Milán
By the next Wednesday, decent fall weather has been replaced with days of rain, and on one nasty occasion, sleet, so soccer practice moves to an indoor field in Crown Heights. It’s considerably warmer, so I’m not even going to complain about the longer commute.
Jordan caught a cold, so I haven’t seen him in a week, and frankly I’m not sure if he’s actually sick or just avoiding me, but today, when I make my way through the few rows of seats, he’s here.
I could lie to myself and say I don’t notice how good he looks. It’d be the smart thing to do.
But I notice the fuck out of him.
My heart does a familiar, ridiculous stumble as I take him in. There he is, head bent over his phone, thumbs moving in small, absent arcs.
I’m never going to admit it out loud, and I’m not even quite sure how it happened, but I’ve memorized the exact curve of his jaw and the way it tenses when he’s concentrating on something. The way his brows draw together—not sharply, but gently.
He shifts in his seat, one leg stretched out just a little too far, ankle rolling lazily.
He’s sitting on the second row, scrolling on his phone, completely lost in whatever it is he’s doing. He doesn’t seem to notice me at all, perfectly oblivious. When I tap him on the shoulder, he jerks so hard he loses his grip on his phone, and it clatters to the floor.
“Shit,” he says, blinking at me like he’s just been startled awake.
I raise my brows at him and push away all the inconvenient feelings.
You can’t have him.
You’re not going to ruin this.
“You look like you’ve been caught looking at porn.”
His eyes widen, and he scrambles to pick up his phone. “What? No! Here? I wouldn’t. I wasn’t.”
“That was a joke. Obviously not a very good one.”
He blinks at me. “Oh. Ha.”
I throw myself into the seat next to him, and he keeps taking covert glances at me while weighing his phone in his palm.
It’s been a week since we had our conversation on the front steps of his house, and mostly things have gone back to normal. He hasn’t shown any interest in Chloe, and in a total dick move on my part, I’m relieved. To an extent I refuse to admit to myself.
I’m the one who suggested him going on a date in a rush of panic, but that was just because it seemed like the lesser of two evils at the time.
I don’t really want him to go. Even the idea makes me pissed off. At myself. For putting the thought in his head.
I’m a fucking dick.
A dick who can’t stop obsessing over him.
It’s a lovely new personality quirk I’ve developed.
I want him, but that’s all it’s going to remain—an attraction.
I will not risk losing this friendship. It’s one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, and I want to keep it.
Being somebody he experiments with is an expressway to fucking things up between the two of us.
It’s a rare display of self-control on my part, because I want him.
Of course I fucking want him. But that’s not the point.
Fucking hell, I barely manage to keep my own attraction to him hidden. Hearing him suggest he’s thinking about exploring it? I barely managed to keep my head on straight.
This friendship of ours is the closest thing to a real connection I’ve let myself have in forever, and keeping it means keeping our boundaries.
I’ve never gotten why people bother with love anyway. It’s not like it lasts.
No, this is good. The way things are between us right now. It’s good.
But still, once I stop concentrating on not staring at him, I end up doing just that. My eyes drift to him with no input from the little amount of common sense I might possess.
“You look nice,” I say now that I’ve actually allowed myself to take a proper look.
Not that he usually doesn’t, but this is definitely a level nicer than usual, even for Jordan.
He looks down at his dark blue pants and white button-down. A few buttons of his collar are open, and the sleeves are rolled up. His hair looks different, too.
He’s off limits, and it’d do me some good to get that through my thick fucking skull.
He clears his throat and doesn’t look at me. “Yeah. Hey, I was thinking maybe you could swing by my place on your way home and make sure Theo gets back safely?”
“Sure,” I say slowly.
I wait.
Wait until my hands turn clammy and my pulse violent.
It feels like I’m waiting for my execution.
He sighs.
“I’ve got this thing,” he finally says. He throws me a quick look and then glances away. “A date kind of thing,” he mutters.
Some part of me already knew, and yet it still comes as a surprise. An unpleasant one. Deeply unpleasant. It’s a hollow pit opening in my stomach that makes the air taste metallic. A whisper in my ear that says, this should be you.
I make myself smirk at him.
“A hot date?”
He gives an awkward shrug, and I get a crash course in the difference between imagined reality and the real thing.
My stomach drops like I’ve missed a step. My jaw tightens, and my teeth feel like they’re welded together. Bitterness curls underneath my rib cage. It’s not poetic or noble. It’s just an ugly wave I can’t get away from fast enough.
I watch Jordan talk to Theo, quietly enough that it’s not audible over the noise of departing kids and parents after the end of practice.
Theo says something that makes Jordan chuckle and ruffle Theo’s hair.
Jordan drapes his arm over Theo’s shoulders, and they make their way over to where Rory and I are standing.
“Thanks for this,” Jordan says, and looks at Theo. “I’ll see you later, kiddo.”
Theo nods distractedly, already in the middle of a conversation with Rory that seems to mostly consist of elbowing each other and snickering.
Jordan’s gaze finds mine.
“Thanks,” he says again.
“Have fun.” The words are acidic on my tongue, the tone an audible snap I can’t mask with anything.
I turn around sharply and start to walk.
We take the subway and then walk the last few blocks.
Rory and Theo are a few steps in front of me, talking and occasionally shoving each other while laughing—Theo with a full belly laugh and Rory with considerably more restraint.
It’s almost like he doesn’t want to laugh, but every now and then he forgets himself and the laughter escapes.
It’s already dark outside when we make it to Theo and Jordan’s place.
“I’ll go get Dog,” Theo says cheerfully, and that wasn’t exactly my plan, but they do it after every practice, so far be it from me to be the one to ruin the routine just because I’m a bitter asshole.
I go with them because there’s no Jordan, and I need all the distraction I can get right now when everything feels too quiet.
Quiet is the enemy.
It leaves room for imagination, and mine has been running rampant ever since I found out about Jordan’s date. Even now, I can see them. Jordan and his nameless, faceless date. The two of them somewhere intimate, leaning close across the table. Candlelight and low music.
I can see it. Her laughing, telling him “you’re so funny,” and touching his arm. Jordan smiling, that quiet, shy half smile. The one that usually makes my chest feel light. It doesn’t now. My chest is heavy with bitterness.
I imagine him walking her home. Her hair catching the streetlights. Him pushing a loose strand behind her ear. Leaning closer.
Jealousy hits like a bullet underneath my ribs and spreads until it fills my whole body.
And no matter how much I tell myself that this is a good thing, this is how it’s supposed to go, this is necessary, this is what I want… In the end I’m not that convincing, so it doesn’t make much difference.
The weather turns to shit almost as soon as we make it to the park. Sleet comes down hard, and even Dog’s enthusiasm for the great outdoors wanes quickly, so we head back.
The front door of Jordan’s house opens before Theo’s made it all the way up the stairs.
“Getting wet out there,” Remy calls out.
I push my hair out of my face.
“Just a little bit.”
He pushes the door open wider. “Well what are you all waiting for, then? Come in before you get pneumonia.”
“We should really get going,” I say.
“Tea?” Remy asks.
Theo and Rory exchange glances, and after some wordless communication, they both head to the front door.
I sigh and follow them.
“Tea sounds great,” I tell Remy once I reach him. Heading home would be the sensible thing to do, but I can’t seem to make myself leave.
We end up in the kitchen while Theo and Rory park themselves on the living room floor, each grabbing a controller.
Remy boils water and takes out a metal box full of tea bags.
“Not much of a selection,” he says. “Mostly peppermint. Lemon if you’re lucky.”
“Peppermint is fine.”
The water starts to boil, and Remy pours it into the cups. He sits down opposite and pushes one of the cups in front of me.
Wonky letters on it spell out Best Dad.
“You got one of Theo’s. We have a cabinet full of them from when he was in kindergarten and a selection from when Jordan was about five or so.”
“It’s sweet,” I say, and to my surprise, I mean it.
This cup with all its history is impossibly sweet.
And I like that they use them and don’t just keep them on display somewhere.
And the fact that I get to drink out of a mug that says Best Dad makes me feel a certain way.
I can’t even explain what it is, but there’s a soft pull in my chest. A quiet, steady hum that, for a moment, overshadows the fact that Jordan isn’t here.
That he’s somewhere in that romantic restaurant for his date.
The shouts from the living room get louder as Theo’s and Rory’s game progresses. Shouts and laughter.
I glance back from where I was looking toward the living room when Dog trots into the kitchen, plops his butt down on the floor next to my chair, and puts his head in my lap.
Remy eyes me calmly while he sips his tea.
“Dogs are very reliable judges of character,” he says.
“Like a Yelp review for people,” I say.
“Seems you’re getting those stars.”
“Unless he’s judging me silently.”
“Does he have a reason to?”
“Many” is probably the honest answer. But something stops me from saying that because this is Jordan’s father, and… Well, fuck me, I don’t want to leave a bad impression.
How do you impress a stranger? In an understated, humble, non-arrogant way.
I’ve got nothing.
“My boy seems to like you well enough,” Remy says. “He’s a good judge of character, too.”
“He’s the best.” This time I don’t need a lengthy moment to analyze what I want to say.
Jordan, after all, is my favorite topic.
I smile, and excitement swirls inside me as I lean forward. I have a willing source, all the time in the world, and the chance to indulge.
“What was Jordan like as a kid?”
Remy smiles.
I settle in to listen.