Unexpectedly, Milo - Matthew Dicks [38]
“How do you plan on finding the owner?”
“Well, there are a bunch of tapes in the bag.” In truth, Milo knew exactly how many tapes were in the bag but had learned through experience that people found his constant, exacting precision to be unnerving. Casual was cool, he had discovered long ago, and though Milo knew that he would never be cool in the conventional sense of the word, he still converted exactitude to generalization for the benefit of those around him. Even a little bit of cool was better than none at all.
“Yes, I can see the tapes, Milo. So what?”
“Well, I started watching them to see if I could figure out who the owner was. You know, hoping that she might say her name or something.”
Christine smiled. “But the problem is, the owner probably doesn’t appear on camera, right? She’s always behind the camera?”
“Actually, no. It turns out that she was recording a video diary. So she’s the only one on film. At least so far.”
“So who is she? What do you know about her?”
“Not much. She hasn’t said her name yet.” Milo purposely avoided telling his wife that he had assigned Freckles a nickname, thinking it might sound too familiar for his wife’s liking. He wanted to find a way off this topic as quickly as possible. In an effort to change the subject, he moved into the kitchen to make himself busy, hoping his wife would offer her assistance. The unexpected sex had given the food that Milo had prepared time to cool, so he began picking out the pots and pans needed to reheat the meal. In truth, he had purchased prepared meals at Whole Foods earlier that evening (prior to his mad dash for ice cube trays) and had plated the food (stuffed pork chops, garlic mashed potatoes, and baby carrots) on dinnerware that he had extricated from the attic during his move.
“So what’s she like?” Christine asked.
“I don’t know. She’s probably in her early thirties. A friend of hers just died. In video time, I mean. There are no dates on the tapes, so I don’t know if I’m watching something three weeks old or three years old.”
“Have you watched all the tapes yet?”
“No, just the first couple,” Milo replied, attempting to determine if the stove was gas or electric. He had yet to use the appliance and wasn’t entirely sure. “They’re kind of boring, to be honest.”
“Can I watch some?”
Milo feared that this question might come and wasn’t sure how to answer. Though he knew what his response would be, he had no idea of how to convey the answer to his wife without offending her. So he said the first thing that came to his mind. “I wish you could, but to be honest, I’m not sure if I’m going to keep watching. The tapes are getting kind of private.” He took a moment to explain Freckles’s decision to stop recording for broadcast and his resulting hesitancy to watch any more of the tapes.
“Well, can I watch some of the first couple tapes? The ones you’ve already seen?”
“If you don’t mind, Christine, I’d rather you didn’t. I feel weird enough having watched the first couple hours. Like I’ve invaded this girl’s privacy. If I let you watch too, I’d feel like I’m violating her privacy even more.”
Milo knew that this wasn’t the entire truth, but he liked the way it sounded. It was a decent explanation, he thought, and he had fleeting hopes that his wife might accept it. In reality, Milo oddly treasured his relationship with Freckles, and considered it a private one. And in an equally odd sort of way, he cherished the secrecy of it. The tapes had been left behind for reasons Milo didn’t understand, but as the temporary owner of them, he felt an obligation to protect Freckles from prying eyes. Even those of his wife.
“You really don’t want me watching the tapes?”
“No, I don’t. Please don’t be upset.”
“Fine,” Christine said, but he knew that Christine was anything but fine.
Milo had managed to coax a flame on the stovetop (a gas stove, he had determined) and remained silent as he stirred the carrots in an overheated skillet. He was