The Hopefuls(99)

She shook her head. “I know it. And then the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas goes like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“Always,” I said. This conversation was one I would’ve had with my mailman, which was depressing, and I wanted it to be over, for us to stop saying these generic things to each other.

“You’re leaving so soon,” she said.

“I know.”

“Do you know what you’ll do when you get back?”

“No clue. I thought I’d have a great idea while I was here, but no such luck.” I didn’t realize this was true until I said it out loud, that some part of me was hoping I’d figure out what I wanted to do with my career while I was in Texas. But I didn’t. Almost a whole year had passed and not one thing had changed—I still felt as ambivalent as ever.

“Well, I’m sure you could always go back to DCLOVE,” she said, and then laughed at the face I made. “Or you could come work with me. You could corner the jewelry market in DC.”

My answer was completely sincere. “I’m not sure I’d be any good at it,” I said. “I don’t have your charm.”

—

When we’d returned from the last trip, Matt had suggested that he and I move to a hotel on the Sunday before the election and stay there until it was over. “To give Jimmy and Ash some space,” he said, which was sort of a ridiculous idea since we’d been living in their house for the past ten months. Why would we give them space now? I knew the real reason was that he didn’t want to be there after Jimmy lost, that he thought it would be easier if we could go somewhere else that night.

But I agreed to the hotel because I also thought space would be good, just for different reasons. I didn’t want to be in the same house as Jimmy—as hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop wondering what would’ve happened if we’d stayed longer at the bar that night; kept imagining him kissing me, hard, his hands all over me.

It was normal, I told myself, to have thoughts like these. Once, I almost googled it, to reassure myself that adulterous daydreams were common and harmless. (Surely Oprah had done a show on the topic at some point.) But then I imagined Matt using my computer, finding my search history, and decided against it. Which was maybe proof that I was guilty of something.

So I told Matt that I agreed, that I thought the hotel was a good idea.

We each took just a small bag to the hotel, leaving most of our clothes at the Dillons’. We’d need to pack it all soon enough. Matt had already started boxing up some things, eager to get ready so we could leave as quickly as possible.

I thought it would feel weird to stay in a hotel, but we’d stayed in so many the past year that when we got to the Holiday Inn Express, it felt a little like home, which was equal parts reassuring and depressing.

—

Jimmy’s parents were hosting a small get-together for family and friends the night of the election, but Mrs. Dillon insisted that the four of us come over on Monday night as well. “You all deserve a home-cooked meal,” she’d said, rubbing Jimmy’s back. I could see how much she wanted to do something—anything—to make Jimmy feel better.

Matt and I drove to their house from our hotel and arrived before Jimmy and Ash. As Mr. Dillon opened the door, Matt handed him a bottle of wine that we’d stopped to pick up at Whole Foods. “For you, sir,” he said, and I couldn’t help but notice what a kiss ass he sounded like. He’d insisted on buying a fifty-dollar bottle of wine, which seemed too much, but when I said something about it, he said, “The Dillons always serve really nice wine,” making me feel like I’d suggested getting them a box of Franzia.

The four of us sat down in the living room and made small talk, which mostly meant that Matt talked to Mr. Dillon while I sat stiffly on the couch. (At Jimmy’s parents’ house, I always had the feeling that I was going to get in trouble for something or be yelled at for having poor manners, like I was a friend they didn’t approve of.)

Almost twenty minutes went by, at which point Mrs. Dillon said, “I don’t know where they could be. I’m starting to get worried.” But just as the words left her mouth, we heard the front door open and Jimmy call out, “Hello?”

Mrs. Dillon got up to give him a hug as he walked into the room, looked behind him, and then said, “Where’s Ashleigh?”

“She’s not going to make it. She was at her mom’s this afternoon and Viv got a fever, so she gave her some Tylenol and put her down. She’s still sleeping, so we thought it was best to just let her be.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Mrs. Dillon said. She pursed her lips, but made no further comment.

Once Jimmy got there, we sat down for dinner right away, and everyone ate quickly, mostly because no one was talking much so we had a lot more time to concentrate on chewing. Once, I said to Mrs. Dillon, “This roast is delicious,” and she answered by saying, “Aren’t you sweet?” (Another question I was pretty sure she thought the answer to was no.)

After the plates were cleared, Mr. Dillon asked if anyone was interested in a glass of port, and Matt said, “That sounds great,” which was the exact opposite of how I felt. I wanted to say our good-byes so we could get out of there, and it looked like Jimmy felt the same way, but we all followed Mr. Dillon back to the living room and accepted the tiny glasses that he poured. I hate port, but I took it anyway, just wanting to get on with it.