When Baker and Floyd check in with all their luggage, Floyd is carrying his copy of The Dirty Cowboy under one arm, and the woman at the United desk is so taken with him that she bumps them up to first class. “You’re the only child I’ve seen in years who isn’t mesmerized by a screen,” she tells Floyd.

Baker wills his son not to mention the iPad that’s tucked in Baker’s carry-on or the fact that Floyd has watched Despicable Me 3 ten times in the past week.

“Thank you,” Baker says. First class! He’s already dreaming of a Bloody Mary and a decent nap.

Turns out, Baker’s and Floyd’s seats are across the aisle from each other. Is this going to be okay? Sitting next to Floyd is a West Indian woman who is already situated, watching a movie with headphones on. The seat next to Baker is empty. Maybe Baker will ask about switching.

Baker stows his carry-on and Floyd’s backpack but tells Floyd not to buckle up just yet. “I’m going to see if we can switch seats. That way you can sit next to me and have a window.”

“I want a window!” Floyd says.

There’s a guy in a knit cap with a hipster beard getting ready to take the seat next to Baker. He’s wearing a T-shirt that reads WASPS OF GOOD FORTUNE—a band, maybe?—and jeans and a Gucci belt and a pair of black Sambas exactly like the ones Baker used to wear to soccer practice when he was nine years old, and on his wrist is a forty-thousand-dollar Rolex Daytona with a light blue pearlescent face. He has AirPods in.

The guy—he looks to be somewhere in his mid-twenties—nods at Baker and goes to lift his duffel into the overhead space.

Baker says, “Hey, man, any chance you would mind switching spots with my son so we can sit together? He’s only four.”

The guy blinks at Baker and says in a broad Australian accent, “Sorry, mate, I prefer the window.”

“No problem, mate,” Baker says. He slides out of the way so that Mr. Samba, Mr. Wasps of Good Fortune, Mr. Young Crocodile Dundee can take his seat. Baker tries not to feel put out. It’s the guy’s seat, Baker has no right to it, but still—who says no when asked to help out a four-year-old child? Baker glances at the woman next to Floyd, but she has fallen asleep.

“Looks like we’re staying put, buddy,” Baker says, and he fastens Floyd’s seat belt.

“Daddy?” Floyd says. “May I please have the iPad?”

Baker doesn’t speak to Young Croc during the flight, though he does keep tabs on him out of the corner of his eye. Young Croc orders Maker’s Mark straight up (two) to Baker’s Bloody Mary (one). Young Croc watches Deadpool 2 (no surprise there); Baker chooses old episodes of The Office. Young Croc declines breakfast; Baker inhales the kale and sausage omelet, the soggy home fries, and even the sad, wrinkled cherry tomatoes. Young Croc does the sudoku puzzle in the in-flight magazine astonishingly quickly, which actually makes Baker like him a little better. He doesn’t get up for the bathroom at all, whereas Baker gets up once for himself and twice for Floyd.