Milán #3
“I know that. Logically. And Theo’s a good kid.
Reasonable. More reasonable than a person usually is at his age.
It’s mostly my own insecurities speaking, because all these things that I can’t afford for Theo—she can.
He could have all the latest tech gadgets he could ever wish for if I didn’t intervene.
Whenever Theo goes to visit, he comes back home with a couple of new suitcases filled with designer clothes and whatever expensive sneakers are currently the coolest ones.
She takes him to Paris. I take him camping.
And it’s not that I don’t want him to have all these fine things in life and great experiences, but I also don’t want him to have everything because then he’ll just end up spoiled.
But then every time she wants to buy him the latest MacBook as a birthday present, and I say no, is it because I’m thinking about what’s best for Theo, or am I just being petty because I’m jealous and afraid? ”
He's not looking at me anymore. Instead, the frown is back, deeper than before, and he’s staring at the table in front of him with an unseeing gaze, mind somewhere else entirely.
I don’t know what makes me do it, and I don’t even have a good recollection about how it happens exactly, but suddenly I’m reaching out and covering his hand with mine, squeezing it.
“You can’t buy affection away from the parent who actually is there. Believe me. I’ve been in Theo’s shoes.”
He looks down at our linked hands for a long moment, and a bolt of anxiety flashes through me. I’ve made things weird.
But then Jordan smiles at me.
“Thanks.” He blows out a breath. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you like this.”
“I’ve spent the whole of this friendship unloading on you about my shit. This here is you finally letting me return the favor. And showing me you’re human too.”
He chuckles and rubs his palm over his face. “You have no idea.”
I pull my hand away, even if it isn’t necessarily what I want, but I’m not going to risk making it weird.
I clear my throat. “I thought you and your ex were getting along fine?”
“We are. Mostly. It’s just that she was my best friend, and I knew her so well, but now… She’s changed so much it’s like she’s a completely different person. There’s a small part of me that resents her for not being the Kira I once knew and loved anymore.”
“You miss her,” I surmise.
He considers it for a bit. “Not her.” His fingers pluck at the label of the beer bottle.
“I miss what we could’ve been. Which is somehow crazier, because what we could’ve been was always a fantasy I made up in my head.
It’s… Most people don’t set out to be single parents.
You make that kid with somebody, so in your head, they’re going to stay and it’ll be the three, four, five, six of you.
Then life has other plans, and it’s suddenly just you, and there are moments when the absence of that other person is visceral because it’s hard being on your own.
And it’s not even that you want to share the burden when the going gets tough.
In a way it’s much harder when there’s something great happening, and you don’t have anybody to share it with.
” He’s got that unseeing look in his eyes again for a second before he lifts the beer bottle to his lips and drains it.
He puts the bottle down with a thump and gives me a lopsided smile.
“Wow. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about this so deeply. This has been like a therapy session. Thanks.”
“I wouldn’t thank me before you see how much I bill for an hour.”
He gives a playful groan. “After paying Theo’s tuition for the semester I’m pretty much broke, so maybe we can come up with some kind of alternate arrangement that doesn’t involve money.” Our eyes meet, and he starts to laugh. “That sounds like a line from a porn movie.”
“Nice.” I hold my hand up, and he high-fives it, and I do my best to hide the way those words rake through my brain and leave behind tracks filled with unimaginably dirty thoughts. I’m an overflowing spring of depraved musings.
The beeping of the oven timer snaps me out of it. Jordan gets up and heads back inside.
I stay still, take a few deep breaths, and smother said depraved musings before I follow him.
He slides the pan onto the counter, and I inhale.
“This smells awesome,” I say. “What can I do? Set the table?”
He points to a couple of drawers. “You’ll find everything you need there.”
I pull the drawer open and start taking out plates. I look up toward Jordan. “Four?”
He nods. “Dad’s usually at home, too, but he’s out having drinks with an old college buddy of his.”
I’ve just finished laying the table when I hear the sound of the front door opening, the murmur of voices, and an array of thumps before Theo and Rory come inside.
“Perfect timing,” Jordan says cheerfully. “Settle in, you two.”
We all take our seats, with Rory and Theo on one side of the table and me and Jordan right across from them.
Rory fidgets in his chair for a bit.
Try to relax, kid. You’re safe and sound here, I think.
“It smells good,” he blurts, and then immediately looks like he wants to disappear. But Jordan sends him one of his calm, affable smiles.
“I hope you like enchiladas. I forgot to ask. Theo eats everything, so I didn’t think.”
“I eat everything, too,” Rory says.
We’re all sitting around the table with plates of food in front of us. Jordan and Theo are chatting easily, disguising Rory’s silence and my inability to even begin to fill it.
“How was soccer?” I ask.
Rory looks up from his plate, clearly startled by the sheer volume of the question.
He stares. Shrugs. “I still suck.”
It’s interesting. He’s annoyed, but I don’t think it’s at me. I think—and I might be wrong here, but I don’t think I am—I think he’s annoyed that he’s not as good as he’d like to be. And then I wonder if this is the first time this has ever happened.
I know what it feels like. How failure leaves you at a crossroads where you have to decide whether to continue or quit. I could help him keep a clear head at that crossroads. If he’d let me.
I’m not sure he would.
Now I’m at a crossroads of my own. Speak up? Stay silent?
I freeze instead, because the possibility of failure hangs over me.
“You don’t suck,” Theo says. “You’re just new at this. Want to practice again Monday? We can go after school.”
There’s a flicker in Rory’s eyes. Something faint and brief. His shoulders relax. Just an inch, but it’s a start.
And he nods.
“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”
Neither of us says that much, but we both lean back and relax into our chairs. And we watch.
Jordan and Theo. Theo and Jordan. They talk, carrying most of the conversation. Theo’s first soccer game. The camping trips they take every year. Stories about movies and bike rides.
It’s like the two of them glow with warmth and Rory and I can’t help but inch closer and closer to the brightness of them.
They tease each other, and they laugh. They laugh so much. And the more I look at them, the wider my smile stretches.
Rory and Theo migrate to the living room, and suddenly there are shouts and the noises of a video game as our soundtrack, and Jordan grins and shakes his head.
We lose track of time. We’ve talked enough about the serious for tonight, so everything that comes now is easy. Easy conversation about music and movies and road trips.
We talk about the most ordinary things, but everything I hear feels like something worth keeping. I hoard bits and pieces of Jordan. Small, safe things that I don’t have to overthink. We all want to know things about the people we choose to surround ourselves with. It’s all natural.
He always sets his alarm fifteen minutes early because it “gives him time to come to terms with the morning.”
He talks to the plants in his living room.
His handwriting slants uphill.
He can’t whistle to save his life.
When he listens, he tilts his head a little like he’s giving the words better access.
He smells like oranges and cinnamon.
He smiles when he hears Rory and Theo laugh in the other room and sees me smile about it.
And I tell myself I notice because I’m observant.
Not because I’m dying to know.