It’s funny how unimportant election night actually felt. This was what we’d been working toward all those months, it was why we’d driven all over Texas and gone into the homes of strangers, attended church picnics and potlucks. But that night, there was no more adrenaline, no more excitement. We just waited for an answer we already knew was coming. In some ways it felt like the most insignificant part of the whole campaign.
The call came pretty early, around 8:00 p.m. The television was on in one of the rooms, the sound turned low, but we all noticed when they called the race. It didn’t feel especially sad—it was more exhaustion and relief, like the whole room exhaled at once. I’d spent most of the night standing next to Matt while he talked to different guests, not really participating in any of the conversations, just observing. When they called the race, I put a hand on his back, but he didn’t give any indication that he felt it.
Jimmy gave a short speech to thank everyone—his supporters, his parents, and finally Ash and Viv. “I know this wasn’t easy for you, and I appreciate all of the sacrifices you made. You two are the best.” He looked over at Ash, sounding absolutely sincere as he said, “I’m a lucky guy.”
After Jimmy spoke, people started leaving pretty quickly. I was scared we’d be left alone with just the Dillon family, something I didn’t think I’d be able to handle, and I was relieved when Matt started saying good-bye to people so we could make our exit.
Before we left, I thanked Mrs. Dillon and said good-bye. She gave me an air kiss and then held one of my hands in hers and said, “Do you know how much you’ll be missed around here?”
I refrained from saying, “Not one fucking tiny bit,” and instead just smiled and squeezed her hand.
—
Once we were in the car, Matt drove a couple of blocks without talking. The feeling between us was so strange—not anger or avoidance, more like he was too preoccupied to notice I was there.
“I can’t believe it’s over,” I said, just to fill the silence.
“I know,” Matt said.
“Do you think you still want to leave Friday?” I asked. This had been our tentative plan, but we’d left things up in the air. Now I figured we both wanted to get out of Texas as quickly as possible.
“Beth,” Matt said. He cleared his throat and didn’t take his eyes off the road. “I think you should go home tomorrow.”
“You want to leave tomorrow?”
“No, I think you should go home. I looked online and put a flight on hold for you for tomorrow night.” Matt sounded so calm as he spoke that it took me a second to understand what he was saying. “I don’t think we should drive home together,” he continued. “You go and I’ll take the car. I want to take some time.”
“Some time away from me?” I asked. My voice sounded panicked, and I felt blindsided although I probably shouldn’t have. What did I think? That we’d forget what had happened and have a nice drive home together?
“Some time,” he said. “A week or two. Maybe more.”
“When will you come home? Will you let me know?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not trying to be mean. I’m really not.” He almost looked like he felt sorry for me. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Can I text you?” I asked, and he shook his head. I swallowed hard. “Are you sure about this? You don’t want to talk about it?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t.”
I nodded into the darkness, feeling like a child being punished, being sent home after behaving badly. I’d been an idiot to think this wouldn’t happen—hadn’t we already been on shaky ground? Wasn’t that why this had happened in the first place? Of course he might leave me, of course this could break us. I thought about arguing, about fighting to stay, but it felt like I’d lost that right for the time being, so I just said, “Okay.”
Chapter 21
My flight landed at Reagan late on Wednesday, and after waiting at baggage claim and then again in the cab line, it was almost midnight by the time I got home. All the lights were off as we pulled up and the streets were empty, and as the cab drove away, I felt a surge of fear—it was creepy standing there alone in front of my dark apartment, like something or someone could be lurking inside, just waiting for me. I didn’t want to go in, but what choice did I have? And after I unlocked the door and turned on the lights, I almost laughed at how childish I was being. Why was I bothering to invent something to worry about when I already had plenty? No need to borrow trouble, my mom would’ve said. (Although I still triple-locked the door behind me.)