Something I Don't Know

27: old memes die hard

Later that night, after we've all left the Walmart parking lot and Jamie, Violet, Midge and I all headed back to the loft, I find Jamie and Levi on the living room couch. Jamie, for some reason, has my phone in his hand, and seems to be showing something on its screen to the ghost beside him.

I'd been on my way from the movie room, where I'd retired to reorganizing my DVD collections in alphabetical order (alphabetical in terms of the directors' last names, that is) since I could in no way sleep. Midge is upstairs somewhere, I think. Possibly in my bedroom. I don't exactly know; an hour ago, when we got here, she gave me a tiny peck on the cheek and said she had to work on something before disappearing upstairs. A few minutes later, Violet bid everyone goodnight as well, ruffling her brother's hair before retiring to the extra bedroom we'd given her.

Now, I stride up behind Jamie and Levi, head slightly tilted to the side. "Jamie, what are you doing?"

At the sound of my voice, he doesn't jolt, just looks up pleasantly, like he already knew I was there—probably because he did. Freaky wolf senses, man. "I'm showing Levi memes," he explains. "You have quite a lot of them saved on your phone."

"It's quite fascinating," Levi says, like it's actually fascinating. His eyebrows are knitted. "The humor of the current generations is so...complex. Makes me wonder how it came to be."

I stare at the both of them: Jamie, eyes wide and unblinking, pleasant little grin at his mouth, and Levi, sitting beside him with his hands tented regally in his lap and his eyes aflame with curiosity.

I snatch my phone from Jamie's hand, ignoring both of their protests. "Don't touch my stuff, Jamie," I snap, glancing down at the meme he has pulled up. I'm unable to fight a scowl. "This isn't—this isn't even a good one."

"Why is it saved to your phone, then?" asks Levi, but when I look him, the expression on his face is genuine, not ridiculing.

I glare at him. "It's from like, five years ago. Everyone thought Doge was funny back then."

Levi's face screws up in confusion. "Doge?"

I click my phone off, shoving it in my pocket and turning in the direction of the staircase. "I'm leaving now. Jamie, it's late. Go to bed."

Jamie lets out an audible groan, but before I'm all the way upstairs, I hear Levi reply, "Grey's right, young lad. You'll be exhausted in the morning if you don't sleep now..."

To think that when Jamie and I first moved into this loft, it felt so empty. I'm not sure if Safiya knows or cares, but it's much too large a place for just two people, and for those first couple months, it certainly felt like it. Yes, there's the privacy aspect of it, but also the long, lonely hallways and the ridiculously tall ceilings and the walking into a room to find yourself terribly alone.

Now, though, the loft always seems to be brimming with activity. Jamie and Violet running around in the backyard. Levi trying to figure out how to work the television. Late night Scrabble tournaments. And, of course, meme education in the living room. What once housed two people now houses four—five, really, if you count Midge, who's here pretty much every other day.

As she's here now, sitting upright in my desk chair, her laptop open in front of her, white light from its screen reflecting in the pair of reading glasses she wears.

Though it's my bedroom so I definitely don't have to knock, I do anyway, tapping one knuckle against the wall. She looks up, her face melting into a weird, soft expression that almost seems like relief. "Grey."

I nod at her. "It is I."

The weird, soft expression softens more when she grins at me. She reaches out her arms to me like a sleepy toddler clawing for a teddy bear, and I come into them, though the fact that she's sitting and I'm standing leads us to this half-awkward embrace with her head against my stomach and my hands patting her back.

I exhale, rubbing circles between her shoulder blades. She shudders and buries her face further into me. "Have you showered yet?" she asks me.

I glance at the clock. Eleven minutes past midnight. "No."

"I can tell."

I draw back slightly, so she can see me narrow my eyes at her. "Your presence in my bedroom has made it hard to reach the shower."

She rolls her eyes. "Like I haven't seen you naked before."

"Yeah, but this time, I'd be wet."

"Please shut up," she grumbles, but she's got this smile on her face—not her usual, happy-go-lucky smile, but the sort of smile she gives me after I touch her in a certain place or kiss her in a certain place or do other things in a certain place (the certain places vary in these scenarios, in case you were wondering).

I move around the other side of her, leaning over my desk chair to see what she's looking at on her laptop. There's a search engine pulled up, and into it, she's typed, Anik Bhatt, Atlanta mayor. I frown. "Midge, I thought you were sleeping."

"There has to be something we can do," Midge says, turning sideways in her seat to look at me. Her bubblegum pink hair is drawn back in a high ponytail, bangs left to curve over her forehead. It's taking all my strength not to reach out and flick her ponytail with my hand, or pull it loose, or—yeah. It's taking all my strength not to touch her in general. "Something that would show to the public that he's not who they think he is."

I swallow. I should tell her. Midge would hate it if she knew I was keeping things from her. But then again, this isn't just a thing. This is a thing that would endanger her if she knew about it, and something tells me she would not like to be endangered, and something tells me I'd be a terrible boyfriend for allowing her to be endangered.

So I don't tell her. Instead, I reach over her shoulder, tipping the laptop screen down slowly until it clicks shut. "Sleep," I tell Midge, my voice half a whisper.

She reaches up, looping her arms around my neck. Her eyes on me are wide and brown and expectant.

With a sigh, I sweep one arm underneath her legs and hoist her from the desk chair. Midge is not the lightest girl on earth, but that's fine, because she's mine, and I would never change a thing about her, and besides—all it means is I am much stronger than I appear.

She nuzzles her head into my chest. "I don't want to sleep. I think we should talk."

"About what?"

I set her down on the bed, curling up beside her, face to face. She twines her ankles in mine and says, "About your uncle."

I try not to, but I hesitate. "What's there to talk about?"

"Please, Grey," she says, her eyes searching my face, half-shadowed in the light from the bedside lamp. She nudges a strand of hair out of my eyes, cupping my face with her hand. "I know you're upset. I know that you're thinking—"

I squint at her. "Are you reading my mind again?"

She laughs, but it's short-lived. "No, Grey, I'm not. Sometimes I don't need a spell. I know you."

I know you.

I'm always talking about how annoying it is to be all figured out. To have people know what you're going to say before you even say it. Yet, now, with Midge less than an inch away from me with that gleam of bittersweet joy in her eyes, I'm not so sure it's a bad thing to be known.

"I am—" I shake my head, then nudge Midge's nose with my own, bringing my mouth to hers for a moment. I rephrase, "I will be okay."

She nods, really nods, and I know she believes me and somehow that's even better than if I just believed it myself. Then she draws the covers up around us and squeezes as close against me as possible, her hands pressed flat against my chest, my arms circling her. Her eyes shut and for a while I just watch the slight flutter of her eyelashes, wondering how I ever got so lucky.

When her breath falls into a slow, leisurely rhythm that is—or at least seems—indicative of sleep, I reach up to shut the lamp off.