“You think I’m jealous?” Matt had an incredulous look on his face, like this was the craziest idea, and I almost laughed.
“Maybe jealous is the wrong word,” I said. But there was no backtracking.
“I don’t want to run for the Railroad Commission,” he said.
“No, I know. That’s not what I meant.”
“That’s what you said.” He turned away from me. “If you think this is about jealousy, then maybe you don’t know me at all.”
“Matt, come on.”
“Come on? Look, just because you don’t understand this, just because you don’t know what it’s like to have a job that you care about, don’t blame me. If you had anything like this—if you cared about writing, if you were passionate about anything, maybe you’d get it. But you’re not.”
I was silent for a full minute. Was this what Matt really thought of me? I shouldn’t have felt totally surprised—didn’t I sometimes think this very thing?—but it was strange and awful to hear my husband say what I feared about myself.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to run for office first,” I said, my voice making it clear that I was anything but. “I’m sorry you’re so jealous of Jimmy that you’re about to burst. But don’t you dare take it out on me.” I was so angry that my hands were shaking. We’d fought in the past, of course we had, but it had never felt like this, like things would be different after, like what we were saying couldn’t ever be taken back.
Matt stood up and walked right out the door without turning around. I didn’t call or text him that night. I assumed that he got another shitty room in this shitty hotel, but we never talked about it. I lay down, still fully dressed, and pulled the sheets over me. I slept fitfully that night—it felt like I woke up every five minutes or so, just long enough each time to remember that my husband wasn’t there.
Chapter 18
In July, we went back to DC for a couple of days. Babs suggested it and I was adamant that we go. There was no way we were going to make it to St. Michaels in August, and I thought maybe seeing his family would cheer Matt up, or snap him back to normal, or do something, anything. His parents had talked about coming to see us in Texas, but Matt flat-out told them not to, said that we didn’t have any time to spend with them. The fact that I was now pushing to go see the Kellys should’ve been a red flag for everyone. But I was desperate.
Matt and I were on civil terms, but just barely. After the fight in Luling, we’d ridden home without talking to each other, which was surprisingly easy to do with two other adults and one baby in the car. Ash and Jimmy were still mad at each other too, so our car ride was like one big bizarre game of telephone: Each person could talk to anyone in the car except their spouse. Once, Ash slipped and asked Jimmy to turn down the radio, and then she sat back in her seat, put her sunglasses on, and frowned out the window. No doubt upset with herself for losing the game.
That night, back at the house, I said to Matt, “I’m sorry we fought,” which wasn’t the same thing as actually apologizing. He looked at me and said, “I’m sorry we fought too,” and then we both stood there, waiting for the other one to say something more. Neither of us did. There were moments when I thought about bringing it up, trying to resolve things—and then I’d remember what he said to me, how much his words stung, and I didn’t think there was anything that would make it better.
So, the fight wasn’t really over, it was just that neither of us saw the point in discussing it anymore. Which, when you thought about it, was so much worse.
—
The afternoon before we left, Ash and I were out back with Viv, who was toddling around in the grass, and Ash turned to me and said, “How are things going with Matt? I’ve been worried about you.”
She looked at me with such pity, like she couldn’t imagine how I was dealing with my horrible marriage. I wanted to ask her if she was delusional, if she remembered all the fights she’d had lately with Jimmy. They’d been on strange terms since Luling, talking mostly through the baby, trading veiled insults all day. I’m sure it made her feel better to tell herself that Matt and I were much worse off than they were. At that moment, I wanted badly not to be living in her house, wished that I was far away from her. The trip to DC was well timed.
“Things are fine,” I finally said. “I’m not worried about anything.”
—
Matt and I landed at Reagan on Sunday afternoon and went right to our apartment, which had been vacated the week before by our renter. Matt walked all over the apartment, examining our furniture and the walls, almost like he was hoping to find something that was damaged so he’d have a reason to be angry. But it all looked fine. Babs had sent Rosie over a few days earlier, so it was shiny and clean and smelled like Murphy’s Oil Soap. “It’s good to be back, isn’t it?” I said. “I missed this place.”
“Mmm,” Matt said, which could have meant yes or no or I don’t give a fuck.
I didn’t ask him to clarify.