Page 26 of The Incredible Ordinary

I nod, feeling lighter than I have in months.

“We’ll be there.”

I have no idea if I can keep that promise, but I don’t say that out loud.

The front dooropens with a quietsnick. Everything that follows happens so silently that I wouldn’t honestly be surprised if Rory realized he could become a burglar. The potential is there.

I clear my throat when he tries to sneak past the living room, and he jumps.

“Shit!” he says.

“Language.”

His shoulders tighten, and he stuffs his hands in his pockets, then slowly turns to face me.

“What?” There’s an impressive amount of defiance and challenge packed into that one word.

We’re three months into this shitshow, and with shame, I admit that this is the first true look I’ve taken at him. The first time I’m admitting to myself that I’ve been an asshole. Did I want to upend my life like this? Not even a little bit.

Is it Rory’s fault?

No.

I made the decision to be here, but I haven’t really shown up until now because I’ve been too busy feeling resentful.

It’s time to do better, and the key to doing better is this scrawny boy in jeans, dirty sneakers, and a hoodie, his floppy curls in serious need of a trim.

I push the chair on the other side of the table out with my foot.

“Take a seat.”

“I’m fine,” he says through clenched teeth.

“It wasn’t an offer. Sit down.”

I stare at Rory, and Rory stares at me. He gives in first, making sure to roll his eyes at me before he stiffly plants himself in the chair. I’m not going to lie, the attitude is familiar. It’s the kind of thing I would’ve done had I ever been in his situation. Fuck, I probably would’ve made sure to be worse.

He crosses his arms over his chest, and I take a sip of the coffee I’ve been nursing for the past thirty minutes. I would love to have something stronger, but Aiden got fed up with my inability to get groceries, so now all the shelves are stocked with a variety of healthy, nutritious options. Whiskey didn’t make the cut.

What the hell am I supposed to say?

“You hungry?” I ask.

The question seems to take him by surprise.

Exactly how shit have I been at this job?

“I ate,” he says, eyeing me warily with a furrowed brow. I’m thinking he expected this to evolve into our usual shouting match, so at least I’ve got the element of surprise on my side.

“What’s the plan?” I ask.

He looks away. His shoulder jerks, almost involuntarily. He looks just a bit lost before he catches himself and goes back to glaring at me.

“You kicking me out or something?” He clutches the side of his chair so hard his knuckles go white. It’s amazing how much you notice when you take a break from wallowing in self-pity.

“Because I couldn’t give a fuck.” He lifts his chin higher. “I have options.”

I forgo wagging my finger about the cursing. It doesn’t feel like the time for that.