Page 35 of Come Back to Bed
“Matt McGovern.”
Tommy sucks in his breath. “You like him. I can tell by the way you said his name.”
“What?! No.” What is it with these guys who think they can tell how I feel about someone by the way I say their name? “I mean, I don’tnotlike him.”
“On Opposite Day.”
“What? Don’t confuse me.” I cover my face. “Why is it so hot in here? I’m confused.”
“Yeah you are! You are one hot, confused, enamored little girl who wants to bang her neighbor!”
“I do not.”
“Yoooouuuu like him!” Tommy is more excited right now than he was when he told me he got the part in this play. Bless his heart. Too bad he’s so mistaken.
“I like his dog. I care about his wellbeing insofar as it affects the wellbeing of his dog…Don’t look at me.” I polish off what was left of my wine. “Stop it. Let’s talk about you.”
“Yeah! Let’s talk about how happy I am to see you liking someone other than your boss!”
“I don’t like him. I just seem to have a weird physical reaction to his handsomeness.”
“Okay, now I must demand visual proof of this alleged lawyerly handsomeness.”
I whip out my phone and open up my photo app. “There,” I say, holding my phone up in front of his face. “Isn’t she perfect?”
“That’s a dog. You’re showing me a picture of a dog.”
“That’s Daisy! His dog. She’s a Boston Terrier. Look, that’s Matt’s lower pant leg in the corner there. He’s holding the leash. He has…big feet. And nice shoes.”
Tommy glances up at me, not even wasting his considerable performer energy on raising an eyebrow or rolling his eyes.
“What?! Why would I take a picture of him? He already thought I was crazy for taking a picture of his dog.”
“Okay, well she’s a beautiful canine, and that’s a totally humpable lower pant leg. Congratulations. Enjoy.”
Tommy’s friends call out to us from the table when the waitress delivers the bottle of Malbec to them. Tommy jumps up and waves to them. “Let’s go sit down.”
I give him a look, silently apologizing and pleading with him.
“You want to go home, don’t you?”
“Am I a terrible friend? And before you answer that—consider the fact that I have already paid for everything that’s been ordered at the table.”
He pulls me in for a hug. “I love you. Thanks for coming to the show.”
“I love you, I loved the show, I really loved seeing you in it.”
“I really love that you’re going to bang your hot neighbor.”
* * *
I am so tipsy that I barely even remember hailing a cab or walking up the stairs to my apartment. I vaguely remember the driver saying: “You’re not going to bangwho?” so I guess I was thinking out loud again. But I’m definitely not going to bang him.
Now it’s eleven on a Saturday night, and my heels are making a lot of noise as I stomp lady-like towards my front door and take my time fiddling around with the lock, jangling my keys. Gosh, I hope I’m not bothering anyone with all the noise I’m making as I return home alone…And it certainly seems like I’mnotbothering anyone. Which is fine.
He probably went out, and that’s good. He should. Maybe he went to see Vanessa. If so, good for him. That would make him a total idiot and I’d feel a little sick about it, but good for him!
I wander around my tiny apartment, restlessly, picking random things up and then putting them back down. I don’t want to go out again, but I have too much energy to just get into bed. I have to do something. I check my phone, to see if Sebastian sent me any messages. He’s been in such a weird funk the past few days. I barely see him when I’m at his office because he’s holed up in his studio, and when I do see him, he just moans a lot and needs emotional support.
