Page 42 of The Incredible Ordinary

“Going out,” I yell when I’m at the door.

There’s no reply, so I march downstairs and stick my head into Dad’s workshop. He’s listening to a record on the turntable Mom and I got him when he turned fifty, tinkering with something, lost in his own world, so I close the door behind me and head outside.

The restaurant is a casual place with seating inside as well as in the small courtyard. Milán has found us a table in the courtyard. Redbrick walls and ivy surround us. He’s lounging in his chair and giving off the vibe of a bored king, with sunglasses hiding his eyes and his head tilted back, catching some of the fall sunshine on his face.

He’s dressed in all black—jeans, T-shirt, and the leather jacket that’s casually tossed over the vacant chair next to him,his chestnut hair styled, the scruffy beard he’s been sporting ever since I met him gone.

When I stop in front of the table, he looks at me and grins.

“You shaved,” I blurt instead of a greeting.

He slides his palm over his jaw.

“The full beard was never really my style. It was high time to get rid of it.”

“Well… You look nice,” I say.

“Thanks.” He pushes his sunglasses up and looks at me. I suddenly feel like I’m under a microscope. I don’t remember the last time somebody looked at me like this. With the intent oflookingat me. I’m also not sure I measure up, which is another strange thought, because I’m not used to feeling self-conscious like this.

I’ve never actually cared what anybody thinks of my appearance or looks. With Kira, we were so young that it wasn’t something that even crossed my mind, and since Kira I’ve been too busy raising Theo.

I do try to look decent and dress nicely, but I don’t think I’ve ever looked effortlessly cool like Milán does.

He nods at the chair opposite him.

“Saved you a seat,” he says.

Whatever self-consciousness came over me a moment ago disappears with the bright, teasing smile he sends my way.

A waitress comes over and hands us menus, and we both thank her. I study the menu for a bit.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually had brunch,” I say.

“Sure you have.” He shrugs, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “It’s essentially late breakfast. And booze.”

“In a restaurant. Does it count as brunch when I sleep in and have a sandwich at home before dinner?”

“If you chase it with a cocktail.”

“Can I substitute with a beer?”

“Why not?” he says.

“Then I suppose I’ve had brunch once or twice in my life.”

He laughs again. He has a very nice laugh, and today there’s a lightness to it I haven’t heard before. The waitress comes and takes our order.

“How’s Rory?” I ask when it’s just the two of us again.

“Torturing Aiden at home. Apparently there’s some kind of creative writing assignment he’s supposed to turn in tomorrow, and Aiden found out he hasn’t even started yet.”

“You don’t seem that concerned,” I say.

“Because I’m not there. And since the homework fight is usually my fight, I’m actually enjoying the shit out of the fact that this one time, somebody else has to deal with it. I hope Rory slams doors.” He gets a dreamy look on his face that makes me smile.

I tilt my head to the side. “What’s it like? To have siblings.”

He seems taken aback for a moment before a small crease appears between his eyebrows and his eyes get a distant look in them, like he’s gone somewhere far away in search for an answer.