Page 90 of Come Back to Bed
20
Bernadette
A couple of weeks after we return home from the farm, Matt invites me to have lunch with his parents in the middle of a workday. He brings it up early that same morning while we’re both getting ready to leave for work—I assume because he knows that it will give me less time to fret about it in advance. It’s a good call on his part.
“Oh great. Yeah. I should be able to make it. Thanks. Are they going to be in town long?”
“Just overnight, actually. They were originally going to fly direct to London but they decided to break up the flights and see me. You’ll like them. Or not. Ever had lunch with three lawyers before?”
“Uh. Only in my dreams. Are they going on vacation?”
“Yes. They’re meeting up with Dolly and her boyfriend and London.” He watches me for a reaction, as he says: “And then Dolly will be coming home right after that.”
Cue record scratch sound effect.
This is news to me.
“Oh right. Cool.” That seems like the appropriate thing to say.
I knew that Dolly would be coming home eventually, of course, but I had gotten so used to having Matt and Daisy next door that I’d actually forgotten that it’s not a permanent situation. Matt never talks about apartment-hunting and he certainly doesn’t seem to have time to do it.
He puts on his jacket, kisses my cheek and puts Daisy’s leash on her while heading for the door. “I’ll text you later.”
Part of me is wondering if I should offer to let them stay with me until he finds a place, because he surely won’t want to stay in 4B with his aunt. I’m sort of proud of myself for having this idea, and thrilled that it doesn’t induce any nausea or heart palpitations whatsoever. I plan to bring it up to him tonight when we’re both home from work.
Meanwhile, back in Tribeca…Sebastian has been really weird around me, ever since the party. He’s keeping me very busy with organizational tasks—updating and checking his catalogues of work and art books and valuables for insurance purposes. Most of the time when I’m in his office he’s in his studio, but occasionally when he’s in the office with me I’ll catch him staring at me wistfully. He always looks away without saying anything, which makes it even more awkward. He keeps taking phone calls in another room for privacy—something he didn’t used to do. I assume that it’s because he’s talking to a woman that he’s dating and he doesn’t want to do it in front of me, but I really don’t care.
I just wish everything could go back to the way things were with us—minus the obsessive crush part—so I can get on with slyly working out a plan to leave this job.
When I poke my head into his studio to tell him that I’m leaving for lunch, he starts asking me where I’m going and who I’m meeting with and when I expect to be back. He needs to talk to me this afternoon, he says, so I need to be back by three at the latest. I’m wondering if he suspects that I’m looking for another job, because he’s not usually this neurotic. Or rather—he’s not usually neurotic aboutme.
I get to the midtown restaurant fifteen minutes after I’m supposed to meet Matt and his parents there. They are already seated and his parents are sipping on their gin and tonics. Matt introduces me to them as “Bernadette, who I told you about…” So, I have no idea what he told them about me. I assume he didn’t happen to mention the no-strings thing, and I don’t let myself wonder whether or not he referred to me as his girlfriend. Mr. and Mrs. McGovern are perfectly nice and polite to me, regardless.
They could not be any more different from my parents. As suspected, Matt and I are not descended from the same species. Pierce and Margaret McGovern are both Santa Barbara lawyers with sun-kissed skin who spend their weekends sailing, golfing and playing tennis. Pierce has the whitest, straightest teeth I’ve ever seen, and Margaret looks like a Banana Republic ambassador in her sheath dress, ballet flats and perfect jean jacket that was probably ironed.
You can’t paint these people, you’d just have to sharpen your colored pencils to a point, steady your hand, and come as close to perfection as possible.
Now that I’m looking at Matt with his parents, though, I’m thinking that there’s some truth to what that lady at the dinner party said about him. He certainly is genetically-gifted, as his parents are both very attractive and fit, but they wouldn’t make you do a double-take when they walk into a room. They wouldn’t make me want to laugh or slap them. The thing that makes Matt so darned gorgeous is the way he carries himself. He’s hot on a metaphysical level.
That said, they are clearly Matt’s parents. Pierce exudes reliability and has the same brand of stoic charm, while Margaret displays the warmth that her son reveals to the lucky few. I also catch glimpses of Dolly in her when she teases her husband and son.
I like them.
I don’t think they knew what to make of me at first, especially when Matt tells them about the farm, but once Margaret asks me what it’s like to live next door to her sister, all of the McGoverns are entertained by my carefully curated anecdotes. It’s nothing like how easily my parents welcomed Matt into their home—the McGoverns are polite but guarded. When Margaret mentions that she still follows Vanessa on Instagram, it doesn’t seem to occur to her that it would make me uncomfortable. She just comments on how striking she looks with bangs, and I don’t disagree.
Matt holds my hand under the table whenever we aren’t using our hands to eat, silently reassuring me. He’s really good at this dating thing. Anita was right. I need to tie this guy down with all the strings.
I nearly choke on my linguini when Margaret asks Matt to tell her more about his new apartment.
Matt squeezes my thigh. “I just found out right before you got here,” he tells me. “I just found a place this morning. Lloyd’s cousin is a broker and he called to say he had a listing that goes on the market later today. He gave me the chance to look at it first, so I rescheduled a meeting.” He looks really excited and happy. “They’ve already approved my application. It’s perfect, so I knew I had to move fast. It’s a garden duplex—two beds, two bath, really good space, nice light, with a small fenced-in backyard. And it’s on a great street in Park Slope…” He swallows those last two words.
I suddenly feel like I’m coming down with the flu again.
Fucking Brooklyn.
I’ve lost so many friends to Brooklyn. That borough is ruining my life.
I could go hang out with them there, I know I could.
