Page 25 of Come Back to Bed
Subject: NOT RUDE
I choose to never respond to messages with emojis in them.
I don’t do emojis.
I never use emojis.
I don’t like emojis.
TO: MATT MCGOVERN (personal)
FROM: BERNADETTE FARMER
Subject: WHUCK?!
That’s like someone refusing to use abbreviations in the Twentieth Century.
I like emojis.
They save time and you can judge a lot about a person by which emoji they decide to use in a situation.
TO: BERNADETTE FARMER
FROM: MATT MCGOVERN (personal)
Subject: I have plenty of other ways to judge people
If you’ll excuse me, I also have many other emails to respond to, and several other people to judge.
Have a great afternoon.
Asshole.
I can’t stop myself from responding with a smiling cat emoji, but then I place my phone face-down on the desk and get back to work.
* * *
I honestly didn’t think about Matt McGovern at all for the rest of the day, but once I’m back in my apartment, I can hear him next door. It sounds like he’s tossing a toy down the hall and Daisy’s running to fetch it and return it. I swear, if I only ever heard him through the vent, I would be under the impression that he’s a totally sweet man. It’s not like I can always hear what he’s saying—in fact most of the time I can’t. But I can hear the tone of his voice when he’s in bed, talking to Daisy, and he’s so unabashedly loving (“Who’s my girl? Who’s my sweet, beautiful girl?! Yes,you’remy girl! I love you, sweet crazy girl.”) Last night I heard him play guitar and sing to her in a high pitch to make her howl along with him.“Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer dooooo. I’m half crazy, all for the love of yooouuuu!”It’s all very charming and endearing. And so annoying that he shows absolutely no sign of being that sweet person at any other time.
I have now removed my soaking wet shoes and clothes (thank you, surprise windy thunder storm!), and slid into my slippers and sleep shirt, hastily towel-dried my hair. Now I am padding around the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door, staring inside. I’m opening cupboards, staring inside. I’m opening up my food delivery app and staring at it, before finally opening up the thing that I have been wanting to open up ever since my encounter with Matt earlier…A bottle of pinot noir.
It is well after eight, and I’m hungry, but I just want to go to my bedroom and listen to Nineties angry girl anthems while sipping wine and fuming about what a dick my temporary neighbor is.
Alanis Morissette has barely started ranting about why she’s here to remind her ex of the mess he left when he went away, when all of a sudden there’s a loud noise and I scream and everything goes dark and silent. I screamed a few weeks ago when it happened too. My heart is racing, but my brain already understands that it’s a blackout from the storm.
Within seconds, I’m screaming again because there’s banging on my front door.
“You okay in there?!” It’s Matt.
I don’t know what’s more startling—the sudden power outage, the banging on my door, or the genuine concern in Matt’s voice.
I shout out: “Yes! Be right there!” and then feel my way around for the flashlight that I keep in the drawer by my bed, making sure I don’t grab my vibrator instead.
I pause before opening the door: “Are you still out there?”
“Yes,” he says, as if that’s a ridiculous question.
I open the door and see that he’s holding Daisy, as well as his keys and cell phone, which he is using as a flashlight.
