The Thing I Didn't Know I Didn't Know (Russel Middlebrook: The Futon Years Book 1) (3 page)

"Oh, please. We've been using them interchangeably for months now."

"Yes, but it broke when
you
were using it! Is this really that difficult to understand? And, oh God, you didn't take the trash out like I asked you either."

"It's not even—"

"I'll do it!" I said suddenly.

Jake and Amanda both looked over at me.

"The trash," I said. "I'll take it out to the dumpster."

Then, before either of them could object, I grabbed the trash and left.

As sad as it sounds, on the days that I had a stint at Bake with Jake and Amanda together, I lived for the chance to take the trash out to the dumpster.

*   *   *

U Village is an outdoor mall, and the closest dumpster is a couple of hundred feet from the store, across a parking lot and behind an alley. There's no way Jake and Amanda could prove that I didn't get waylaid by a truck or a car, so I took my sweet time.

It was after dusk, but not quite night, and the air was cool and wonderful—the opposite of the stuffiness of the store. I caught a whiff of the ginger coming from the Chinese dumpling place, and it was wonderful to smell something other than baking bread.

The parking lot was surprisingly empty, which meant the mall was mostly deserted too.

Walking back to the store, my long-range sensors detected a hot guy at the far end of the mall corridor. He was so far away I didn't need to do my discreet double-take. I could stare openly, and he'd never know I was staring at him. From what I saw, he was really hot—dark, fit, sexy beard—but I couldn't really see his face, since he was still so far away.

I had to walk toward him to get back to Bake, so I did. He got clearer and clearer in my vision—and better and better looking. Even now, I was so far away that he couldn't possibly know that I was leering.

Then something clicked in my brain, and I realized this wasn't just some random hottie. I actually knew this guy. I'd
had sex
with this guy. (This was just about the weirdest thing imaginable, seeing a hot guy, wondering what he looked like naked, and then realizing that you already knew.)

But it wasn't just that I'd seen him naked. I'd loved him. I'd never loved anyone like I did him.

The ground started rocking, but not like at home, because home was on a houseboat. Somehow the whole world was rolling.

It was Kevin Land, the first guy I'd ever been with, back in high school. I'd been sixteen years old when it had started, and yeah, we'd gone through a lot of teenage drama before we ended up together. But then we
had
been together, and it had been the most wonderful thing ever. People say a lot of things about young love—that it's strong, that it's pure, that it's innocent, and yeah, that it's stupid.

But here's the thing: it
is
those things, including the parts about it being strong and pure. Or at least it can be.

Love hadn't been like that since then, at least not for me. I'd dated a few guys in college, but there wasn't anyone who was particularly memorable and/or not completely crazy. And, well, you already know about the seven or eight times I've done online hook-ups. That was pretty much my love life over the last few years—about as satisfying as the rest of my life.

Kevin and I had gotten together for good in the spring of my junior year. And then we'd dated all through the rest of high school, and the summer following it too.

And it had been truly wonderful. It's not just that he was hot, or that we had good sex, although he was, and we did. And it's not just that he was a great guy, although he was that too: decent, honest, sensitive, non-crazy. It's how he made me feel, how I acted around him.

I'd been around plenty of awful couples in my life, some gay and some straight. Even when it wasn't a constant war like it was with Jake and Amanda, it just wasn't very nice to be around. Why did love turn people into such jerks?

But once in my life, it hadn't been like that. With Kevin. Or maybe it had been, but in reverse. He did or said something nice or thoughtful for me, which inspired me to do something nice or thoughtful for him. It was the opposite of a vicious cycle.

I don't want to exaggerate things. I mean, we had problems. We could both be pissy and insecure (especially me). We took each other for granted. Once I'd borrowed his iPod Mini, cracked the plastic, but then pretended it had been fine when I returned it.

But most of the time, he made me a better person.

Then we'd gone away to college. He'd gotten a baseball scholarship out of state. It was a great opportunity, and I wasn't about to let him pass it up, but I couldn't afford to follow him. I moved to Seattle and went to the University of Washington with Min and Gunnar. Even so, I knew that Kevin's and my love would last. It was just that strong, that pure, that innocent, and yeah, that stupid.

We Skyped and chatted and texted, and we saw each other on breaks and vacations. But I still lived near our hometown, so it was always
him
coming home to see
me
. And when, after a year or so, he didn't come home for every little vacation, I started to feel resentful.

We still Skyped and chatted and texted.

But I guess we started to change. He had his friends, most of whom I'd never even met. I had my friends. For a while, I didn't mind all the backstory that was required to make what he was telling me make sense. Then more and more it started to feel like a hassle.

Basically, my pissy, insecure side started to win out over my nice, thoughtful one. And as great as Kevin was, he changed too (probably because I was so pissy and insecure). Suddenly I was one half of one of those couples that I'd always hated spending time around. Only I couldn't volunteer to take the trash out to leave it behind, because I was one half of the problem.

Then one long weekend he'd said he couldn't come home. I don't even remember the reason, but I'm sure it was a good one. I mean, he'd come home as much as he could.

So basically, I said, "Fine, don't come home." I'm sure I was hoping he would say, "No, wait! I was wrong! Of course I'll come home!"

But he didn't. And not only did he not come home, he didn't Skype or chat or text me either. He probably thought I'd been a jerk about the whole thing (which I sorta had been), so he was expecting
me
to contact
him
.

I don't know why I didn't, not at first. I was still hurt, I guess. He'd been the one to not come home, so I expected him to sort of make up for it by being the first to start up the interaction again. But after I while, I mostly forgot about him not coming home for the weekend, and I was just annoyed that he wasn't contacting me. Over a dumb little thing like my wanting him to come home for the weekend?

Then again, I wasn't contacting him either. And somehow this stupid little misunderstanding grew into this massive point of pride. Before long, I was really, really pissed at him—just absolutely furious. Looking back on it now, it all sounds so stupid. All I can say is that it made sense at the time.

Anyway, days turned into weeks, and neither of us contacted the other—not even a single "like" on Facebook. And months later, when I finally stopped being angry and I realized what a huge mistake I'd made, I guess I had too much pride to make things right. It was easier just to pretend the whole thing had never happened. Besides, I was certain he'd moved on. (I did mention what a total hottie he is, right?)

That was that. I never talked to him again.

And now here he was, right in front of me.

It's not like I stood there going over all this in my mind when I saw him. This is just important exposition.

No, I saw him, and I did hesitate for a second. But I'm no fool. I immediately started forward, desperate to go talk to him, to apologize and beg his forgiveness.

But now, wouldn't you know it, there was a small crowd at the end of the mall, and he'd somehow disappeared inside it.

And of course, by the time I'd made it to the end of that outdoor mall, he'd disappeared completely.

CHAPTER THREE

So this just figured, right? I'm feeling all mopey and pointless-y about my life, and then I spot my ex from high school, who reminded me of the last time I didn't feel quite so pointless. But then when I try to talk to him, I can't find him.

If this was a movie, I'd now spend the rest of the story trying to track him down. But it's not a movie, which means smartphones and social media exist—always, not just when the plot needs them to. Hell, I still had Kevin's cellphone number in my phone. Maybe he'd changed it, but I doubted it. And I also had his email address, and his Skype name. Assuming he lived in Seattle now, I could even look up his actual address and just show up at his door.

The point is, I had a million ways to contact him. I could have called him right then and said, "Hey, this is Russel. I just saw you in U Village, and I wanted to say hi. I'm standing by the fountain made up of spitting frogs, where are you?"

But of course I didn't. Accidentally bumping into each other at the mall was one thing. Calling him or texting him or dropping him an email seemed like something else entirely.

I figured I could at least cyberstalk him, so I stood there in that shopping mall searching for him on Facebook on my phone. Then I remembered that at some point in the last few years, we'd unfriended each other. I don't remember who had done it first (okay, yes, I do: he did). But his impulse had been right: it was impossible for both of us to move on with our lives when we were constantly being confronted with pictures of each other looking adorable and inner-tubing up at Mount Shasta with his new boyfriend. That's probably why he'd set all his settings on "private" too.

I Googled him and found a couple of recent pictures of him. I wasn't sure whether he played baseball anymore, but now he ran marathons. That was cool.

Why wasn't I calling him? I needed to get back to Bake, for one thing. But mostly it was pride. Yes, I'd been a jerk, but he sort of had been too. So now I was just supposed to go crawling back? All of a sudden that stupid old misunderstanding made sense again. It'd be one thing if I were successful now—if I'd invented a bestselling app, or were getting my PhD, or even if I ran marathons. But I worked two pathetic jobs I hated, had done nine or ten loveless online hook-ups, and occasionally stood in the shower trying to kill myself via nose-bleed.

Okay, yes, I was feeling sorry for myself. But this was my fucking party, and I'd cry if I fucking wanted to.

*   *   *

When I got home from work late that night, Min was in the front room studying with her grad school friends Trai and Lena. Trai is this small Asian guy in hipster horn-rims and skinny jeans. Lena is small and skinny too, with long, straight brown hair—sort of an anemic flower child with blocky, tortoiseshell glasses.

Truthfully, it's always a little disorienting to spend the day around all those fit, tan bodies at the lake, and then come home to Min and her skinny, pasty grad school friends. It's also weird how the three of them all sort of blend together, with their flat hair and dark earth tones. Sometimes I thought of Trai and Lena as Min's "Min-ions", mostly because of how much the two of them resembled her.

"Hey, guys," I said, squeezing my way into the kitchen. From there, I could see that the three of them were analyzing scatter plot charts on their iPads. Living on a houseboat is great and everything, but the problem comes whenever you invite more than one person over. Then it's suddenly like spending three hours in a crowded elevator.

"What's for dinner?" Min asked me.

I held up the take-out I'd picked up at Than Brothers on the way home—this local chain of Vietnamese restaurants. I'd ordered an extra large chicken pho with extra vegetables.

"I always order exactly the same thing," I said. "But they always charge me something different. It's never more than fifty cents either way, but still."

"Vietnamese charge by the mood," Trai said, and I was a little afraid to smile. I guess he could say that, because he's Vietnamese.

"Anyone want some?" I said, mostly just being polite.

"No, thanks," Min said.

Trai snickered, and I realized that Lena had just sent him a text message through her iPad. Had it been about me?

Here's where I should probably point out that I didn't like Trai and Lena very much. The weird thing was, I couldn't really pinpoint why. I just always had a sense that they didn't like me first. Maybe it was all in my mind. I mean, why did I assume Lena's text message was about me?

"So how was your day?" Min asked. She hadn't looked up from her iPad, but she sounded sincere.

Truthfully, I wanted to take my pho into my sleeping loft and eat it alone on the futon. But it was going to take a few minutes to reheat in the microwave.

"I ran into Kevin Land," I said. "Out at U Village."

Min's face jerked up. "
Seriously?
How'd
that
go?" She knew my whole history with him.

"I didn't talk to him. I just saw him from afar."

"Is he living in Seattle now?" Min turned to Lena and Trai. "Kevin was this guy that Russel used to go out with in high school." Trai is straight (but not really a Seattle Straight Boy), and I was pretty sure Lena was bisexual like Min.

They didn't nod or look up or anything, just kept working.

"Who knows?" I said to Min. "I unfriended him a long time ago."

"What are you going to do? Are you going to talk to him?"

"I don't know." I really didn't. I decided to take the high road and try and include Trai and Lena in the conversation. "You guys are the physicists. Isn't there a theory that everything that could happen has already happened?"

Lena and Trai exchanged a glance. Trai typed something, and now I saw a text message pop up on Lena's iPad.

"Well, sort of," Min said.

"In that case, I already met Kevin," I said. "And I'm sure it was a complete disaster."

Min smiled.

"But maybe I should," I said. "Maybe the universe is drawing the two of us back together again."

"Maybe it is," Min said.

"What's that theory?" I said. "That we're all connected?"

"We're all connected in lots of ways," Trai said. "All the atoms in our body have electromagnetic forces. There are forces in the universe that drive everything together, even as other forces push us all apart."

Tell me about it
, I thought.

"And there's the idea that there's really no such thing as 'solid' matter—that we're all just energy fields, exchanging atoms with everything around us. That the divisions we see are just a matter of perception. We're constantly exchanging atoms."

That made me wonder: Did I still have any of Kevin's atoms inside me? It had been years since we'd been together, but at the time, we'd exchanged a lot more than atoms, if you know what I mean. (After getting tested! And having lots of serious talks about what it "meant".)

"Isn't there a theory that explains the whole world?" I said. "Or at least
tries
to?"

"The Theory of Everything," Trai said.

"Well, does the Theory of Everything say whether or not I should call Kevin?"

"Sadly, no," Min said.

"It's not that kind of theory," Trai said. "It's a theoretical framework to understand physics—to explain all physical aspects of the universe."

No shit, Sherlock!
I thought.
'Cause I totally thought it would tell me whether to call my ex-boyfriend.

"Well, you guys need to keep searching then," I said. "Come up with a new theory that explains it, okay?"

"Yeah, we'll get right on that," Min said, smiling.

Part of me wanted to go on talking, to ask Min and her friends outright what I'd been thinking about before—how everyone seemed to know the secret to life except me. But I knew this wasn't the time.

The microwave dinged. My pho was done, which meant I could take my dinner and get the hell out of Dodge.

The front door opened. It was Gunnar, coming home from—where? He didn't have a job. And yet, he was almost always gone during the day. So where did he go? I'd never really asked him. Then again, I doubted he'd give me a straightforward answer if I did.

"Hey, there," I said to him. I nodded to my pho. "Hungry?"

"Nah," he said. He sort of shuffled his feet, and the boat rocked a little, almost like he'd caused it.

"Everything okay?" Min said to Gunnar.

He did look distracted. He almost always looks distracted—usually by something like a dead fly on the windowsill. But this was different. Now he seemed upset.

"Yeah," Gunnar said, hesitating.

Fortunately, the Min-ions weren't so annoying that they couldn't take the hint.

"We should go," Trai said.

"Yeah," Lena said.

It took them a minute to close out their programs and fold up their iPads, but then they were gone.

By now, Gunnar had taken a seat on the sofa in the main room. He was staring out the window. But it was dark out, so I doubted he could see anything.

There was an expression on Gunnar's face I'd never seen before. It was so stark, like a despairing Norwegian in some weary art house film. Outside, something sloshed.

Min and I exchanged a concerned glance. Gunnar had never acted like this before. It was like he was one of those guys who gets hit by a baseball, then suddenly speaks perfect French. On the other hand, we were his two best friends, and we totally wanted to be there for him, to do whatever we needed to do to help him.

This is it
, I thought. This was the moment when Gunnar finally started acting like a normal person, when Gunnar grew up. What had happened? Had he learned he was adopted? That he was the product of rape? That he only had six weeks to live?

With her iPad put aside and my pho forgotten, Min and I took seats across from him.

"So," I said to Gunnar, softly. "What's up?"

He turned and stared at us—lost in his thoughts, adrift on some mysterious sea.

There was a pause, like the whole universe was holding its breath.

Then Gunnar said, "There are dozens of documented cases of American Indian tribes in the northwest warning early settlers of half-men/half-beast creatures that lived in the wilderness. 'Sasquatch' comes from the word 'sásq'ets' in the First Nations language of British Columbia."

There was another pause. Min and I didn't say anything. We exchanged another glance, but not so gentle and concerned this time. Now we were just confused.

Finally, I said to Gunnar, "What?"

"Bigfoot," he said. "I think it might be real."

Min's and my confusion was quickly giving way to annoyance.

"What does Bigfoot have to do with anything?" I asked.

Now Gunnar was the one confused. "What do you mean?"

"What does that have to
do
with anything?" Min said.

"Why does it have to do with something?" Gunnar asked. Now
he
had the nerve to sound annoyed with
us
.

"We thought you were upset about something," I said. "That you needed to talk."

"I
am
upset. Can you imagine what the existence of Bigfoot would mean? Why aren't more people studying it?"

That's when I finally really understood what was going on. Gunnar had found a new obsession. He'd shifted over from deep-sea creatures to the existence of Bigfoot.

Min and I both fell back in our seats at the same time, disgusted. (I should point out that Min seemed a lot
more
disgusted, but that was sort of typical. She didn't put up with a lot of shit.)

I realized how stupid I'd been to think that Gunnar was upset about something real. When would I finally accept that Gunnar just wasn't normal—that he was never going to
be
normal?

"Bigfoot doesn't exist," Min said wearily.

Gunnar sat upright. "How can you
say
that? How can you definitively say it doesn't exist? I'm not saying it
does
exist—I'm just saying it
might
. That we should at least consider the evidence. That's what scientists are supposed to
do
, right? They keep an open mind. But most scientists won't even consider the evidence."

"That's just it," Min said. "There
is
no evidence. Just superstition, misidentification, and hoax."

"What about the stories from American Indian cultures?"

"Come on. Almost every culture has a myth about a half-man, half-beast creature. It's one of the 'cultural universals'."

"The what?" I said.

"Traits or beliefs that almost every culture on Earth shares," Min said. "Think about it. A belief in the 'wild man' concept could have been a way for earlier cultures to make sense of the idea that there was a connection between humans and the rest of the natural universe. Or maybe it was even our first vague understanding of evolution."