Author: T. J. Klune
Category: LGBT
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/t-j-klune/page,4,61601-bear_otter_and_the_kid_01_-_bear_otter_and_the_kid_mm.html
Shit.
Brother.
I meant brother.
Fuck. Not again.
I stare out the window. It’s still raining.
“YOU cool?” Otter asks me as he shuts his door. I feel my clothes getting wet again, clinging against my skin. My nipples get hard and I blush. I fold my arms over my chest and nod to Otter and start walking inside. I hear him rush to catch up with me, and then he falls into step beside me.
The automatic doors whoosh open and processed air washes over my skin, chilling it as goose flesh moves in. As soon as we get through the doorway, I hear my name. I look up and see Anna standing at a cash register, the magazine in her hand caught in mid-page turning. I smile weakly.
So Anna. And the grocery store.
Let’s go with the grocery store first
It’s where I’ve been working since I was sixteen. As soon as I was old enough, my mom said I needed to get a job to help out with the bills. Being sixteen and living in Seafare doesn’t give you a whole lot of options. To be honest, being any age in Seafare doesn’t give you a whole lot of options. It was either become a bagger or a busboy. Since my mom already worked at a restaurant at the time, I didn’t want to take the chance of having to work with her all the time, so I chose bagger. Now I’m a lead cashier. And before you all grow wide-eyed with amazement over my rags-to-riches story, it’s actually not that bad. I pretty much get to stand at the front desk and tell all the other cashiers what to do and when to go on break, stuff like that. It’s kind of like being a manager without actually getting paid to be one. Oh, and the manager gets to sit in an office, not at the front desk. Okay, so it’s not really like being a manager at all, but it could be worse, right? I could be working McDonald’s and hearing the Kid mumble each night I came home that I smelled like bovine genocide. And before you think I’m being overly dramatic, I once worked the meat counter and that’s exactly what he said to me. I requested never to be put there again.
So it’s not so bad, okay? I’ve been here long enough that I get to work pretty much whenever I want, which is good, especially working days so I can be done by the time that Ty gets done with school. And they allowed me to put Ty on the health insurance they offer after you’ve been here three years. They didn’t have to do that. I don’t like to think about what I’d do because the Kid gets a cold every other minute or so. So see? Things could be worse. A lot worse.
Now Anna.
I told you before how she’s my sort-of girlfriend. Do you remember? Now’s one of the times when she sort of is, and I feel guilty for a moment because I told her that I was going to call her as soon as I got to Creed’s house. But hey, I can say I wanted to just see her in person and everything works out. She’ll see right through me, though, she always does.
“Hey,” she says, smiling at me as I walk up to her.
“Hey, yourself,” I say back, standing in front of her register like a customer. She leans over to kiss me, and I turn my face lightly, feeling her lips graze my cheek. She pulls back and looks at me funny.
I jerk my head to the side in a sort of nod. “Look who’s here.”
She looks over my shoulder, and I see her face light up. “Otter!” She laughs and bounds around the register. I turn to watch her go and see Otter still standing at the door where we walked in. Funny, I thought he was next to me. She jumps into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, and I hear him say, “Oof.”
So, yeah. Anna. I think I told you that she was the second person I met after Creed. She was in the same second-grade class as us, so it was inevitable that we would at least become friends. But it turned out to be much more than that. Anna is the only girlfriend I have ever had, the only girl I have ever kissed. We had sex, the first time for both of us, the summer between eighth and ninth grade, in the guest house that sits behind Creed’s house. She’s been my first everything, aside from having the honor of being my first best friend, as that goes to Creed. First love, first heartache, first (and only) proposal of marriage. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. But come on, we were ten! And she proposed to me, right after our first kiss. And it wasn’t even really proposing, it was more of a “Derrick McKenna, I am only going to kiss you if you say that we are getting married when we’re adults!” What’s a ten-year-old boy to do? I said yes, and she kissed me lightly on the lips, the touch of a feather. I remember turning red enough to light the world on fire. That sealed the deal.
Except for the times when she’s sort of not my girlfriend.
We’re way too much alike to ever get along all the time. I swear to Christ when we fight, it’s about the stupidest shit. She thinks she’s right. I know I’m right, blah blah blah, and it always ends with her flipping her long brown hair, her dark eyes flashing, muttering under her breath and sounding so much like me that it’s hilarious. And that’s always the worst time to laugh, so naturally that’s when I laugh. Of course, this pisses her off even more—which pisses me off—and it always ends with one of us stalking away, licking our wounds. I love her too damn much, though, and I know she feels the same and a couple of days later one of us will pick up the phone and call the other, and things will be good for a while.
And I do mean that. I love her. Anna was there for me growing up, listening to me bitch about how my mom was fucked up. She was there for me, making me talk to new people, telling me that the worst thing a person can do is not make new friends She was there for me when I found out Ty was on the way (trust me, I wasn’t very happy about that at the time). She was there for me when I stumbled into her house after reading my mom’s letter, tears of rage blinding me, clenching and unclenching my fists. She has seen the good, the bad, and everything in between that makes me who I am. Don’t get me wrong: Creed was there through a lot of that, too, but Anna gets me in a way that he can’t. It’s not his fault or anyone else’s. It just is.
It also helps that she worships the ground Ty walks on. Trust me, it could have been so much easier for her to walk away and not look back like Mom did. But she didn’t, and you have to admit, that takes balls. Anna’s one of the few people that Ty trusts and has no problem letting her watch him if I need to pick up a couple of extra shifts at the store. She’s the only one who pretends to get his whole vegetarian phase (and I know it’s just a phase; no brother of mine is going to eat like that forever). She has been there for him better than any woman ever was to him, and I think he needs that every now and then. He can’t look up to just me for the rest of his life, right?
Otter sets her down and leans over to whisper something in her ear. She laughs and slaps his shoulder, and I hear her say “Of course I’m still watching out for him! Who else is going to call him on his bullshit?” They both look back at me, and Anna sticks out her tongue. I flash mine back. Otter rolls his eyes and mumbles something about “kids these days.” They walk back over to the register where I still stand.
“Where’s the Kid?” she asks me.
“Watching something gross with Creed,” I say.
She smiles sympathetically. “That show on killing cows?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“He told me about it last week when I was babysitting him.” Anna looks over at Otter and whispers conspiratorially, “He didn’t want me to tell Bear because he said Bear would be too scared to watch it.” I scowl as Otter laughs. Just because apparently nobody I know is normal like me.
“So, Otter, what brings you back home? Getting too famous for California already?” she asks him.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Just felt like I needed to come home for a little bit, I guess. Hey, where’s the soy ice cream? I promised the Kid some after he drank my beer.” Anna points toward the end of the store. “I’ll be right back,” he says, walking away.
Anna looks after him for a moment then turns to me. She leans forward a little bit, as if we are going to be overheard. “So what’s going on with him?”
“I don’t know. Why would I know?”
“He didn’t t
ell you why he came back home? He never just comes back to Seafare like this. He hasn’t been back for over a year. And,” she says, quieter, “he seems a little sad.” This takes me by surprise. I hadn’t noticed anything like that, and I tell Anna she’s projecting, a word she learned in her Psych 101 class that she uses on me all the time. She slaps me on the shoulder and goes to help a woman who looks older than God and apparently needed to come out into the rain to buy sandwich bags. And that’s it.
“Has it been busy tonight?” I ask, looking around.
She shrugs as she takes the woman’s money. “A little bit. It picked up again once it started raining, but Mary is here so it wasn’t too bad.” Mary is another cashier we work with who smells like menthols and Juicy Fruit. I don’t know where she gets the gum from because I don’t think they even make it anymore. Anna says she’s got a stockpile of it at her house that she bought years ago. I think she’s joking, though. I hope she’s joking.
Otter comes back, setting the ice cream on the conveyer belt. I don’t think he looks sad. He looks like Otter. Anna doesn’t know what she’s talking about. What would he have to be sad about? He has a killer job, gets paid lots of money. I am sure he’s got a cool house or apartment or something. He doesn’t have to worry about someone depending on him to survive. He’s not stuck in Seafare. Boo hoo.
Okay, I’m sounding bitter. And I’m staring. And he catches me. Otter grins crookedly. “Did you want something too, Bear?” he asks.
Yes! I shout in my head. I want you to go back to California! I want you to stop talking! I want to know why I came with you! I want to know why you let me come with you! Why, Otter? Why did you run away! Right when I needed—
“No,” I say out loud. “I don’t need anything.”
He shrugs and says to Anna, “So you coming over to hang out? I know Creed would want to see you.”
Anna shakes her head. “I have to work late tonight and then study. I still have two finals left before I’m out for the summer.”
“How’s school going for you?” he asks.
“I’ll be glad when it’s done,” she says, taking his money and handing him the change. “Then you can help me to convince Bear to start taking a few classes in the fall. You’re going to be around for a while, right? How long are you here for?”
He hesitates. “I don’t know. Probably for a little while. There are some things I need to work out,” he repeats, looking down at his hands.
“Well, good,” Anna says with a smile. “Then you can really help me make Bear go to school. Don’t you think he could swing it? He’s got a few of us here that would be more than willing to help with Ty.” She’s starting to piss me off.
“Yeah, sure,” he says. “So, I guess I’ll see you later, then.”
“Bye, Otter.”
He walks by me, arching his eyebrow. “I’ll go wait in the car. Just don’t be too long. I don’t want to face the Kid’s wrath if we get back, and his ice cream is all melted.”
“His soy ice cream,” I say back. He doesn’t stop and walks out the door, back into the rain.
Anna comes round the register and grabs onto my arm. “You see what I’m talking about?” she asks. “Something’s wrong.”
I shake off her hand. “Nothing’s wrong, Anna. Just leave it alone. Otter’s Otter. He’s alright.” I turn to look at her levelly. “And would you just drop it with the whole school thing? You know I can’t do anything about that right now.”
She looks at me knowingly, seeing right through me, and I divert my eyes. I can feel her flip her hair in anger, and I don’t want to fight with her now. I’ve got too many things on my mind to worry about one of us being mad at the other. I look back and kiss her lightly on the lips. “I gotta go. Otter’s waiting for me.”
She swats me on the ass as I turn to go. “Give me a call later if you’re going to get drunk and need a ride.” Her voice is neutral.
I laugh, knowing that she knows I’m not going to get drunk. I haven’t been drunk in a while. A very long while. Stupid shit happens when I drink.
Whoosh, the doors go as they open and whoosh they go again, closing behind me.
IT’S raining harder now. I don’t say anything when I get back into the car, and I hope that Otter doesn’t want to talk, either. Most people don’t realize that it’s nice to not talk every now and then. Talking makes things real. Talking puts things in the forefront. Talking is a waste of time. Nothing ever gets solved by talking about it. People speak too much and regret what they say, but if you don’t speak at all, you can’t feel like a jackass later.
I glance over at Otter out of the corner of my eye. His face is unreadable from what I can see, and that’s only when a street lamp overhead passes by and flashes through the window. I think that maybe Anna can see things that I can’t. She’s kind of cool like that, having insights into people that I never have. Yeah, I give her shit about it, telling her she’s prying where she’s not wanted, telling her that she’s projecting, but usually she’s right. I sigh and look back out the window.
“What?” Otter asks.
“What what?” I say.
“It sounded like you just said something.”
“I didn’t.”
“Oh.”
It’s quiet a little bit longer before, “So you and Anna still, huh?”
“Me and Anna,” I say.
“You guys have been together for a long time.”
“I guess. Off and on.” 5… 4… 3… 2… 1….
“So how’re you holding up, Bear?”
It’s inevitable. People always ask me this like I am going to break. Like I’m going to fall down and never get up. I wish people weren’t so predictable. I wish Otter wasn’t so predictable.
“Fine.”
“Oh.” A minute passes. Then, “Well, you seem to be doing well. And Ty, man, the Kid seems to be getting bigger all the time.”
“People change. That’s what happens when you disappear for a while,” I think, then bunch my fists as I realize I said it out loud. Shit.
“Disappear?” he asks, sounding genuinely surprised.
“Forget it.”
“What do you mean, forget it? You can’t say something like that and expect the conversation just to be over because you say it is, Bear.” I can hear him gritting his teeth and I think it’s because he’s mad. Good. Let him be mad.
“Yes, I can,” I retort, hating how I sound.
Another minute passes. Rain on the roof beating a song.
I hear Otter snort and shake his head. “I didn’t disappear, Derrick. You knew where I was.”
At that moment, I hate him. Using my name like that, like he’s talking down to me, like he’s better than me, like he’s talking to a child. That’s something my mom’s infinite string of boyfriends use to do. I was never Bear to them, not that I wanted to be. But the way they said it, this knowledge in their eyes, grinning at me when my mom wasn’t looking. Always with the same thought: Yeah, I’m here with her. What are you going to do about it? Stay home and take care of your brother like you’re supposed to.
“You left, Oliver,” I snap at him. “Call it whatever you want, but you left.”
His hands grip the steering wheel so that his knuckles turn white. I glare at him with my arms crossed against my chest, daring him to speak, daring him to try and say anything in rebuttal. He quickly looks over his shoulder and changes lanes, signaling to pull into a parking lot of a strip mall where tourists go to waste money on snow globes and dried starfish. It’s all dark now, all of the shops closed since no one comes out in the rain. He pulls into a parking space and puts the Jeep into park. He sits there and stares straight ahead, tapping the steering wheel with the palm of his right hand. I turn away, feeling embarrassed. I should have kept my mouth shut. We’d be almost back to his house by now.
“Bear,” he starts, still gritting his teeth. He rubs his hands over his head, the short blond stubble slipping through his fingers. “Bear,” he starts agai
n.
“What!” I huff, annoyed.
He turns to look at me, and now I can see what Anna was talking about. I can see the sadness in his eyes and etched across his face. If it was there before, it wasn’t like this. I curse myself for being so weak, for calling him out on some bullshit he doesn’t need to hear. Who the fuck am I to say anything? I am supposed to just grin and Bear it. That’s what I’ve always done, and that’s what I should have done now, regardless of how deeply, secretly angry I am.
“Look, Otter,” I say, suddenly nervous. He shakes his head and I stop. He goes back to bumping his palm on the steering wheel. I wait.
Finally, after ages, “Is that what you think? You think I abandoned you?”
I don’t speak. I don’t trust what would spill out of my mouth. He waits some more, his hand beating in time with the sound of the rain on the Jeep’s roof.
Again, finally, “I didn’t want for you to think I was abandoning you, Bear. I just thought….” He sighs. “I just thought it would be better for everyone if I wasn’t around for a while.”
I can stay silent no longer. “Better for whom?” I cry out, gasping as I feel the sudden sting of tears. “Better for you? How could that have made anything better? I woke up and you were gone! Do you know what that felt like? Do you!” I know how I sound, but I can’t stop. “You left, just like she did! And you promised you wouldn’t! What the hell was I supposed to think?”
“Bear,” he says, a warning in his voice. “You don’t know what was going on.”
“How could I?” I shout at him, raging. “You never told me anything! You did what you did to me, and then you left!”
His head snaps up to me, his eyes no longer sad, but blazing. “What I did to you? Jesus Christ! Who the hell do you think you are? You all but told me to leave!”