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.
For the most part, just like at dinner, Mr. Dillon and Matt were the only ones talking. They were dissecting the other races taking place on Tuesday, picking apart the campaigns and making predictions. I snuck a look at Jimmy, who seemed tired, and sipped my port, which made me feel warm. When Mr. Dillon picked up the bottle to pour us each another glass, I said, “Oh, I shouldn’t. We should probably be going. It’s getting late and I still need to stop by Jimmy and Ash’s to get a dress for tomorrow—I forgot to pack one before we went to the hotel.”
I could feel Matt’s displeasure with my announcement. I’m sure he thought it was rude of me to end the night, but I didn’t care. And when I looked over at him, he said, “We’ll just stay a little longer.”
Jimmy put his glass down on the table and said, “You know what? I should call it a night. Beth, I’ll go back with you to the house if you want. Matt can pick you up when he’s done.”
“Perfect,” Matt said.
Jimmy and I said our good-byes, and if I felt strange about being alone with him or thought that it was a bad idea, it was too late to do anything about it. Changing my mind then would’ve seemed weird, so I followed him outside. It was only when the door shut behind us that I realized his car wasn’t there.
“You walked?” I asked. Even though Jimmy and Ash lived so close to his parents, they always drove. It was the Texas way.
Jimmy shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “The other night I had a little too much to drink and drove home.” I started to say something and he held up his hand. “I know, I know. You don’t have to tell me. I already know. It was stupid and I shouldn’t have done it. Believe me, I feel like an asshole.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Anyway, tonight I figured there was a chance I’d want to get stinking drunk to deal with my dad, so once Ash wasn’t coming I figured walking was the best bet.”
“Is Viv okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. She really does have a fever,” he said, answering the question I hadn’t asked but was thinking. “I mean, I’m sure Ash was thrilled to have an excuse not to come, but the fever part was true.”
We walked down the sidewalk and then turned left at the pond, wound our way back to the house. I would never get over the weirdness of Sugar Land, how appealing and repulsive it was, with its large and beautiful homes, its pretty but artificial terrain. We didn’t talk for a few minutes, just walked silently past a pond, and then Jimmy said, “So, how’s things?”