The Thing I Didn't Know I Didn't Know (Russel Middlebrook: The Futon Years Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

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