Chapter 10: The Night Before He Shipped
We stayed like that on the sidewalk, the door propped open behind us with the little bell taped quiet. The overcast air had that thin cold that gets into your sleeves. Ethan was three feet away, hands still at his sides like he didn't know what to do with them in that uniform off base. I could hear the espresso machine hissing inside and Mrs. Alvarez's radio low in the back.
He didn't push. He just looked at the brick where the wind had lifted a flyer and dropped it again.
I was trying to hold the present together and that's when the night before he left came back so clear it knocked the sidewalk out from under me.
Our apartment that night smelled like laundry detergent and the duffel's new canvas. He had it open on the bed and was folding everything with those tight, exact squares they'd taught him. I kept moving his t-shirts so I had something to do with my hands.
“You don't have to volunteer for the extra,” I said. “You already did one. Your CO will fill it without you.”
He didn't look up right away. “It’s six months. It puts us ahead. And it helps Santiago, he’s got the baby.”
I remember my voice going thin. I hated how small I sounded. “I need you to stay. I'm asking you not to go.”
That was the first time I'd said it plain like that. No jokes, no toughing it out. He stopped folding. His hands rested on the duffel and he looked at me. His hair was still longer then, before the faded cut.
“I'll write every day,” he said. “Even if it's just a line. You'll hear from me, I promise.”
I nodded because I wanted to believe him. He zipped the bag and we stood there in that little bedroom with the streetlight coming through the blinds. He kissed my forehead and I held onto the back of his shirt like that would keep him.
The promise didn't hold. After he shipped, I waited by my phone. The first week I checked it every hour, even during rush at the cafe. I kept it in my apron pocket and felt it buzz when it didn't. On day eight I texted, are you okay. No answer. Day ten, let me know you're okay. Nothing.
Two full weeks of silence while he was in that training rotation before they moved. Two weeks where I didn't know if he couldn't call or just didn't.
When the message finally came it was a photo of his boots and three words, still here sorry. No explanation. I stared at those words until my break ended and I had to go wipe tables.
I couldn't sit in that apartment after that. It was too quiet at night, too loud in my head. So I told Luis I would take any double he had. Opens, closes, midday lull. I mopped that metal counter until it shone. I learned every regular's order because if I was moving I wasn't waiting. Waiting felt like I was disappearing. Like the only job I had was to be the woman who waited and checked her phone and didn't complain.
I told myself I was being strong, being supportive. But really I was making myself smaller so it wouldn't hurt as much if he chose to stay gone longer again.
On the sidewalk Ethan shifted his weight. His boots scraped the concrete.
“You asked me not to go,” he said quietly, like he had just remembered the exact words. “And I went anyway.”
I swallowed. My throat was dry. “You said you'd write.”
“I know. I told myself it didn't matter if I missed a day, that you'd understand because I was busy. That was stupid. I let it go two weeks because I didn't know what to say.”
His voice cracked on the last word and he cleared his throat. He didn't look away.
“I didn't pull back because I stopped loving you,” I said, and the words came out low and fast, like I had been holding them behind my teeth. “I pulled back because I felt like if I needed you too much, you'd leave anyway, and I'd have nothing left of myself. The cafe was the one place I knew how to stay.”
May you like
He nodded once. Not forgiving, not asking me to forgive. Just hearing it.
The wind moved the door a little and the bell tapped against the glass. We were still not touching, still a brick cafe's sidewalk apart, but the air between us had changed. It wasn't empty anymore.
