The lunch put everyone in a better mood, like we were cranky toddlers who needed to be fed. Things seemed more normal as we ate—Matt started to go over the schedule with Jimmy, telling him about the potluck we’d be at that night, reminding him who would be there. Ash turned to me and started showing me pictures from Facebook on her phone. Some girl she’d disliked in college had gotten married the weekend before, and Ash was busy judging the wedding. “Do you believe her dress?” she asked, flicking her finger across the screen to show me the pictures, acting like we hadn’t just been sitting in silence for the past two hours.
But this moment of peace didn’t last: At the potluck in Galveston that night, Ash fawned over a baby and said to the mother, “Mine’s at home and I miss her so much I could burst.” Jimmy stood to the side smiling and said, “Then you shouldn’t have left her there.” In Austin, I mentioned something about going to the Salt Lick for lunch one day, and Matt said irritably, “This isn’t a vacation,” to which I replied, “No kidding.”
All of the events went smoothly, despite the friction between us. There was a subdued air around Jimmy, and while he still smiled and laughed, he was quieter and a little more serious. When he shook people’s hands, he’d just say, “Don’t forget to vote,” not bothering anymore to talk about turning Texas blue.
—
Our last stop was San Antonio, and we arrived just a few hours before the event. Ash and Jimmy dropped us off at the hotel and went shopping to get Jimmy a new button-down, since over the course of our trip, he’d spilled barbecue sauce on one shirt and gotten mustard on another at a picnic. “Sweet Lord, Jimmy,” Ash said. “You’re worse than Viv.” You could tell she was trying to make a joke out of it, but it came out sounding unfriendly.
Matt went down to the lobby to work, because he couldn’t get a good Wi-Fi signal in our room. I was reading, but had the television on mute, which was something I’d started doing after spending so much time alone in hotel rooms. It made me feel less lonely. My brain felt cloudy from not sleeping well all week, and I kept getting to the end of a page only to realize that I had no idea what I’d just read. Finally, I gave up and turned the sound back up on the TV, watching a rerun of Friends that I’d seen a hundred times before.
When Matt returned about an hour later, he was carrying a sandwich and a large Coke. “Hey,” he said as he sat down at the little table in our room. I watched him in disbelief as he unwrapped his food and started to eat.
“You got lunch?” I asked. He turned to me while chewing, as if confused by such an obvious question, and nodded. And then I continued, “And you didn’t think to ask if I wanted anything?”
He swallowed, and a guilty look flashed across his face. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think about it.”
Maybe it’s ridiculous how much this upset me, considering all of the other fights we’d had, but immediately I felt tears come to my eyes. This situation perfectly summed up what was happening with me and Matt—how rarely he thought about me, how little I mattered.
“You didn’t think of it?” I asked. “You knew I was in the hotel room, knew that I hadn’t eaten lunch, and it didn’t even cross your mind to send me a text and see if I wanted anything?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can run and get you a sandwich. It’s right across the street.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
“It’s just—” My voice caught here and I took a deep breath to keep from crying. “It’s like you don’t even think about me anymore. It’s thoughtless. It’s worse than if you did it on purpose.”
“Beth, come on. It’s not a big deal. It just slipped my mind. Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t.” I did start crying then, hard, and while Matt didn’t get up and try to comfort me, he did at least stop eating his sandwich.
—
The event that night was a small cocktail party in the home of one of Jimmy’s supporters. It was a nice get-together, and I got some good pictures of Jimmy chatting with the guests, looking handsome and put together in his new shirt. At the end, he gave a short speech, thanked everyone for coming, and reminded them to vote. “Not that you would forget,” he said, laughing. “I think this crowd knows how important it is. But let’s spread the word, let’s get people out there.”
Everyone clapped in a polite and respectful way, and I could see the effort in Jimmy’s smile, saw his shoulders collapse when a well-meaning guest said, “You gave it a great run. You should be proud of that,” like he’d already lost.
Matt had apologized to me several times that afternoon, and finally I’d just told him it was okay, because he really did look sorry and it wasn’t like we were going to solve anything by arguing that night. We still needed to get through the next week.
Jimmy looked relieved when we got in the car, happy that he didn’t have to talk to strangers anymore. He sighed and loosened his tie, looked like he could breathe easier as we drove away. “Should we get dinner?” he asked. “We can go to the Applebee’s connected to our hotel. You know, really treat ourselves.”
“I think you secretly love Applebee’s,” I said, and then Matt must have been in a generous mood because he laughed and said, “You are always pushing it on us.”
“America’s best kept secret,” Jimmy said, grinning. “Let’s do it.”