The Future of Us (13 page)

Emma kneads her thumbs in small circles down the sides of my spine. “All of this stuff occurs years from now. Think of how many billions of tiny details need to line up between now and then to make everything exactly the same. It’s impossible. Even this massage, which wouldn’t have happened yesterday, makes whatever happens next a little different.”

“What does that have to do with my sperm?”

Emma slides her fingers behind my ears. “Do you remember when your teacher talked about how many sperm you guys let loose every time you—”

“On second thought, can we not talk about this?” I say, my eyes rolling back at her touch.

She rubs her fingertips down my arms.
Man, I love that so much
.

“Every time you ejaculate,” she continues, “you release something like four hundred million sperm. Each one totally unique.”

“I seriously don’t want to talk about this.”

With her fingers running back up my arms, and all this sperm talk, things are getting a little too intense down below. I lean slightly forward, conveniently placing my forearms across my lap.

“Will you just do my shoulders?” I ask.

As Emma moves her hands back up to my shoulders, there’s a ping at the computer, like digital fairy dust.

“An instant message!” Emma scrambles off the bed. “I’ve never gotten one of these before.”

I cross my legs and turn toward the computer.

“The screen name says it’s from DontCallMeCindy,” Emma says. “I have no idea who that is, but she’s asking if I’m the Emma Nelson who goes to Lake Forest.” As she taps at the keys, Emma tells me what she’s writing. “‘Tell me who you are first.’”

I want to watch the screen myself, but there’s no way I can stand up just yet.

Another instant message appears. Emma reads it to herself, and then narrows her eyes at me. “You are in so much trouble.”

“What? Why?”

She types some more words and then hits Enter. “Five minutes ago,” she says, “you were lecturing me about changing the future. But it looks like you’ve been tinkering with it yourself.”

I laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“You are such a hypocrite! Why else would Sydney Mills be asking for your phone number?”

JOSH LEANS FORWARD on my bed, one leg crossed over the other. “You gave it to her, right?”

I grin and tap my chin. “Well, I had to think about whether or not—”

“Emma! Did you give my number to Sydney Mills?”

“Of course I did.”

“What did she say?”

I glance at the screen. I closed the instant message box once Sydney signed out. All that’s left is Josh’s Facebook page with Sydney’s massive belly.

That comment annoys me. It’s cheesier than anything Josh would say now. I guess that’s the kind of guy he becomes, all mushy and wrapped up in Sydney like he has no life of his own.

Josh looks at me with a pained sort of hope. “I need to know
exactly
what she said.”

“What did you want to her to say? That she’s driving over in her convertible to whisk you into the sunset?” That wasn’t fair. I don’t know why I’m being so bitchy. “She said she got my screen name from Graham. So I gave her your number and she said thanks.”

Josh stares at me. “I thought you were happy now that you’re married to Kevin Storm.”

“Don’t change the subject,” I say. “You were so mad at me for calling Jordan, but then here comes Sydney Mills, asking for your number. You must have done more than just make a face in class yesterday.”

Josh raises his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to.”

“But you
did
?”

“We were in Peer Issues today, talking about relationships, and this senior guy gave her a hard time. So I stood up for her. What was I supposed to do?”

“You stood up for Sydney about
relationship
issues? Who was giving her a hard time?”

“Rick something. He’s in Mr. Fritz’s class.”

“Does he play football?”

“Do you know him?”

I can’t help laughing. “You defended Sydney to
Rick Rolland
?”

Josh doesn’t care about who’s popular at school, or who has a history together, and that’s all great. But Rick Rolland is the guy having the bonfire Kellan was excited about. He and Sydney used to date, and Josh should not be involving himself with that.

“He was being a dick,” Josh says. “And besides, what I said wasn’t a big deal.”

But we both know it was. This ripple is going to affect Josh’s future in a major way.

Josh takes in a deep breath. “So I was thinking about Facebook today. Remember last summer at the lake when Frank Wheeler said he was going to become a millionaire, and everyone laughed?”

I’m not sure where Josh is going with this, but I’m relieved to be moving on from Sydney and my husbands. “He said he’d jump in front of a bus if he doesn’t make a million by the time he’s thirty.”

“Exactly.” Josh reaches into his backpack and pulls out a folded up piece of paper. “I made a list of people we should look up on Facebook. Like my mom and dad, David, Tyson—”

“And Kellan!” I add. “I was thinking the same thing today. I want to see if she makes it into med school.”

I swivel toward my computer, and jiggle the mouse. The brick wall screensaver disappears and I get another chance to witness Sydney’s pregnant belly. “First, we should refresh your page,” I say. “Since you were Sydney’s superhero today, and now she’s going to call you, I bet everything’s different. You probably weren’t supposed to get together until much later, and—”

“Wait.” Josh stands up.

The arrow hovers over the Refresh button, but his tone is so serious I don’t click it.

Josh wriggles his feet into his sneakers and then grabs his skateboard and backpack. “I’ll try to come back later. Don’t look anyone up without me, okay?”

As he barrels downstairs, I shout, “I know where you’re going! Don’t you think babysitting your telephone is kind of—?”

Before I can finish, the latch on my front door clicks shut.

SYDNEY MILLS ASKED for my number!

I sprint through my front door, then up the stairs to my bedroom.

It still makes no sense, but I need to accept this reality. It’ll start with a phone call, which will lead to marriage, children, and a house on Crown Lake. I’ll have a fancy graphic-design job, and I’ll probably drive a nice car, too. A BMW or, since we’ll be out in the country, a Chevy Tahoe. Or both! In fifteen years, maybe I’ll drive something so insane I can’t even imagine it now.

My bed is unmade and T-shirts are strewn all over the floor. This does not look like the room of someone Sydney Mills would be calling. But it is! And she could be calling any second now.

I turn in a slow circle around my room. If the phone rings, I could kick piles around until I find it, but what if I answer too late? What if, because she couldn’t reach me, Sydney chats with some other guy and they start going out? Maybe they’ll end up getting married, and
he’ll
be taking
my
tropical vacations.

I lift the gray phone cord with my index finger and follow it down the length of my mattress, picking up stray socks and shirts. Finally, I toss aside an issue of
Thrasher
magazine and unveil the glorious telephone.

I shake out the tension in my arms. Tonight, before bed, I’m going to add ten push-ups to my usual twenty. I want to look like the kind of guy Sydney is used to calling.

I sit on the edge of my mattress and stare at the phone. If my parents come home early I don’t want them eavesdropping on this call. I’m nervous enough already. So I run to their room, grab the cordless phone from the nightstand, and then head downstairs.

I walk across my lawn toward the street. Every time Sydney comes into Peer Issues, she turns off her cell phone and slips it into her pocket. It always looks so casual and cool. I try shoving the cordless phone into my back pocket, but it’s too chunky to fit.

When I reach the sidewalk, a FedEx truck speeds across the street. I carefully look both ways before crossing. Today is definitely not the day to get hit by a truck. Today is a day to enjoy being alive! Wagner Park is full of maple trees with bright green leaves, lilac bushes, and the shouts of children playing.

I know exactly how far I can go before the phone loses contact with the cradle in my parents’ room. Over spring break, while visiting my brother, I met a girl at a music festival in Seattle. We stayed in touch for a few weeks, but I never told my parents about her. Whenever I talked to her on the phone, I called from the park. As long as I didn’t walk past the swings, I was okay.

I was hoping to visit her again this summer. David even offered to help pay for my flight. I think he was happy to hear me talking about someone other than Emma. But the Seattle girl didn’t want a long-distance relationship. After I left a few messages that she didn’t return, she mailed me a letter saying it was fun at the concert, but what was the point if it wasn’t going to last?

I hear a door shut, and turn to see Emma crouched at her stoop, tying the laces on her silver running shoes. When she adjusts the Discman on her arm, I move behind a tree. If Emma walks over here and Sydney calls, she’ll either roll her eyes at everything I say or coach me along in the background.

Emma crosses the street, jogs toward the running trail, and then disappears from view. I continue to the knee-high concrete barrier surrounding the swings and set the phone on the wall.

Even if I try to do everything right, the ripple effect is unavoidable. Everything changed the moment Emma discovered Facebook. If I didn’t know Sydney and I would eventually get married, I may not have defended her in Peer Issues. And she wouldn’t have asked for my number.

On the wall beside me, the phone remains silent.

MY MOM AND MARTIN are down in the den watching TV, so I go through their room to take a shower. The downstairs bathroom is usually mine, but until the construction is done I have to share with them.

My dad once asked me how I felt about Martin. We were walking on the beach over Christmas break, a few months after he moved to Florida. He was collecting shells in a mesh bag, and I was splashing my feet in the surf. I didn’t want to complain about Martin to my dad because that would make my mom look bad, especially since my dad and Cynthia have been happily married since I was eleven. But I also wasn’t about to sing Martin’s praises.

“He’s okay,” I said. “They don’t fight like Mom and Erik.” My mom and Erik used to have loud screaming matches with doors slamming, and ending with one of them sleeping on the couch. Come to think of it, my mom and dad fought that way, too. But so far my mom and Martin hardly argue at all.

“That’s good,” my dad said. “It sounds like she’s happy.”

I could feel a lump in my throat. “Can we not talk about this?” I asked, looking out at the bay.

I take a long shower, shave my legs, and then tie my robe around my waist. As I’m walking back through their bedroom, I pause in front of the framed baby picture my mom keeps on her dresser. It was taken in a kiddie pool when I was one. I’m wearing an embroidered hat, and I’ve got chubby cheeks, round eyes, and tiny heart-shaped lips.

Just like my own baby on Facebook.

When I get back to my room, I snuggle deep under my covers and think about Kevin Storm. His name is perfect. I wonder if we name our daughter Olivia. I’ve always loved that name, and Olivia Storm sounds like she’ll grow to be a confident woman. I know I told Josh we can’t get attached to our future children because there’s no way every detail will line up so the same sperm will impregnate the same egg on the same day. But I can’t help it.

I roll onto my side.

Tomorrow, I’m going to end things with Graham. For real this time. It was fun while it lasted, but I can’t imagine letting him kiss me anymore. Not since Josh saw us together. Not when Kevin Storm is waiting in my future.

I’ve always said I don’t believe in true love, but that I’d leave the door open for Cody Grainger to one day prove me wrong. Since I don’t end up marrying Cody, maybe I should open the door a little wider so Kevin Storm can have a chance, too.

MARTIN SETS A BOWL of dry oats and raisins on the counter. “It’s muesli,” he says, reaching for his soy milk. “The Swiss eat it for breakfast, and it’s definitely growing on your mom and me.”

“Good to know,” I say.

I drop a frozen Eggo waffle in the toaster and look out the window at Josh’s driveway. His parents’ car is still there. I wish they would leave so I can yank him back here to check Facebook.

Martin slides into the breakfast nook. “Have you ever seen the statistics on life expectancy in Switzerland?”

I hover over the toaster, willing my waffle to pop up, willing Martin to shut up, and willing Josh’s parents to get a move on.

My mom strolls in. “Ready to leave? I thought we could swing by the paint store on the way to work.”

“I just have to finish my muesli,” Martin says.

My mom sets her coffee mug in the sink. “Emma, did you call your father and thank him for the computer yet?”

I hate the way she calls him “your father.” Up until last year he was “Dad.” “Not yet,” I say, dousing my waffle with syrup. “I started an email to him, but I haven’t sent it yet.”

“He left a message on Monday to see if it arrived,” my mom says. “When you call, you should also ask him about their new baby. Rachel must be five weeks old already.”

I’m not in the mood to call my dad and talk about the computer. The whole issue is too weird right now. Thankfully, I hear Josh’s front door shut. I hurry to the window and watch his parents back their car down the driveway. Then I grab my plate and fork and slip out the door.