Page 55 of Come Back to Bed


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“Don’t even think about it, mister,” I say. “Maybe you should get a hotel room for a couple of nights? So you can use an elevator?”

“No,” he says, stubbornly. “Here.” He doesn’t say it, but from the way he looks at me, I’d like to think that he wants to be here so he can stay close to me.

Honestly, surprisingly, it’s what I want too.

Sprained ankle be damned.

It takes him less than two minutes to reach the second floor, both Lloyd and I hanging back behind Matt as he eventually gets the hang of ascending the stairs with both crutches. Good thing he has such impressive ab strength. The only thing slowing him down at this point, is probably the Percocet.

“Have to get Daisy,” Matt mumbles, as we reach the door to 4B.

“I’ll get him,” I tell Lloyd. “I know where the daycare is. Can you stay with him until I get back? Make sure he stays off his feet?”

“Yeah, sure. I have a dinner date in an hour, though.”

“I’ll definitely be back within half an hour.”

“My keys are in my pants,” Matt says to me, grinning like a naughty boy. “Wanna get them for me?”

“Oh yes, may I?” I roll my eyes as I reach into the front pockets of his sweatpants.

Lloyd quietly clears his throat and looks away.

Matt’s head is tilting down towards me as I pull the keyring out. I lean back, because we’re not supposed to kiss in front of other people, but he probably doesn’t remember that in this state. I open the front door, place the keys on the console table, as Matt and Lloyd enter.

“I guess you should text or call the daycare to let them know I’m picking her up, right?”

Matt grins at me. “My phone’s in the other pocket.”

Lloyd is watching us curiously, and looking at Matt like he doesn’t even recognize him.

“Okay, well why don’t you sit down on the sofa so you can get off the crutches and get it yourself. Lloyd, why don’t you help him with the texting. I’ll head out to pick Daisy up now.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“You better bring Daisy back,” Matt warns me.

“Please,” I say. “What do you think I’m going to do—take her on a bus to my parents’ farm in Vermont?” Although, as I say it, I mentally picture how wonderful it would be to see Daisy running around on my parents’ vast property. It makes me sad and happy at the same time, as most thoughts of the farm do. Or maybe it’s my thoughts of Daisy that are bittersweet lately. Having a connection with someone who isn’t mine should be freeing—because I don’t have to take responsibility for her. But knowing that each time I see her could be the last is beginning to weigh on me.

It doesn’t help that Daisy is so happy to see me when I get to the doggy daycare. She scampers towards me, carrying her leash in her mouth, and stands up on her hind legs in front of me. I only briefly consider buying us two bus tickets to Vermont…Walking her home is fun. I regularly consider adopting a pet for myself, but it just doesn’t seem like a good idea given that I live in a walk-up and have little control over how much time I can spend at home. As always—no-strings is the best possible scenario and I just have to keep my feelings in check and enjoy what’s happening now.

I suppose there are worse places to be living than the fourth floor of walk-up, when you have a sprained ankle. Like, the fifth floor of a walk-up. Or a treehouse. But I don’t really want Matt to stay anywhere else, and I really don’t want to think about why he doesn’t want to stay in a hotel either.

When Daisy and I get back to 4B, Matt is sprawled out on the sofa, with his left leg resting on the back of it and the other foot on the floor. I’m pretty sure I was in that exact same position on that sofa on Tuesday night, with his face up in my lady business. If Dolly knew what her nephew and I have been up to on her furniture, she might double my rent. Or, more realistically, she would ask for details.

I relieve Lloyd of his duties so he can get to his dinner date. I order groceries and deli meals for Matt, and go downstairs to get them when they’re delivered. I put everything away in the kitchen, make sure there’s toilet paper in the bathroom, make an ice pack, make more ice. I find a serving tray and load it up with a bottle of water, box of tissues, an apple and a pack of oatmeal raisin cookies. I take it all to the guest room, before insisting that Matt trade the couch for the bed.

“Why?” he asks, because he’s a stubborn boy.

“Because you need to sleep. For a long time. And you need to get to bed before the drug really kicks in.” I hold up the crutches in front of me. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Yes sir.” All eight of his abs get him up off the sofa without him having to put any weight on his left foot, and he leans into the crutches, towards me. His face stops two inches from mine. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”