“I’m sure you miss them.”
“I do. But they’re used to it. My grandpa and my dad both served.”
“A military family,” she muses. “Wait, am I supposed to refer to you as a military brat?” she teases.
“Nah, not me. However, I have met more than my fair share. I get it, though. It’s hard being away from your mom or dad and sometimes both. It’s tough on a kid.”
“You turned out okay,” she observes.
“Yeah, I did. I had my twin sister Faith. We were best friends growing up. We had each other so moving around wasn’t so bad. Sure it sucked, but it’s all we knew.”
“You have a twin?” There’s awe in her voice.
“Yeah, she and I are close. Well, we used to be before I enlisted. I’d like to think that we still are.”
“She didn’t want to follow in the family footsteps?”
“She did, but she followed my mom. She’s going to college to be a kindergarten teacher. She has one more year of college before she graduates.”
“Bless her. I don’t know if I could do that. Hell, I don’t know if I could do what either of you do in your careers.”
“You don’t like kids?”
Why does the thought of her not liking and potentially wanting kids of her own bother me?
“I love them, but I don’t know if I could handle a room full.” She laughs.
“So, kids, you want them someday?”
“Yeah, I do. If I ever find that special someone.”
“You been looking?”
“No.” Her answer is flat. “No. I’ve not been looking. I’ve kind of sworn off relationships.”
“Kinda hard to have a baby when you’ve done that,” I tease.
“Yeah, well, I need to be stable, and working at a bar isn’t really what I would call stable. Not really. Sure, I’m gainfully employed, but I don’t want to be working nights when my family is at home without me. The same goes for weekends. I want to be an active parent. I don’t plan to have kids until I know that I can do just that.” There’s conviction in her voice that tells me there’s a story there. A story I want to hear, but I don’t want to pry either. “I’m working on me.”
You’re perfect. “Makes sense. However, if you wait for everything to be perfect, life might pass you by.” I grew up hearing my mom tell me that very thing.
“Maybe.”
She’s starting to close up on me, and I don’t want that. “I like all genres of music.” I go back to our tit-for-tat discussion that we seemed to have gotten away from.
“Me too.” She smiles. I wish the room had more light so I could see those eyes of hers sparkle. Then again, this is intimate, and I like that we’re sitting here in pretty much a dark living room, swapping facts about one another.
I watch her as she opens her mouth to say something else but quickly closes it. “I should be getting back to bed. Unless you want me to take the couch?” she offers.
“I’m good here,” I tell her. I try hard not to let disappointment show in my voice. I could sit and talk to her for hours.
“Okay. Well, I’m sorry I woke you. I know you’re getting up early with Chad to work the farm.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve gone with less sleep. Besides, I would have gone without any at all to talk to you.”
She stands and takes her glass to the kitchen. I hear the faucet turn on and off and then her soft footfalls. “Goodnight, Ford.”
“Night, Shayne.” I keep my eyes on her until I can no longer see her. Then I stare a little longer, wishing, hoping, willing her to change her mind and come back downstairs to spend time with me. It doesn’t happen, not that I really thought it would. What also doesn’t happen is sleep.
Lying back down on the couch, I pull the cover over me and close my eyes. I can’t think of anything but Shayne as I replay our conversation and commit it to memory. I try my deployment trick, but it’s useless. She’s all I can think about. She’s what I’m still thinking about at four thirty when Chad makes his way groggily down the stairs.
“Morning, sunshine,” I say, scaring the shit out of him. He jumps a good two feet in the air before cursing.
“What the fuck, Ford? Why are you awake?”
“Something about cows that need milking.” He shakes his head and drags his tired ass to the kitchen. Standing, I fold the blanket and place it neatly over the pillow that I used and place them on the center of the couch.
“Seriously, how are you this alert?”
“How are you not?” I counter. With our jobs, we’re used to lack of sleep and being up at odd hours.
“I might have drunk more than I thought,” he admits, as he starts the coffee pot.