“Nope, Jimmy and I will get it,” Matt said, standing up and piling plates on top of each other. “And we’ll be back with more wine.”
We watched as the two of them filled their arms with dishes to carry into the kitchen. As Jimmy held the door open for Matt, the two of them laughed at something he’d said. We couldn’t hear what it was.
“Look at those husbands of ours,” Ash said to me. “How did we ever get so lucky?”
—
Jimmy was invited to speak at the Texas Democratic State Convention at the end of June, which was a big deal—a much bigger deal than I realized when we first heard about it. “This is huge,” Matt said. And then again with more emphasis, just in case we missed it, “Huge.”
Before the convention, I’d never seen Jimmy get nervous. He could be jumpy before events, but that was mostly just adrenaline and he always calmed down as soon as he started talking. But this was different—from the moment he first found out about the convention, he was terrified. Anytime someone mentioned it, he got a look on his face like he might be sick. He’d be speaking to over seven thousand people—by far the largest crowd he’d ever been in front of—and he’d be alongside much bigger, more well-known Texas Democrats.
He and Matt worked on the speech every night. It contained a lot of the same talking points that he’d used while campaigning, but they’d made it more personal, a little more theatrical. Leading up to the convention, Matt and Jimmy read the speech out loud over and over, tweaking each word, rehearsing it a thousand different ways. On the car ride to Dallas, Jimmy practiced while Matt drove, jumping in every once in a while with a suggestion, and by the time we arrived, I was pretty sure I could’ve recited the whole thing from memory.
Matt and Jimmy left the hotel early in the day to go to the convention center for a walk-through, and when they returned Ash and I were just sitting down to have lunch at the hotel restaurant. Viv had stayed behind with Ash’s mom, and Ash was clearly excited about having a free day, and was on her phone trying to find a place we could get manicures when we were done eating.
I could tell something was wrong as soon as Matt and Jimmy walked into the restaurant. They sat down with us, and immediately Matt said, “There was a little miscommunication,” as if he were a PR person trying to smooth over a mishap.
“I couldn’t practice my speech,” Jimmy said. “That was the miscommunication.”
It turned out that all of the walk-through time was allotted to the more important speakers. Jimmy had been counting on practicing with the teleprompter while reading his speech, getting a feel for the microphone, but all he got to do was walk on the stage and walk right off again.
“I don’t know how this happened,” Matt said. He sounded apologetic.
“It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” And then Jimmy looked pale as he said, “I’ve never used a teleprompter before.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Matt said, and Jimmy just shook his head and said, “God, I hope so.”
—
Jimmy’s speech was (by all accounts) great. He was completely natural and engaging, timed all of his jokes just right, and didn’t rush through any of it. There was no sign that he was uncomfortable with the teleprompter. It was as though he’d done this a million times before. As Jimmy finished up, I heard Matt let out a long breath that he may have been holding the whole time. “That was good,” he said to me, sounding relieved. “Really good, right?”
Everyone congratulated Jimmy that night, compliments coming from all around. I heard one man say to him, “You’re going places, kid,” like he was an old-timey politician. On the car ride home, Jimmy repeated all the things people had said to him, even though we’d already heard most of them. He was driving, staring at the road as he talked about all the amazing praise he’d gotten. “Someone said it reminded them of Obama’s red state, blue state speech,” he said. “Do you believe that?” He laughed like it was a crazy thing to say, but you could tell that he was thrilled by it, that part of him thought it was true.
—
Just a few days after the convention, we all headed to Luling, Texas, to attend the Watermelon Thump—a festival dedicated to all things watermelon. Anytime this event was mentioned, I couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous it sounded. I was strangely excited for it, because when else would we ever go to such a thing?
Matt was in a horrible mood after the convention and showed no signs that he’d snap out of it anytime soon. As we packed for Luling, I said in a voice of forced cheer, “Come on, don’t tell me you’re not excited for the Thump?” I could hear how fake I sounded, like I was talking to a grumpy child. Matt just grunted in response, not looking up from folding his clothes. He couldn’t even pretend to smile, and I had a horrible thought—if he wasn’t even a little amused by the idea of the Thump, then things were even worse than I’d realized.