Like Grownups Do by Nathan Roden

said.
    Jordan stared at Babe’s head.
    “Is that…glitter? In your hair?”
    Tom laughed.
    “Oh, my. He’s on to you, Captain Fabulous.”
    Babe chuffed.
    “It’s donut glaze, Jordan.”
    “Well, of course,” Jordan said.
    “And why wouldn’t it be?”
    “All the cool kids are doing it,” Babe said.
    Jordan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, but he was smiling.
     
    “Guys, here’s what’s happening. Sam— Samantha, has been offered a position in the State Department. Neither of us saw that coming. She’s just begun her third term in the State Senate. But it’s not really the kind of position you turn down, and I don’t expect her to. We’ll have to move to D. C.—and that presents a problem for RCI. We’re a tiny operation and we’re still on a short leash. I don’t know what to expect. You two are doing excellent work, but your youth still scares the hell out of the FBI—the politicians even more so. I don’t know if they’re going to want to shut it down or maybe move us to D.C. Maybe they just put someone in my place.”
    “I won’t be moving to D.C., Jordan,” Tom said.
    “If we’re shut down, I’ll just go back to teaching. Christie and I want to have a couple of kids. She researched school districts for two years and it took longer than that to find our house in the district that she picked out. But congratulations, to you and Samantha.”
    “Yeah, congratulations, Jordan,” Babe said, “but I prom— I mean, I don’t want to leave, either. I don’t want to go back to the probation office, but—”
    “Let’s not give up the ship just yet. Jack and MG are working on a contingency plan.”
     
    Klaus Schroeder pointed at Jordan’s empty beer bottle from two tables away. Jordan pretended to be studying a spot on the ceiling, and then smiled and said, “Hit me, Klaus. Three is my limit before sundown.”
     
    Dun dun dun dahhh.
    Jordan turned in his chair at the sound of the Monday Night Football theme coming from the lone big screen television in the adjacent bar area.
    “Hey, Patriots and Steelers Monday night, Babe. You going to be here?” Jordan asked.
    Tom crossed his arms and made a pouty face at this question, which made Babe and Jordan laugh.
    “Jordan,” Babe said, “let us observe a moment of silence for our poor comrade, who is being forced to spend two weeks in a tropical paradise—sleeping until noon and drinking himself stupid every night, and no doubt working on or at least practicing for that first baby he’s been talking about.” He gave Tom a playful but firm punch on the shoulder.
    “Yeah, Jordan, if MG doesn’t load me up for next week, I’ll be here. You going to try and make it?”
    “Yeah, I think so. I haven’t been to watch a game here this season, and I haven’t seen Lewis or Leo in months. Hey, Klaus! Will your boys be here Monday night?”
    “Sure thing, Mr. Jordan. Frieda and I leave Monday morning and the boys will have it until we get back.”
    “Yeah, okay, okay, okay. I knew that. Where is my head today?” Jordan said.
    “Somewhere between the ‘Samuel’ and the ‘Adams’ would be my guess,” Tom mused, staring down at the table with a straight face until Babe and then Jordan laughed.
    “Goddamn it—who hired you two smart asses? I’m calling Jack this afternoon, and make him explain to me what the hell I did to deserve you little shits.”
    Jordan grinned into space and began to miss his old life already.
     
     

 
     
    Eleven
     
     
    J ordan and Samantha Blackledge had been married for ten years. They sold both of their condos for sizable profits and bought a home in Wellesley. That home was a steal of sorts, having been owned by the playboy son of an oil-rich Middle Eastern businessman. The questionable tastes of the son not only inflamed nearby home owners, but left real estate agents at a loss for how to unload the property. Outlandish color schemes, huge murals, and giant statuary were spread