Page 84 of Come Back to Bed
“It’s so good to meet a friend of Bernie’s—and a boyfriend, no less.”
“Mom.” Bernadette goes to grab our bags from the trunk, reprimanding her dad when he tries to help.
“Ohhh and look at this little cutie! Hi Daisy! Hello little puppy dog! We should put the chickens away so she can run around.”
I get the leash on Daisy and put her down on the ground. “It’s okay, I’ll hang onto her for now.”
Leslie Farmer shakes her head and touches her heart as she leads us up the stairs to the wraparound front porch and inside their house. “This is such a wonderful surprise. After the morning we had here, what a beautiful thing to have you three visiting us. I can’t wait to connect over dinner. We’ll let you get settled in Bernie’s room upstairs, and just so you know, Matt…we are very open about sex in this house.”
“Mom!”
“I don’t mean open like an open relationship, I mean if you want to have sex with our daughter while you’re here, you go right ahead.”
“I appreciate that.”
“We’re the opposite of cockblockers!”
“Don’t be so sure, Mom.”
“Don’t listen to Negative Nelly over there. We let her have boys sleepover when she was in high school.”
Wow.
“Oh my God, Mom! Zip it!”
“We taught her to be free and open about her sexuality, very early on.”
“Again, I appreciate that.”
Leslie Farmer winks at me and nudges my arm.
“You take the kids upstairs, Les, I’m gonna take a nap on the sofa down here. I’m beat,” Steve says as he ducks into the living room.
“Aww, Dad, you get some rest. Don’t worry about us. But tell Mom to take it down a notch, will you?”
“Not on yer life.”
I notice a big painting over the fireplace and know immediately who painted it. It’s somehow earthy and ethereal at the same time. A vibrant fall landscape with gold tones that you just want to reach out and touch and stare at for hours. “Is that one of yours, Bernadette?”
“Yeah.” She glances at it, uncomfortably.
“Isn’t it just fantastic? Our pride and joy.”
“She painted this when she was sixteen,” her dad marvels. “I wish I had half her talent. You know she’s actually an artist, not just an assistant, right Matt?”
“I sure do.”
Bernadette rolls her eyes. “Here we go. Go to sleep, Dad.”
We go up the creaky pine wood stairs to the second floor. The hallways are wide, the ceilings high. There are books and candles and mason jars filled with wildflowers and herbs on every horizontal surface, and paintings and framed photos on every vertical one. This house is rustic and warm and lived-in. I look back at Bernadette, who has the strangest expression on her face. Like someone who’s about to break a long fast by chowing down on everything that she knows will make her fat.
“Not much has changed inside the house since you were last here, I think, Bern. Just a little more dust perhaps.”
“The house looks great, Mom.”
Leslie holds up both arms to present Bernadette’s room. It’s awash in filtered golden light, streaming in from the windows. I let Daisy down when we step inside, and I don’t even notice the furniture. The first thing I see is the view from the picture window.
It’s the forest edge from the painting of hers, the one that I want.
