Page 99 of The Incredible Ordinary

Wonky letters on it spell out Best Dad.

“You got one of Theo’s. We have a cabinet full of them from when he was in kindergarten and a selection from when Jordan was about five or so.”

“It’s sweet,” I say, and to my surprise, I mean it. This cup with all its history is impossibly sweet. And I like that they use them and don’t just keep them on display somewhere. And the fact that I get to drink out of a mug that says Best Dad makes me feel a certain way. I can’t even explain what it is, but there’s a soft pull in my chest. A quiet, steady hum that, for a moment, overshadows the fact that Jordan isn’t here. That he’s somewhere in that romantic restaurant for his date.

The shouts from the living room get louder as Theo’s and Rory’s game progresses. Shouts and laughter.

I glance back from where I was looking toward the living room when Dog trots into the kitchen, plops his butt down on the floor next to my chair, and puts his head in my lap.

Remy eyes me calmly while he sips his tea.

“Dogs are very reliable judges of character,” he says.

“Like a Yelp review for people,” I say.

“Seems you’re getting those stars.”

“Unless he’s judging me silently.”

“Does he have a reason to?”

“Many” is probably the honest answer. But something stops me from saying that because this is Jordan’s father, and… Well, fuck me, I don’t want to leave a bad impression.

How do you impress a stranger? In an understated, humble, non-arrogant way.

I’ve got nothing.

“My boy seems to like you well enough,” Remy says. “He’s a good judge of character, too.”

“He’s the best.” This time I don’t need a lengthy moment to analyze what I want to say.

Jordan, after all, is my favorite topic.

I smile, and excitement swirls inside me as I lean forward. I have a willing source, all the time in the world, and the chance to indulge.

“What was Jordan like as a kid?”

Remy smiles.

I settle in to listen.

JORDAN

Her name is Anya.I meet her in a bistro that seems to have been designed solely with dating in mind, considering its intimate seating arrangement.

I get up when Anya walks toward me, kiss her on the cheek, then pull out her chair for her.

We smile at each other once we’ve both settled in.

Silence.

My head is empty.

What do people talk about?

She hides her smile behind the menu, eyes shining when she looks at me, and leans forward.

“Does this feel as awkward to you as it does to me?” Her voice is soft, like we’re sharing a secret.