Page 68 of The Incredible Ordinary

I laugh until my stomach hurts, getting lost in his voice and his presence. I wasn’t starstruck before, I don’t think.

I am now.

He’s somehow a tiny bit intimidating, but also comforting, because even though he’s had all these experiences and lived the kind of life most people can only dream of, he’s not arrogant or stuck up. Mostly he seems to be made of self-deprecating humor and realism.

I match his stories with tales of the life of an impossibly young single father. I’ve always felt a kind of absence in my life. There’s never been that one person who gets exactly what I’m going through. Who’s there for the good and the bad and everything in between. Somebody to laugh with.

Sitting here now, talking and laughing and remembering—it makes me forget some of that absence that’s always been there inside me.

I tell him about the way five-year-old Theo used to sneak snacks out of the kitchen in his pants, thinking he was being stealthy. How he used to fall asleep at the dinner table after a long day, still holding a fork in his tiny hand. And the time he decorated the neighbor’s cat with stickers and glue. Peanut still hasn’t forgiven us for the humiliation of those shaved spots.

He listens, all his attention on me.

My voice eventually goes hoarse. It’s been a while since I’ve done this much talking. He’s turned so his upper body is facing me, his cheek resting on the back of the couch.

“Do you want more kids?” he asks.

It takes me a moment to contemplate the answer.

Truthfully, I haven’t thought about it that much. I just somehow adopted the stance that Theo is it for me. And even if he isn’t… I don’t actually know how good of a partner I would be. Somewhere along the way I’ve skipped a lot of steps on the way to becoming a successful adult. So far, I mostly feel out of my depth a lot. My only saving grace is that I can hide it successfully.

Would I want to do it all over again?

The honest answer is that I’m not sure I would. Not even because it’s hard, so I wouldn’t want to do it the second time around, but because I don’t know if I have it in me to trust another person like that again. To trust somebody to stay. To choose us.

“Probably not.” There’s a pang of sadness in my chest I can’t quite explain, because it’s not like I’ve been actively dreaming about kids this whole time. And Theo and I are doing well as is. I’m happy with my life. “What about you?”

He glances into the hallway and smirks. “I’ve got my hands full right now with all the punching strangers and precinct visits.”

“Sometimes they do stupid stuff without thinking. The development of the prefrontal cortex is complete at age twenty-five, if I remember correctly, so at thirteen they’re not playing with a full deck of cards yet.”

“Really? Twenty-five? Because I’m pretty sure mine hasn’t stopped cooking yet. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.”

“Maybe you’re just spontaneous,” I suggest.

“It’s nice when people find socially acceptable terms instead of calling me immature.”

He grins at me, and I smile back.

I like you.

I almost let out a snort of laughter. Talk about immature. It feels like something a first grader would say. But I do. I like him. He’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in years.

I turn myself, so I’m sitting right next to him and turn my head, too, leaning my cheek against the backrest, mirroring his position.

“What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done?” I ask.

He’s quiet for a bit, eyes narrowing slightly.

I smile. “Are you trying to decide between options?”

“There are so many.”

“Okay, just tell me a random one, then. You don’t have to rank them.”

He thinks some more, then says, “I once jumped from one rooftop to another. They both had bars on them and the one I wasn’t in looked more fun.”

I stare for a moment. “A low roof, though, right? One of those that are almost on the ground.”