Matt knocks on his dad’s half-open office door. The man at the desk has a shock of mussed blondish hair and reading glasses perched on a long, rounded nose. He’s wearing a hooded Indiana University sweatshirt that somehow looks business casual on him.
“Dad, this is my friend Kermit. He’s sleeping over.”
It’s notable, the lack of asking for permission.
“Very good,” Mr. Rincorn says. “Very good.” Then he looks up, as if startled. “Oh, hello, lads.”
Who says lads anymore? Sheila laughs.
The rest of the house is neat as a pin, but the office looks like a couple of file cabinets exploded in there. It’s tall piles of folders and papers everywhere, except for the small expanse of desk where he’s working.
“Kermit, you say? Well, it’s nice to meet you.” Mr. Rincorn has his fingers between papers in the open folder in front of him. There’s a tablet open on the desk as well as a desktop monitor with a massive spreadsheet displayed.
“We’re gonna eat and watch a movie,” Matt says.
“I’ll just be another hour or so,” Mr. Rincorn says. “What’s showing tonight?”
“We haven’t decided,” Matt says. “Probably something with a lot of explosions.” He winks at me and I blush.
“Very good.”
“Alfredo,” Matt says. “You want chicken or shrimp?”
“Whatever you’re having,” Mr. Rincorn says absently, his attention already back on his papers.
“Cool,” Matt says, backing out of the room.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Rincorn.” I follow. “He’s gonna watch the movie with us?” I whisper as we walk toward the kitchen.
“Not a chance,” Matt assures me. “He always says ‘another hour,’ but really he’ll work till he crashes.”