Milán
I wake up with the sun on my face, warm and comfortable. I blink my eyes open slowly.
No Jordan.
It’s the first thing I notice.
It comes with an unfurling coolness in my stomach.
Did last night happen or was it just a dream?
I push myself into a sitting position and look around the room. Still no sign of Jordan.
I slam down on my back and pull a pillow over my face.
It smells like Jordan.
There’s a set of clothes on the dresser, so I take them to the bathroom and get changed before I make my way downstairs.
I hear voices coming from the kitchen, and I stop in the doorway.
Theo and Rory are both sitting at the kitchen table with plates of scrambled eggs in front of them, Dog between them, hoping for scraps.
Jordan is standing by the stove, stirring something in a pan while he says something I can’t quite hear over the buzzing in my ears, because Jordan first thing in the morning is perfect.
This is the kind of thing I should scoff at. I can’t seem to find it in me to do that. Instead, there’s inviting warmth pulling me forward.
Jordan looks up when he hears me approach and smiles at me.
“Sleepyhead,” he says, and hands me a plate.
He looks me up and down, his eyes shining, and suddenly there are no doubts left about whether last night was real or not.
Unsteady legs carry me to the table. I sit down next to Rory and nudge him with my shoulder. He glances at me.
“Sleep well?” I ask.
He hesitates for a moment, but then he nods. And there’s a small smile in the corner of his mouth.
“It was good.”
“Except for the mattress farts,” Theo says.
I raise my brows at him. He grins. “You have to put a sheet on the floor below the mattress, otherwise every time you turn it’s like—” He puts his palm over his mouth and executes an impressively accurate fart noise.
Rory’s eyes land on Theo. Theo grins like the devil, and Rory snorts.
Jordan sighs and points the spatula at Theo. “I distinctly remember teaching you manners at one point.”
“Yeah, but this falls under the unless clause,” Theo says.
“Do I want to know?”
“No fart noises. Unless they’re really funny.”
Rory lets out another snort, and when Theo looks at him, he dissolves into giggles.
I blink at the sight. My little brother, sitting in a sunny kitchen, laughing like a kid.
And not only that. Those words—my little brother—they don’t feel like an unwelcome title that I’ve reluctantly accepted.
They feel real. There’s weight behind those words.
A responsibility that terrifies me and always has, but there’s a new dimension added to the fear. Now it also tempts me.
Now I kind of want it.
Now these giggles come with a sudden adrenaline rush I would never have even begun to associate with something so ordinary before.
It’s breakfast. Just breakfast. And yet, somehow, it feels just as meaningful as match point at Wimbledon ever did.
The fear is still there.
But I stay put.
I eat the veggies and scrambled eggs. I send Rory a pointed look when he’s done and ready to run off, and the two of us clean up. I sit at the kitchen table with Jordan after Rory and Theo have headed to the park with Dog, with the November sun warming my bare feet.
We talk and laugh. Nothing profound or important right now. We don’t even really talk about last night.
We just are.
Two people who feel ridiculously comfortable with each other. Never once in my life have I felt this at ease with somebody. Being with Jordan is more comfortable than being alone with myself. I’m not sure when or how that happened, but it has.
I look at him, and my throat goes dry and my heart starts to pound, but it doesn’t stop me from asking, because the need to be with him is bigger than fear.
“Will I see you later?” I ask.
He smiles. “I’d be really disappointed if you didn’t.”
The evening comes too fast. I’m a bit of a mess, swinging like a pendulum between excitement about seeing him and fear that we’re inching closer and closer to the point of no return, never hitting the right balance.
I dress with more care than I have in years because I’m not dressing for myself. I’m dressing for him.
“It’s just dinner,” I mutter to myself. It does shit all to stop the nerves.
Right now I’m not even sure anymore if I’m nervous because a big part of me is screaming that it’s not a good idea and it’ll ruin everything, because I don’t want to take too deep of a look at the insanity of everything I’m starting to feel for Jordan, or if it’s the uncertainty of thinking it’s a date when neither of us has actually called it that.
If I run headfirst into the wall, will it knock some sense into me?
Footsteps stomp past my door, and I don’t have time to close it. Rory goes past the door, and I blow out a breath in relief, but he backtracks and appears in the doorway a second later, frowning at me.
“What?” I ask with a sigh, adjusting my tie.
He takes an uncertain step inside. Just the one. Then he stops again.
“Is there a parent-teacher conference tonight?” He eyes me with an even deeper frown.
“No.”
“Then why do you look like that?” He waves his hand at me.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Like what?”
“Like you’re going to a funeral.”
“How are those two things even remotely connected when it comes to what I’m wearing?”
Instead of answering, he wanders farther into the room and scrunches his nose after he sniffs pointedly. “Smells weird.”
I take an alarmed sniff of my armpit. All I can smell is soap, detergent, and cologne.
When I look back at Rory he’s trying very hard not to laugh. I grab a pillow from my bed and lob it at his head. He jumps out of the way and snickers with clear glee.
“You’re a monster,” I say.
He stuffs his hands into his pockets, looking very pleased with himself as he nods toward me. “You still look weird.”
“What’s weird about trying to look nice?”
“It’s just me and Aiden here. So… weird.”
“Don’t you have something better to do with your time? Shouldn’t you try and sneak in more screen time or get extra junk food or whatever it is kids do these days?”
He ignores me and tilts his head to the side. “Do you just, like, dress up and then admire yourself in the mirror?”
I sigh and adjust my tie.
“Are you trying to get into someone’s pants?” he asks.
“You’re thirteen.”
“I’m just saying. You’re not gonna get anything from anyone if you look like those dudes who stop you on the street to ask if you’ve already heard about our lord and savior.”
“I do not look like a missionary.”
“You’re wearing a tie.”
“Why are you so against ties?” I can’t believe I’m even entertaining him, but as of right now, I’ve been pulled into this conversation and am fully invested in defending myself.
“You walk in like this, and your date is gonna full-on think you’re there for a tax audit.”
We lock eyes for a bit. He quirks a brow. I grumble and pull the tie off.
“Better?”
He still looks unimpressed.
I will not ask. I will not ask.
“What?” I ask with exasperation.
“Now you look like when the principal wants to show the kids he’s cool.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter. I wrestle the jacket off before I hold out my arms and wait for judgment day.
He inspects me for a second before he shrugs and says, “It’s fine.”
“With that kind of raging endorsement in my back pocket I really do feel like a million bucks,” I say dryly before I aim my eyes toward the ceiling. “Why am I listening to a thirteen-year-old?”
“I’ve got a lot of experience.”
“In dating? Since when?”
He sends me a look that makes it clear he thinks I’m stupid. He’s silent for a bit, the says, “My mom went on dates a lot.”
“Did she?” I keep my tone as neutral as possible. So far, Rory has barely mentioned her or what his life was like before.
Rory nods and rolls his eyes. “A lot of losers. Mom really knew how to pick ’em.”
“What made them losers?”
He shrugs. “She wanted something more every time. None of them stayed. She would always be like ‘He’s the one. I can feel it. He’s different from everybody else.’ And then a few weeks would go by, and the guy would bail, and she would be all heartbroken. Rinse and repeat.”
Oh.
Sympathy is a foreign feeling. Foreign enough that it takes me a moment to even pinpoint what it is I’m feeling.
He rolls his eyes. “Who cares anyway,” he says dismissively. He’s trying to look tough but only managing to somehow seem impossibly young and lost.
I have to get going soon. Apparently I look like a missionary who does accounting on the side. Instead of fixing that, I take a seat on the edge of the bed and look at Rory.
“What was your mom like?”
He avoids my gaze and licks his lips.
I wait. He fidgets.
“She played the violin,” he eventually says. “Like, in a theater? For operas and ballets and stuff. She used to take me to the rehearsals a lot. And then I would hang out in the back, where all the set designers and artists were working.”
“The babysitters who taught you about art?” I say.
He gives an almost bashful grin and nods. It feels like I’ve passed a test.
I told you something a while ago, and you remembered.
“Do you play an instrument?”
He shakes his head. “I took piano lessons for a year, but I didn’t like it that much.”
“Okay, so, set designs, huh?”
“I got to help with the set of The Wizard of Oz when they played it in Chicago,” he says. “I was seven. It was just before we moved to Phoenix.”
“Yeah?” I smile.
He nods. “Belinda said I had an eye for color.”
He looks so proud in that moment. It’s sweet. It’s how he should feel about himself. I’m suddenly envious of this Belinda that she knew what to say to make Rory feel like this.
He catches himself too soon.
“Do you—” I start to say.
“Ditch the suit,” he says, speaking over me. “Seriously. You look like the tax attorney my mom once dated. Dale. He bought me an iPad and then said he wanted it back when he and Mom broke up two weeks later.”
“And?” I ask. I honestly don’t know what to expect now.
“I accidentally dropped it and stepped on it right as I was about to hand it to him,” he says before he turns around and walks out the door.
I put on a different shirt, and roll the sleeves up to my elbows.
Not too bad.
I glance at my watch and let out a string of curses before I grab my wallet, phone, and keys, and rush out of my room. I get past the kitchen where Aiden is standing behind the counter and have already pulled one of my boots on when the smell registers.
“Aiden?” I call out. No reply.
I jump toward the kitchen, holding my booted foot in the air, and stop in the doorway.
“Aiden!” I snap.
He looks up from his book.
“Yeah?”
“Whatever you’re cooking there is a few steps past the point of burning.”
He looks down at the pan and blinks for a few seconds before he finally snaps out of it.
“Oh shit!” He grabs the pan and sticks it in the sink. A second later the fire alarm starts to beep.
“What’s happening?” Rory comes to a halt in the doorway and looks around with wide eyes.
I give up, put my foot down, and go and open all the windows. Aiden waves a towel at the alarm until it quiets down. He wipes his forehead and blows out a breath before he gingerly pokes at the charred mess in the pan.
“Nothing much. Just Aiden trying to burn down the place,” I tell Rory. “Hey, are you free tonight? I think I might need a babysitter.”
“Do I get paid?” he asks.
“That’s how jobs usually work.” I pull out my wallet and toss it to him. “I’m already late. Run to that restaurant on the corner and grab dinner to go for you and your charge. There’s enough cash there to cover it. You can keep whatever change you get.”
I don’t stay to see if that all works out before I rush out the door.
On my probably-not-a-date.