Watching them together, I’m struck again by how naturally Jordan interacts with Ash. He doesn’t talk down to him or dismiss his excitement. He treats him like a person whose opinions matter.
“Are you staying for dinner?” Ash asks when he finishes his story. “Mom’s making spaghetti.”
“Oh, I don’t want to impose,” Jordan says quickly, looking at me. “You’ve already done so much today.”
“You’re not imposing,” I hear myself say. “There’s plenty of food, and honestly, it would be nice to have adult conversation during dinner.”
For a moment Jordan looks tempted. He glances at Henry, who’s still content in his arms, then back at me. Something in his expression shifts, becoming more guarded.
“I appreciate the offer, but I think I just need some time to decompress. It’s been a long day.”
There’s something in the way he says it that makes me want to ask what happened. Where he’s been. Why he looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Instead, I nod. “Of course. I understand.”
“Thanks again for today. For staying late, for bringing Henry here. It really helped.”
“Anytime.”
Jordan gathers Henry’s things quickly, like he’s eager to leave. I help him carry everything to the door, noting how he avoids making eye contact.
“See you tomorrow?” I ask.
“Definitely. Same time?”
“Same time.”
I watch from my front steps as Jordan carries Henry across the yard to their house. Even from a distance, I can see the carefulway he handles the car seat, the gentle way he talks to Henry as they walk.
Back inside, Ash is setting the table for dinner, but he keeps glancing toward the window.
“Is Jordan okay?” he asks. “He seemed kind of sad.”
The observation surprises me. Ash is perceptive, but I didn’t realize he’d picked up on Jordan’s mood so clearly.
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. He just seemed different when he came back. Like something was bothering him.”
I think about Jordan’s expression when he arrived, the way he seemed to be forcing himself to engage in conversation. “You might be right.”
“Do you think it has something to do with Henry’s mom?”
The question catches me off guard. “Why would you ask that?”
Ash shrugs, continuing to arrange napkins on the table. “Just seems weird that she hasn’t come to visit or anything. And Jordan never talks about her. Like, at all.”
He’s right. In the few days we’ve known Jordan, he’s never mentioned Henry’s mother beyond saying he’s watching Henry “for a while.” No phone calls from her that I’ve witnessed. No mention of when she might be back.
“Maybe she’s away somewhere,” I say carefully. “Travel for work or visiting family.”
“Maybe.” Ash doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “But wouldn’t she want to see Henry? He’s really little. My friend Jake’s momwent on a business trip for three days, and she video-called him every night.”
The simple logic of a nine-year-old highlights exactly what’s been bothering me. What mother stays away from her six-month-old baby for days without any contact? What situation would make someone hand over their infant to a relative who clearly has no experience with children?
“Maybe.” Ash doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “I hope she’s okay.”
“Me too.”
