by Aiden Bates
“Well, there is something I’ve been working on.” I leaned in a little in preparation for sharing another big secret of mine. Naomi did the same, evidently interested in what I might be about to say. “Okay, so, it’s a simulator, right?”
By the time I was done explaining my pet project, planned meeting more about it, said our goodbyes, and I’d actually gotten home, it was after eight. Eight thirty to be absolutely precise, which Roman usually was.
Normally, I’d have heard from Roman by now but I suddenly noticed my phone had been quiet the entire night.
Maybe there wouldn’t be a movie night tonight. As I sat on the edge of my bed and unlaced my oxfords, I decided that wouldn’t have been so bad. Me being pregnant had been quite the revelation for Roman too, and maybe he needed time to think about it. Also, if I was honest, maybe tonight wasn’t a good night to sit next to Roman as he wolfed down handfuls of buttery, greasy popcorn.
It wouldn’t hurt to have a night to think things over for myself, too. If not about our brand-new situation, then at least I could do some research on Lovelace and think about how to present the simulator. If Naomi and I were really going to do this, if we did go forward with presenting a version of my project to possible investors and collaborators, it would certainly mean another big, looming change on the horizon, which is why I could use the night to plan my approach.
Well, a night to plan and a sympathetic ear to listen to my plans, even if said sympathetic audience wanted to order a pizza and scarf it down in front of me. That would have been a better-than-fine situation. That would have been ideal.
Where was Roman, anyway?
17
Roman
I’d never been to Master Sergeant O’Rourke’s house. When I got there—fifteen minutes early—it was neat as a pin. The yard looked like it was freshly mowed and I had the suspicion it looked like that all day, every day. The porch was similarly clean, nothing looked like it had been out of place here, ever. I rang the doorbell and tried to calm myself. It wasn’t going to help anything if I was sweating bullets the whole time. Even though Teddy and I just found out, and we’d been so damn careful in the last few weeks, I couldn’t shake the feeling this was some sort of ambush by Teddy’s overprotective dad. I was going to walk in there and somehow Sarge was going to know everything. I couldn’t imagine how angry he would be. I braced myself for lots of screaming and yelling, which would probably end with punches and a transfer to Alaska so I could freeze off my other nut.
The door swung open and O’Rourke greeted me.
“Carpenter, come on in.”
It was strange to see Sarge in anything other than his military dress, so the khakis and polo, both ironed and as crisp as if they’d been on a clothing rack, was a change. He shook my hand and led me into the living room.
“Please, make yourself at home,” he said formally. “I’ll go get us some drinks.”
On the walls and mantel were pictures of Jason, loads and loads of Jason. I looked around, and eventually found one picture of Teddy, tucked in the back behind a JROTC ribbons case with Jason’s name on it. Looking over my shoulder for O’Rourke, I moved Teddy’s picture a little so I could see it completely. He was dressed in a cap and gown, and he looked about fourteen years old, though I knew he was probably closer to twenty-something. He seemed reedy and thin, the grin on his face the same one he’d give me now, the one that said he was shyly pleased with himself.
Then there were the more recent pictures, which at first made me smile before making me sad. It was bizarre to see my own face reflected back at me from Master Sergeant O’Rourke’s mantel, but there I was. Eighteen and whole and stupid, my left arm slung around Jason’s shoulders. Another one was of all of us: Jason, Garret, Marcos, Pedro and me. I recognized it as being taken right after we got back from our first unit mission in Malmur. I remembered feeling like I could have eaten the world whole back then. We’d spent months training and learning to work together as a team. We’d come to lean on one another, each of us knowing there was always someone there behind us.
My thoughts were interrupted by O’Rourke handing me a tumbler full of what looked like whiskey. I sipped it, the malt warming my throat all the way down to my stomach. I hoped the liquor would help me relax.
“Jason sent me that with a letter,” O’Rourke said, using his glass to gesture toward the photo I was looking at. “He talked about all of you, you know. He talked about how he’d finally felt like he’d fit in.”
“Hard to imagine a place Jason didn’t feel like he fit in, sir,” I said, taking another drink. I needed the strength if we were going to have this conversation.
“Said you boys were like his family in the Army.”
“We were, sir. They are. Jason included.”
“I’m glad he had that. I remember what it was like. There’s not really any other feeling in the world quite like it.”
“No, sir,” I agreed. I cleared my throat. “I never said, sir, but I’m sorry about Jason.”
O’Rourke let out a big breath. “Save it, son. I’ll be honest with you. After Jason died, one of the things I got most tired of was folks coming up to me and telling me how sorry they were about it. I’ve had that,” he said, now pointing to the photo. “I’ve lost folks before. Folks closer to me than brothers. Losing a son was different, of course. But some things aren’t. You can’t dwell on it forever. You just have to keep moving forward.”
I wasn’t sure that was healthy. I tried to imagine the little life inside of Teddy, tried to picture it as a little person who looked like some combination of him and me, and I tried to imagine how I’d feel if something happened to that child. My gut felt full of lead. What kind of special hell would that be? Even so, I wasn’t going to say a damn word to Master Sarge about it. Everybody handles grief in their own way. I glanced over at him and wondered how he’d made it through Jason’s death. I’d had the rest of my unit to see me through, just like I was there to see them through it. God, it had been awful in the months afterward. Once most of us got out of the hospital, we’d try meeting at the bar or at someone’s house and just sit with one another, no one saying a damn word, sometimes for hours. It hadn’t been until Garret and Silas had little Jason that it felt like any of us could breathe again. Who did Logan have when Jason hadn’t come home? Jason’s death had affected Teddy too, and I couldn’t imagine him or his dad willing to reach out to the other one. Who else could there have been for O’Rourke? No wonder he’d come to this conclusion.
“Well, come on. Let’s eat,” he said, inviting me to the dining room. “Follow me.”
“Yes, sir.” At this point, I wasn’t as surprised about how spic and span everything was, still I hadn’t expected dinner to be laid out so formally.
“And, Carpenter. Cut that out. Look, I get it. But we’re not at work right now. You can call me Logan.”
“Well, then, si-Logan. You’re gonna have to call me Roman. Makes it weird, otherwise.” If calling Master Sarge by his first name was weird, I couldn’t imagine how weird it would be to call him anything else. Master Sarge did not look like the ‘Grandpa’ sort.
He nodded, chuckling. “Alright, Roman, that’s fair enough I suppose.”
Dinner was some sort of roast with potatoes and vegetables. It tasted pretty good to me, so I dug in. Granted, my opinion wasn’t probably much to go off of, having lived off of mess hall and ready-made Army meals for most of my adult life. Still, it wasn’t a bad dinner. I could tell it was homemade, and I tried to shut my brain off from supplying images of Master Sarge doing anything as domestic as cooking. Were aprons involved? I tried to quiet my mind before I started laughing.
“So, how do you think you’re doing?” Logan asked.
“Oh, I’m doing okay. You know, being back in the service helps a lot, I think. And of course I’ve got my own place now, which really helps with—”
“Ah, no, son. I mean how do you think you’re doing as a drill sergeant?”
“
Oh, sorry.” I thought back to my experiences in the last few weeks before replying. “I think, well, I think things are going okay. I’m not trying to get my hopes up, but I send them to mess every night tired as hell and they aren’t giving me any lip so far.”
Logan nodded along as I continued.
“I keep them running and doing push-ups, just like you did with us. I figure if I torture them the same way you tortured us, well, they’ll either wash out or turn out to be proper grunts.”
Logan chuckled into his potatoes. “Good. That’s what I wanted to hear.”
He let the subject drop, and we went back to eating our dinner. The silence felt stilted, awkward. Finally, Master Sarge put his knife and fork down and wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin.
“The thing is, Roman, the U.S. Army’s short on good drill instructors.”
“Okay…” I said, not following.
“Look, son. I tend to be a straight-shooter, and the truth is, well…” Master Sarge hesitated. That was unusual for him. He was always the type to say exactly what he was thinking, without hesitating over the right words. “The truth of the matter is, this assignment here on base has been kind of like an interview.”
“An interview for what?” I asked.
Logan sighed. “The powers that be want me to find and train up drill instructors, that way they can go forth and make new grunts.”
“Well, I mean, I’m happy you put your faith in me, Logan. That’s exactly what I’m trying to do here.”
“No, Roman. you’re still not getting it. Not here. Montana.”
“I’ve never been to Montana, sir,” I said, falling into my old habits as I tried to follow along.
“Jesus,” Logan said under his breath. “Look. What I’m trying to tell you is that you’ve been transferred, son. To Montana.”
Well, I’m not afraid to admit that I froze. Completely. Like a bullfrog in an ice storm. I heard the words he said, and understood each one of them in particular, but stringing them together like that made no sense at all. Transferred? To Montana? That I couldn’t understand.
“Sorry, I get it but I don’t get it. Montana?”
“Yes, son. Montana. There’s a Master Sergeant up there. Name’s James Conroy. He’s been running basic up there since I was wet behind the ears. He’s about this close to retirement.” Master Sarge held up his pointer finger and thumb up in front of his face so close they were almost touching. “They’re handing you the job, kid. I’d say in a year or so, you’d be looking at a promotion and a pay increase. It’s good news! I had to wait years for my turn. You young bucks don’t know how good you have it.”
I couldn’t think. Thinking wasn’t always an easy task for me even on the best of days, but now, it seemed like none of the things Master Sarge had said to me made any sense at all. I couldn’t really acknowledge anything about the job or the promotion or the pay raise. All of that was overshadowed by the only thought I could manage to put together. It started in the back of my head and continued growing louder and louder until it was thumping at my temples in time with my heartbeat, until it was pounding behind my eyes.
Teddy. What the hell was I going to do? What the hell was he going to do? What the hell were we going to do? Fuck.
I snapped back to reality long enough to realize that Logan was sitting back in his chair, one eyebrow lifted as he waited for me to react. Shit. Now wasn’t the time to raise any suspicions.
“No, I mean, yeah, of course. It is good news!” I said, trying to keep my voice bright. “Wow… That’s… God, that’s amazing, sir. Logan. Shit. Sorry, I keep screwing that up. It really is great. Thank you, really, sir.”
Logan gave me a brief smile and raised his glass. Dutifully, I brought my own up to clink against it in celebration. I threw back the rest of my drink in one stiff gulp before reaching for the bottle on the table and pouring myself another. I offered to pour Master Sarge one as well, but he shook his head.
“So, that’s all done and out of the way. Let’s get down to the real brass tacks.” Logan leaned forward in his chair and looked at me, speculatively.
Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Here it comes. God, Teddy was going to kill me if his dad didn’t first.
“Now. Tell me about your recruits. Who’s gonna make it? Who’s gonna wash out? My money’s on Reynolds not lasting until next Monday.”
Oh, Jesus. Thank god. It was just shop talk. That I could do. Well, at least pretend to until I could get home and breathe into a bag.
“Nah, if he makes it past this Wednesday, I’ll eat this tablecloth.”
Logan chuckled and continued talking about this recruit and that one, and I tried to be there. Really, I did. But the pounding behind my eyes kept on and the thump in my chest rang hollow.
18
Teddy
I mean, okay, it was fine. Things were fine. It’s not as though I had to hear from Roman every second of the day. Just because we were hanging out more, and just because—Naomi was absolutely, inarguably, incontrovertibly correct, it seemed—I was developing feelings toward Roman did not entitle me to a check-in from him.
I mean, nothing was likely to happen to Roman on base. It was crazy to expect bad news like that. There were a hundred more rational, perfectly viable explanations for why Roman hadn’t texted all evening.
He could, for instance, have had a flat tire. Or he could have left the lights on in his car and subsequently killed his car battery. Or he could have suddenly gotten overwhelmed in the face of a massive amount of responsibility that involved me and might have once again decided to abruptly stop talking to me as a means of escaping that responsibility and retreating back into the orderly and uncomplicated regimentation that military life provided him.
See? There were lots of reasons he hadn’t texted. Nothing to worry about, Teddy. Nothing at all.
Panic wasn’t good for my stomach and the constant nausea wasn’t good for my panic. I was feeding into a vicious cycle of worrying, throwing up, and worrying about spending the rest of my pregnancy anxious and nauseous and alone, and then I’d start the entire cycle over again.
I was on a fourth or fifth iteration of said cycle when the doorbell rang. I quickly threw my lap desk off of my legs and stood up, and then without bothering to check the peephole or ask who it might be or any of the other prudent things that prudent omegas did when they lived alone, I swung the door open to find Roman standing on the other side of it.
I stared wide-eyed at him, but he only stared blankly back at me. It was clear I was at a loss for words, it was also clear Roman wasn’t feeling particularly articulate. He was just sort of…standing there.
“Are you alright?” Roman asked at last, probably in response to the crazy look I must have worn and how generally disheveled I must have looked.
The fact that Roman had asked was nice, but we were standing close enough to each other across my threshold that, as soon as Roman spoke, I could smell the bourbon on his breath.
“Roman?” I asked, trying to not sound as hysterical as I suddenly felt. “Roman… What the fuck?”
“Can I come in?” Roman eyed me cautiously, no doubt as a consequence to my outburst. Finding nothing else to say in the face of his seeming nonchalance about his disappearance and liquor-tinged reappearance, I stepped aside to let him pass.
I took a deep breath and told myself to keep it steady. There was no point in getting into a fight, it was only going to make me feel worse, and I wasn’t going to behave in a way that might ostracize Roman. I certainly wasn’t going to be the type of omega that stood in the kitchen with a rolling pin yelling about what sort of hour he called this and about why he’d stayed out drinking without calling home even once.
What the fuck? Home? He didn’t live here, and to be truthful I had no right to chastise him even if I was carrying his child.
“Well?” Roman asked on his way to my couch before he flopped down on it. “Are you coming?”
“Am I coming?” I responded, aghast with indi
gnation that he hadn’t already explained himself. “To the couch? If there’s an explanation of where you’ve been all night on the couch, then, yeah! It’s fucking eleven o’ clock and I’ve been—” No, not that omega. I searched Roman’s face and tried to calmly consider why he’d come here so late. He looked uncomfortable, shifting a little where he sat. That’s when I realized two things. One, he was upset, and two, I was the person he’d come to because he was upset.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
Roman looked up at me and took what seemed to be the sort of deep breath people took to steady themselves before delivering bad news. The kind of news you needed liquid courage for. I quickly joined him on the couch, turning to sit facing him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to start in on you, but I was worried, and I hate not knowing things. What’s happened? Has anything happened? Is anything happening or am I just—”
“Yeahhh…” Roman still seemed as though he had bad news to break but wasn’t exactly sure of how to break it gently.
I wanted to shake him and tell him to just tell me whatever he had to tell me and to not tiptoe around the impending break-up or whatever news he was going to deliver, but, well, if I wanted to hear anything, I had to stop talking, didn’t I?
Roman cleared his throat again.
“Me and your dad—”
“What?” I yelled in shock. “Oh god, oh god, does he know? Did you tell him?”
“Listen,” Roman said softly instead of answering. “Listen, Teddy.”
Roman reached out and tentatively placed his hand on my lap in a gesture meant to be comforting, I supposed. Steadying.
Right. Listen. Listen, Teddy.
“I didn’t tell Master Sarge anything, and honestly, I don’t think he knows. At least he didn’t seem like he knew to me. He wanted to talk to me about a job, a transfer and maybe even a promotion he’s been thinking about for me.”
