—
I talked to Colleen at least a few times a week—she was back at work and called me when she was walking to and from the Metro or out grabbing lunch. We talked about nothing really, which was sort of our specialty. (We’d spent so many hours of our lives in conversation with each other that a disappointing salad she’d ordered from Sweetgreen could give us twenty minutes of discussion material.)
It was weird, but when I spoke to her she felt so far away, farther than she really was. It reminded me of junior year, when we were both studying abroad—she was in London and I was in Cork—and when we’d call each other, it felt like she was living a made-up life, because I didn’t know anything or anyone she talked about. “Describe your room to me,” I said to her on one of these calls. After living in the same space with her for so long, it didn’t seem right that I couldn’t picture where she was sleeping at night.
And that’s how it felt when I talked to her in Texas—I wanted so badly for her to understand what it was like there, and I’d tell her about the weird towns we’d visit, would describe the Dillons’ house, repeat the things that Ash said about her friends.
But I might as well have been telling her a fairy tale, and even though she’d respond by saying, “Wow” or “That’s so interesting,” I knew she had no idea what I was talking about, that no matter how much I explained, she’d never really understand my life in Texas.
—
It looked as though Jimmy had a good chance of winning the primary—he was up against an eighty-year-old man who had run for the commission (and lost) three times already. But still, Matt wasn’t taking anything for granted. “You never know,” he kept saying, like he didn’t want to get his own hopes up.
The primary would be the easy part—or at least much easier than the general, but it still wasn’t certain. “I can’t imagine losing and just having this whole thing be over so quickly,” Matt said one night. He was lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, which was a habit he’d picked up since moving to Texas.
“That would be awful,” I said, thinking about packing ourselves right back up after basically just getting there.
“I know,” Matt said, sounding almost irritated, like he hadn’t been the one to bring up the possibility of Jimmy losing in the first place.
“I’m sure he’ll win,” I said. I doubted this was reassuring, but I felt like I needed to say something.
“I’ll feel sure when it’s all over,” Matt said and continued to stare at the ceiling, like he was waiting for answers.
—
Katie was taking the lead on planning the watch party for the primary. “It should be somewhere fun,” I heard Matt tell her one afternoon. “Not stuffy. Somewhere that reflects how young Jimmy is.” As always, Katie took down notes and nodded seriously. I’d seen her smile maybe three times, and that was only when she was first meeting people and forced the corners of her lips upward for a few seconds, because she knew she should. She wasn’t joyless—it was more she gave the impression that there was so much to do she couldn’t be bothered to waste her time with pleasantries.
Later that same day, Matt and I were sitting outside on the patio, enjoying the unusual seventy-degree late February day. Matt was in a rare relaxed mood—maybe the warm weather had tricked him somehow—and we were talking about his sister, Meg, who’d just announced that she was moving out of their parents’ house.
“I can’t believe it,” Matt said. “It’s like the end of times.”
“I can’t believe she’s lived there so long. What would’ve happened if she just never showed signs of moving out? Wouldn’t your mom eventually kick her out? Or gently suggest it?”
“Who knows?” Matt said. “I had visions of her being one of those weird adults that live in their parents’ basements forever.”
“Like a really well-dressed Boo Radley?”
“Exactly.”
I was enjoying this conversation immensely, just so happy that we were talking about anything other than Jimmy and the campaign for a few minutes. Katie came out the back door and cleared her throat, like she thought she was interrupting something and wanted to make her presence known.
“I came up with some options for the watch party,” she said, still standing on the edge of the patio. She waited until Matt answered to walk closer and hand him a paper. “It’s a list of five different sports bars, some pros and cons about the areas where each is, and some pictures of the interiors. We can bring our own food into all of them, which is great, since I figured you’d want it catered.”