“Beth.” He looked up at me like he felt sorry for me, and I felt tears come to my eyes.
I held up my hand, wanting to get out what I had to say. “You weren’t talking to me. I felt so shut out. I knew you were upset, but you wouldn’t tell me about it. I’m not saying this as an excuse, I’m not. But I need you to know what it felt like. Like it didn’t even matter that I was there, like you wouldn’t have cared if I left.”
“That’s not true,” Matt said, but his voice was soft. “It’s not. I’m sorry if that’s how it felt.”
“And then you left me. You left me here. Didn’t even call once. I didn’t know if you were ever coming back. You left me.” My voice sounded angry for the first time in our conversation, and Matt looked surprised.
He closed his eyes. “I know. I can’t explain it. I just needed to think. I just needed space to think.”
“This wasn’t—it wasn’t about Jimmy. I don’t know if that makes it worse or not. I think I was just confused and sad and it just happened. But I’ve never done anything like that before. I promise. You have to believe me about that.”
He raised his head and looked right at me. “I believe you.”
“Okay, good,” I said.
“I know things were bad, Beth. I don’t know why, exactly. It was happening and I couldn’t stop it. I don’t know why I was acting that way. I don’t want to be like this. I really don’t.” Matt had tears in his eyes, but he blinked them back. It was such a simple thing to say, but maybe that’s why I believed him. I got up and sat closer to him on the couch, reaching out and taking his hand.
The conversation had gone better than I’d hoped, but I tried not to get ahead of myself. I knew Matt was still angry—I could feel that he was hesitant as I held his hand and knew that wouldn’t go away for a while. And I was still angry too, if I was being honest. But he wasn’t going to leave, he wasn’t going to use this thing that I’d done as an excuse to end things. And I wasn’t going to ask him where he’d been for almost two weeks, wasn’t going to demand that information. I’m sure Colleen would’ve said that I let Matt make a decision and then reacted to it—and maybe I did, but I didn’t really care. It was what I wanted too, and it didn’t matter to me how we got there.
“I want things to get better,” I said. “And I know it will take a while, but I think—” My voice broke here and I waited a second to continue. “I think we can do that.”
Matt squeezed my hand and then took his away and put it in his lap in a way that felt slightly unfriendly. But then his voice was soft and agreeable as he said, “Me too.”
That night we were polite to each other as we got ready for bed, standing next to each other at the sink while we brushed our teeth, taking turns spitting and rinsing like we were new roommates who didn’t know each other very well. We’d been apart for two weeks, but it felt like much longer. Our good-night kiss was dry and chaste, and as I pulled the covers over me I wondered how long this was going to last. Maybe we’d have to live like a prudish Amish couple for a while; maybe that was our price to pay. I guess it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it certainly wasn’t great.
But then the next morning, I felt Matt reach over for me, pulling me toward him, surprising me because he hadn’t in so long. I was half awake as he tugged my pajamas off, and I stayed underneath him, both of our movements sleepy and slow. When we were done, we lay on our backs, our limbs just barely touching. Neither of us spoke, but it felt like we’d started to erase something, and it seemed like it was enough for now as Matt rested his hand on my stomach and said, “Morning, Buzz.”
Washington, DC
Washington isn’t a city, it’s an abstraction.
—DYLAN THOMAS
Chapter 22
Here’s what I still hate about DC: the way that nothing is permanent, the feeling that everything and everyone you know, could (and does) wash away every four or eight years. All of these important people, so ingrained in the city—you can’t imagine that this place could exist without them. But one day they’re gone and everything keeps moving just the same.
Who can get their footing in a place like this? It feels like quicksand to me.
—
Once Matt was back, we moved quickly. He took a job (with the help of Mr. Dillon’s connections) as deputy political director at the DNC, and that same week we started looking at houses in Maryland and made an offer on one. A few weeks later, I was hired to edit a monthly newsletter at an adult literacy nonprofit. It paid less than I’d made at DCLOVE, but I didn’t have to write blind items about White House love affairs and golf games, which was a good trade-off.