My toes are still literally curling and I'm supposed to focus on the chain rule of calculus?How does he do that? Switch on and off?
Sometimes he's so carefree and playful, I forget I’m lying on my bedroom floor in a ratty tank and boy shorts. Other times, with nothing but a tone—an inflection—he has me blushing all over and diving under the covers.
And then sometimes… sometimes he is anabsolute disaster.
Like the day he called me at seven in the morning, sounding betrayed by life itself.
“I don’t understand why Marina would just quit on me. We just needed to talk things through, that's all”
“Jordan… What happened with your cook?”
“Oversalting."
"What?"
"She's a little heavy on the salt. I had to say something. And all I did was ask how long it takes for a man to die from salt poisoning. She looked at me likeIwas the poison.”
"Ouch."
"I'm ravenous, I have a three hour meeting at nine, and it's the middle of fucking nowhere on this rig. The universe hates me!"
“Jordan,” I say slowly, trying very hard not to laugh, “can't you just scramble an egg or something?”
"Scrambled egg." He says, like it's a new word. "Yeah I suppose I could."
And it dawns on me. "Can you even make it?"
“Of course,” he answers, deeply offended. Then, after a beat: “...if the microwave works.”
I cackle so hard I fall sideways on my bed. “What about porridge?”
“Easy. There'd be instructions on the box.”
“Cereal?”
“Oh come on. I can pour things.”
My stomach hurts from laughing. “Jordan, what will you eat?”
“A tragedy,” he says solemnly. “That’s what I'll eat.”
I end up teaching him how to make scrambled eggs, then grilled cheese. He video calls me from the kitchen like a helpless man-child. “Is the pan supposed to hiss like that?”
“Yes, Jordan.”
“Are you sure?”
“Stop poking the cheese—let it melt!”
“This feels dangerous,” he mutters.
“You are literally cooking a sandwich.”
“For your information,” he says, “I manage energy plants across multiple states. I am not built for—ah—shit—Bree—the cheese is—Bree—it’s leaking—”
“I swear to God, Jordan, if you burn that kitchen—”
“It’s fine,” he says quickly, then adds, “But hypothetically, if there were smoke—”
