Page 51 of The Incredible Ordinary

“Broccolini slaw as a side. I’ll prep the enchiladas if you do the salad?” Jordan says.

“Sure. Just tell me what to do in the kind of small words you’d use for a person who usually relies on takeout.”

He smiles, pushes all the necessary ingredients over in front of me on the island, and says, “Dice.”

I salute him, then get to work.

For a while we’re both silent, each doing our own thing, which in Jordan’s case means moving around the kitchen and doing a lot of things at once, and in my case means dicing vegetables and occasionally ruminating on the fact that it’s a miracle I haven’t chopped any of my fingers off with the way my eyes keep wandering to Jordan over and over again.

When I have all the vegetables cut, Jordan hands me the dressing he made. I pour it over the salad and give it a stir, then put the bowl in the fridge before I settle in on one of the barstools at the island.

Jordan has put a skillet on the stove with his own array of chopped vegetables, and in the other pan, he’s heating the tortillas in olive oil.

I lean my chin on my hand and watch.

“Where did you learn to cook?” I ask as he deftly tosses the vegetables around the pan.

“I don’t think anybody ever specifically taught me. When my parents were in the kitchen, I was in the kitchen too, and, well, what’s the point of just letting me sit idly?”

“Child labor. I approve.”

He laughs softly.

“Do you have a signature dish?” I ask.

He throws me an amused look. “I’m not a chef.”

“Yeah, but I’m betting there’s something you’re really good at making.”

He takes a moment to think about it. “Empanadas, probably?”

“I will be your humble servant if you make some for me sometime,” I say solemnly.

He laughs again. “A fan?”

“I went kitesurfing in Cuesta del Viento a few years ago. There was a roadside stand selling empanadas. Hands down the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

He looks up from where he’s rolling the filling into the tortillas. “You’ve been to Argentina?”

“Once. I bet you’ve been a lot of times?”

He shakes his head. “Twice when I was still just a kid. I don’t remember too much of it. We went once to visit my grandmother, and then the second time was when we went to her funeral. I’ve always wanted to visit as a grown-up, though.”

“Why don’t you?”

He throws a piece of carrot into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “I’m stuck in my ways, I suppose? And I’ve never really traveled, so there’s also the feeling that I wouldn’t really know how to go about it, and then I’ll inevitably end up just staying put.”

“But you’d like to go?”

He nods.

I straighten my back.

“I’ll go with you, then. I’ve been all over, so I know exactly how to go about it. I’ll be your travel guru.”

I don’t think he fully believes me, but even so, he perks up.

“Yeah?” he says, but then skepticism overtakes the excitement. “Sure.” I’m pretty sure he suppresses an eye roll. “Let’s.”