume herself, and it was a beautiful one—a soft round pumpkin body with a jack-o’-lantern face on the front. Viv wore green striped tights and sparkly green shoes and (of course) a headband that had a leaf attached to it.