Matt set down another box with a grunt and a sigh. Katya carried another in with ease while struggling with the phone.

"Sis, I don't see why you have to share a room with him. I mean, it's become fairly obvious that your time with Lars was a one nigh sta—Sister!" she continued to rattle on into the phone, but in very hasty Russian. "Это ты знаешь! Почему у тебя Ларса—"

Matthew wondered why she didn't have any trouble with the boxes. Was she purposely choosing lighter ones so Matt could haul all her heavy shit into his apartment himself, or was she just that strong?

"Продаваться марихуанy! Верка о продавцов говорит-"

He remembered the night previous, and why they now had to buy a new bed.

She was just that strong.

Katya dropped another box in Matt's living room, clicked the phone off after a long rant that, as Matt could decipher, contained the words "stop," "Lars," and "lesbian." Katya had informed him that Natalia was going to move in with the local pot guy when her brother moved to Detroit, but he still wondered what lesbians had to do with it.

He then remembered that Belle van Houten, the pot guy's sister, would fuck anything with a pulse, and was currently dating the childhood nemesis of the guy who skated around as the mascot for the hockey team Matt played with.

It was worth noting that he also played with Katya's brother in high school, and that two players on his current team, Tino and Berwald, were Lars' next door neighbors.

The thing about Matthew's life is that it had a lot of weird interconnected strings that also all connected to hockey.

He called it the Canada virus. No matter what, everything could be linked to hockey.

Days later, after the moving deeds were done, Matthew got a call from the local pot guy.

"Hey, buddy!" squawked the pot guy. His tone sounded forced and awkward, as if the skin on his balls was slowly being ripped off with a potato peeler. Besides, the local pot guy would not ever, ever, say something like "hey, buddy."

"Um, Lars?"

"Roll with me here," he whispered. He changed back to his overenthusiastic, fake tone. "So, Natalia thought it would be a super-duper idea if she and I went on a double date with you and Kat! Sound like fun?" He accentuated fun as if he had just been stabbed in the stomach. Knowing Natalia and her crazy knife fetish, it couldn't be ruled out completely.

"That sounds great, Lars," said Matt, "Friday, seven, at that one place with the little miniature apple thingies?"

"What," said Lars flatly.

"Uh, what was their name…? Jeanne's! Yeah, that."

"Okay, sounds super!" the phone clicked off. Immediately after, Matthew burst out laughing while worrying for his dear friend's life.

"So," Katya shuffled into the kitchen, leaning on the edge of the wall, "We have a dinner date with the local pot guy and my crazy sister, I hear."

Matt sighed, "I think she forced Lars into making that call"

"No duh, shitswitch."

"Shitswitch?"

"Yeah, like an on/off switch for your shit."

"What?"

He got up and put his hand around her waist.

"I love you, ya shitswitch," Matt said.

"I love you, too, assknob."

When they got to Jeanne's later that night, all four of our mighty mishap brigadiers were seated at a table by a familiar fellow.

"Francis, what the hell are you doing here," demanded Matt. It wasn't a question.

The local pot guy just looked away as if he was some sort of old flame or one night stand that he never wanted to look at again. (They had quite the sex in their day. It was just that Francis was too whiny for Lars. It was also that Lars was too chlamydia for Francis.)

Francis ignored the pot guy and simply stared at Katya's boobs like a proper waiter. In his very stuffy French accent, he asked everyone what drinks they would like to start off with, and to try the appetizer that didn't sound very appetizing.

The picture on the menu was some sort of green sludge that was supposed to have been invented by the dish guy.

It was delicious, trust him.

After they passed on appetizers (that one in particular) and Natalia somehow forced Lars into getting the same drink as she got, they heard another familiar foreigner walk up to their table, muttering about tax exemptions.

"Arthur?" Matt was not having a very good day.

"Wot? 'Ells Bells, mate, yer hyea wit' yer bloody boyfren' an' some rand'm doiykes, eh?"

"No," said Matt, ignoring his cousin's weird complex with gay people. (Arthur claimed to be straight. Ha, ha.) "This is my girlfriend, Katya, her sister Natalia, and my friend Lars."

"Wo'evah. C'n Ah take yer ordeh?"

He took their order.

With all the queer people he knew, Matt was kind of beginning to doubt his sexuality.

He stared at Kat's boobs for a bit.

Nevermind.

The rest of the meal went by without too many events, although Francis did try to push the slime for dessert again. Except this time, he wouldn't give up.

"Oh, but you must! It is simply the best there is. The man in charge of the dishes and I have shared many a romantic evening while digging into slices of this pie!"

Matt frowned. "I thought you and Arthur were a thing." Apparently he was wrong. Or maybe they just broke up for the ten billionth time since they first got together in Grade Eight.

Francis knelt down to where Matt was sitting, and whispered keenly, "It is simply to make him jealous. You must know this by know that I love to toy with him."

Somehow, Arthur had heard that. "If yeh think yer goonah get any this tayme, yer fuckin' mistak'n, frog-ass whoore."

Arthur was from Northern England. If anyone mistook him for Scottish, he'd have their ass. As a proud Englishman, he would not have his reputation torn to pieces by the assumption that he was Scottish.

Francis, meanwhile a proud Frenchman, had a much more subtle accent. He could put it out in full force though, but that was really only when he was drunk. He had also mastered the North American accent, which he said he used for espionage.

What that espionage actually consisted of will be left up to the imagination.

"How about," began the local pot guy, "if you juggle our menus for thirty seconds successfully, we'll have your pie."

Francis smirked and called a name, and a few long seconds later, a lean, lanky man with nappy black hair flying all about came out of the kitchen. He had a grin on his face that could eat through a person's soul.

This was the dish guy.

The dish guy was briefed on what to do, and took all four menus and spun them around like a Ferris wheel for the allotted time. Natalia looked impressed. Everyone else was still creeped out by his shit-eating grin.

"Okay fine then, four slices of your damn pie," said the local pot guy. He must have known that Francis couldn't juggle.

Arthur served them the pie. "Eef Ah were yew, ah'dnt tooch this stoof. It's feeled wit' ooolll kaynds of mysterious oobleck."

"The hell is oobleck, Artie," asked Matt.

"Ye dun' knou? Eht's froom that book bah Docktah Seuss, Bartholomew an' th' Oobleck. Aint'cha eever read it?"

"Oh, I remember that book! Ivan used to have nightmares every time after I'd read it, but he'd always want to hear it again. That boy…" Katya trailed off and began staring into space, before snorting a few seconds later.

Matt didn't want to ask. The less you knew about Ivan, the better.

They dug into their slices of pie. It was strange tasting, but not too far from cheesecake, although it had a soapy aftertaste. Of course, what else coming from the dish guy? The local pot guy's eyes went wide with his first bite, and he made up an excuse not to eat it.

"Oh, this has meringue in it. I'm allergic," he said as he pushed the plate of pie out of his way. Matt gave him a look that said, you bastard. The local pot guy gave him a look back, replying, listen there's pot in this and you're going to need a designated driver because we were shoehorned into eating this crap, but the message wasn't received in full. Matt just felt a looming sense of trust in the local pot guy.

Much later, after the pie was eaten and the bill was paid, Natalia, giggling like a little girl, said something that let Lars know that the effects of the pie were kicking in.

"You know what's funny? Ducks. Like, quack and stuff."

"I know, right?" said Matt, pushing his glasses up, "They waddle around and stuff. Haven't they ever thought of evolutioning up some toes?"

Matt tried to get in the drivers' seat, but the pot guy pushed him over to shotgun. "I'm driving. You're high."

"Okay, Mr. Bossypants McBosseroodle XIV."

"I'm high?" asked Katya, staring at her crotch, "Altituuuuuuuuuuuude. Wow, that's a funny word. Altitude."

"Ali- Altititi- Altude."

"Ahahahahaha... Gosh, I love knives. Stabbity stab."

Lars rolled his eyes and fished for the keys in Matt's pants.

"Dude, you comin' on to me or something? Okay, I guess I can dig that."

The local pot guy sighed.

"Hey Matt," said Katya.

"What?" he replied.

The thing Yekaterina Mikhailovna Braginskaya said after then nearly made the local pot guy swerve off the road. He pulled into the parking lot at Matt's apartment, grabbed Matt and Katya, tucked them in, kissed them both goodnight, locked them inside their house and put the keys in the refrigerator, went back out to the car, fished Natalia from the backseat, locked the car door, hailed a cab, got home, tucked Natalia in, cut Belle off from her booze, hopped into bed, and wondered why he wasn't an alcoholic by this point as he drifted off to sleep.

Matt woke up the next morning to a call from the local pot guy.

"What's up Lars?" he asked into the receiver, "And why can't I remember last night?"

"The pie was, er, special," the pot guy clicked his tongue, "So, how are you taking the news now that you're all sobered up?"

"What news?"

"Oh, you don't know. Better not say then. Ask Kat."

"Tell me."

"Nope."

"Lars van Houten, I demand you to tell me."

"The thing is, you should ask her because she was high and that was probably nonsense anyways."

"But what am I asking her?"

Lars told him.

"What!" asked Matt, frightened. "God, I hope that isn't true."

They said their hasty goodbyes and Matt walked over to Katya, who was watching the news. He sat down next to her and muted the TV.

"What's up?" she asked.

"So," began Matt, lifting his glasses up and taking a deep breath, "Lars said you said something last night when we were high off that pie, and I wanted to know if it was true."

"Uh-huh."

"Are you pregnant?"