Page 157 of The Incredible Ordinary

“Jordan.”

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes. So much for fucking crying in the fucking rain. The temptation to do something incredibly stupid is there.

Tell him.

Those three words are right there, on the tip of my tongue. The three words I’ve been secretly carrying around inside me. So secretly I’ve been refusing to admit them even to myself.

Beg, borrow, and steal to keep him.

And then what?

Because saying those words to him and then watching him leave anyway? That would require a level of masochism I do not possess. And what would even be the point?

If I tell him and he leaves, it’s history repeating itself. Once again I’ll be the one left behind. Once again just being with me isn’t enough. The life I have to offer isn’t enough.I’mnot enough.

We stare at each other.

What now?

End it? Make it at least a little more bearable by not dragging this out until the moment he walks away? Make it so I won’t have to watch him go and once again be the one who gets left behind?

Accept that I might’ve once again jumped the gun and started imagining the kind of future that simply doesn’t fit Milán’s plans?

That maybe I wanted soccer practices and walking down the street together, simple dates and falling asleep with him pressed up against me, playful kisses and arguing about dinner and camping trips. And he wanted kite surfing in Argentina and hanging out on yachts and sleeping on a different continent every few weeks.

And maybe our lives were never going to fit, and I was just fooling myself into believing they might.

And I still can’t fucking breathe.

He presses himself against me. Takes my face in his hands. “Jordy, listen to me. Please. I don’t have any plans to leave.”

I’m already shaking my head. “You don’t have any plans right now! I can’t do it again. I can’t—I don’t want to!”

I’ve fully stopped making sense. With Kira, I at least had some pride left. Now there’s none. I can’t even pretend to hold my head high. All of me is a mess. An ugly, desperate mess, and I should stop and scrape together the remnants of my dignity that are scattered on the ground, but…

“I can’t watch you leave,” I choke out.

I’m saying too much. Showing too much.

Milán’s eyes are filled with nothing but worry by now.

“Jordy,” he says, “baby, listen to me. Whatever I was talking about with Aiden back then, it was just that. Back then. It was before. I’m not desperately looking for plane tickets out of here.”

It should be reassuring.

I dismiss any sense of relief his words might give me almost immediately.

“Maybe you should be.”

He blinks at me.

“What?” he says.

“This is my home. I’ve never lived anywhere else. Same city, same street, same house. My whole life. I raise my son. I have a dead-end job. I’ve barely left the state. I don’t even have a fucking passport. You’re… You jump between places on a whim and have adventures and freedom, so why would you ever give that up?”

He looks downright perplexed now.

“Do you… Is that what you want to do? Travel? Because we can. We’ll get you a passport tomorrow if that’s what you want.”