Where You Go

by Claire Cain

  “You can absolutely run away from me right now if you need to, but I’d love it if you would come and sit with me. We can talk, or watch a movie, or whatever you want.” I said the last part quietly as I realized that last part wasn’t quite true—not whatever, but I suspected he knew that since he was consistently the one trying to create space between us, even though he was also the one making that space disappear into lip-smashing oblivion.

  “I’ll stay for a bit,” he said, choosing to ignore my runaway comment. He plopped onto the couch next to me and set his water next to mine.

  “Your commander said something about the next ‘rendezvous with destiny’ and I’m guessing that’s a deployment?” I asked, trying to shift the conversation to something he would be comfortable with.

  “Yeah, that’s a phrase General Lee used in World War 2, and it’s stuck around the Division at Fort Campbell ever since. Shouldn’t be for a nice long time though,” he said.

  “I love all of the history and ceremony. The ball was such an interesting glimpse into military culture. I know it’s mostly not like that, from what you’ve described at least, but thank you for taking me. It was lovely. Your friends were great too.” I tried not to gush too much, but I’d loved the experience. It was likely due to being with him, but even just observing the traditions was both fascinating and… inspiring, or something I couldn’t quite name.

  It was like I felt more proud of everything while I was there.

  “I’m glad. I know Megan and Ally will probably track you down soon but don’t feel like you need to give in. They’re persistent but, you know, you can always say no if they try to get you to hang out or whatever.” He fiddled with a seam of the couch cushion like it was his job, studiously avoiding me, and I felt my stomach drop a bit. Did he not want me spending time with his friends’ wives? Was that too much, too soon?

  “Thanks. I liked them,” I said quietly to my hands. “It seems like there’s a bond with all of you guys. I guess that happens in the Army in a way it doesn’t in a normal job,” I said, wanting to gather back that feeling of hope that had just fled at his comments about Ally and Megan.

  “Yeah, living with people for a year straight, and sharing in the training and all of that, it definitely creates a bond. Sort of like a team, but more personal in a lot of ways when you see people doing their jobs in crazy circumstances, sometimes scared shitless or crying at a memorial service or just so damn bored of the routine they can’t think. That changes things.” His voice was rough and he watched me.

  “I’m sorry for the soldiers who were killed. I can’t imagine what that’s like,” I said quietly. I hadn’t known what to say when they showed the slide show of the five soldiers in their battalion who died in the most recent deployment. Five men between nineteen and twenty-seven. Five sons. My feeble acknowledgement felt just that—weak and not enough, but I didn’t know how else to do it.

  “Thanks. There’s no getting around it. It’s awful, and it doesn’t stop being awful. I’m glad some of the families could come tonight.”

  “I was surprised they would, I guess. I thought maybe it would be worse for them, being there,” I said. I had been shocked to see that two wives and two sets of parents had come to the ball. They owned the terrible and venerable title of Gold Star Families, and I wasn’t sure how to look at them without pity even though they seemed to be an astounding mix of proud and sorrowful and determined.

  They were amazing.

  “I think for some people it helps them feel like they’re honoring their soldier, and they like to see that the unit hasn’t forgotten them. Remembering that sacrifice, that loss—it matters.” His voice was gruff and low.

  “It does. I see that.” I felt the weight of the evening in my sternum, settling there on top of my lungs. It had been a meaningful night in a lot of ways. I flipped between feeling overwhelmed by how much I liked Luke and feeling impressed and drawn to the idea that a person’s life and work could have that kind of significance. I felt that pull and longing so much so that, during the Lieutenant Colonel’s speech, I actually felt like I’d gotten the wind knocked out of me. I didn’t know what to make of that, except I was ready to start my own work and try to chase that meaningfulness in my own life. I shook off my thoughts and looked at him. He was staring at something across the room, just staring. I thought maybe he didn’t want to keep talking about those losses.

  “So, you are here for about a year? I bet everyone is glad for a break. It sounds like this last deployment was hard,” I said.

  “Not really, unfortunately. There will be trainings that come up and different things we can elect to do. I’m heading out Monday for a bit for some training,” he said, still not meeting my eye.

  Um… ok. This was definitely news. I tried to sound casual, like it didn’t bother me he hadn’t mentioned this before now. I tried not to feel like I had a right to know where he was and was planning to be. “Oh? Where are you off to?” I bit the “and for how long?” back and waited for his response.

  I kept my breathing calm and tried not to cry. It felt like a crazy reaction to something I knew nothing about, but I felt like I’d been slapped.

  “I’m heading to Arizona. I’ll be leading some guys testing some new equipment,” he said, looking at his hands as if they were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

  He seemed to be expecting me to get upset, or say something, but as upset as I did feel, my pride kicked in. I couldn’t let him see I was affected by his news, especially in the wake of his choice not to tell me until now.

  “Well… that’s great. I hope it’s interesting, or fun,” I said and got up from the couch to move because I had to. I couldn’t sit there, that close to him, and not betray my growing sense of hurt.

  “Yeah. It should be good,” he said, and he stood, grabbed his water, and brought it to the counter. “It’s late, and I should probably get on the road so I don’t fall asleep at the wheel.”

  “Good idea. Do you want me to brew you some coffee?” I offered weakly, more than ready for him to go. He took up too much space now that I knew he was going to be gone.

  “No, I’ll be fine. I’m wide awake, just don’t want to get tired before I’m driving, you know?” He walked to the dining area and picked up his bag and hooked the hanger of his uniform over one finger. I moved to the door and pulled it open.

  “Thank you for taking me tonight. It was fun,” I said, my smile bright. I felt the knot in my belly grow heavy.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said as he stepped around me. I stood there, holding the door knob with a heavy grip, waiting for him to go. Instead of passing through the doorway he stopped and faced me. “Really. Thank you,” he said. He rested his free hand on my arm and leaned in. Despite the jumble of hurt and confusion I was feeling, my heart sprinted when I felt him getting closer, and then his lips touch mine. It was just a quick peck, not even a hint of lingering, and then he moved back, away, and was walking out.

  “Drive safe,” I said in a rasp and shut the door before he even made it to the sidewalk. I didn’t slam it—in fact I made sure it couldn’t possibly be construed as a door slam. But as soon as it was closed I felt like shriveling up and crying.

  If this had been just a date with some guy, some nice guy I met at work or at the bakery or church or whatever, I wouldn’t feel upset. But this was Luke, and I was royally confused.

  He purposefully pursued me, or at least it felt that way. He asked me to coffee back home when we ran into each other at the grocery store. He asked me to dinner. He kissed me. He texted me. He insisted on helping me move. He kissed me again. And sure, I wasn’t taking any responsibility for myself, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that the last few weeks of not only reconnecting with an old friendship but starting what felt like a fledgling little stab at a relationship, or what could become one, was important to me.

  Some unexpected hope had taken root in me, and I knew I wanted him. Maybe, I’d even always wanted
him and that was why no one, so far, had measured up. I’d always loved Luke, and though it terrified me to think of hurting him like I hurt Marcus, I was getting used to the idea that maybe it would be different with Luke since everything had always been different with him.

  But now he dropped this little bomb and it felt like maybe it was one that signaled he wasn’t as affected by what we had going on as I was. In fact, that was clear. Between his frustration with our interactions and now his leaving for training with very little warning, he certainly wasn’t pursuing me anymore.

  I busied myself with putting our water glasses in the dishwasher, wiped down the already-clean counter, and rose on my tiptoes to jostle Lemon awake. “Come on Lem, let’s go.”

  He dealt me a sleepy glare but stretched out his hind legs, his tail straightening and nearly touching the ceiling, and then he dismounted with a nimble hop to the counter, and down to the ground. He sauntered down the hall into my room, and I could hear him jump onto the comforter of my bed in my darkened room. I stopped in the bathroom to brush my teeth, wash my face, and felt triumphant I hadn’t cried yet.

  Good. I’d certainly cried over Luke enough as a teenager, and he had no clue. I wasn’t going to act like some wounded chicklet who couldn’t be alone.

  I snuggled into bed, my house dark other than my bedroom lamp. Lemon’s low rumble of a purr hummed from the middle of the bed, his fifteen pounds of cat weighing down the comforter more like forty. I looked at him, peaceful and oblivious in sleep, and decided he was wise. I clicked off the light and scooted down into my bed and closed my eyes.

  Of course, Luke was staring back at me from behind my eyelids looking gorgeous and blue-eyed and unavoidable as soon as my head hit my long-awaited pillow. “No,” I said aloud because sometimes I was really a cat lady who talked to herself.

  Ok, often.

  But times like this deserved the power of the tongue behind them—he needed to be banished from my mind, or I’d end up having some illicit dream about him and never be able to look him in the eye again, especially if I was now heretofore planning to be relegated to the friend zone. I started counting back from 100, just imagining the numbers in my mind. I tried to focus on that and only that—it was a tool I always used when I couldn’t sleep and needed to shut my mind down.

  I felt myself relaxing a bit. 34… 33… 32…

  Buzz. I ignored it.

  30… 29… 28…

  Buzz.

  38… 39… 40… Damn! There was no avoiding it. My mind was pinned on my phone, face down on the bedside table so the light wouldn’t disturb me, as though the buzz from a text wouldn’t do the trick. It didn’t take long—I gave in at the tail end of the third buzz. I grabbed my phone, not without a fair amount of huffing and puffing, my feigned annoyance at Luke for texting me when he was home since I absolutely wanted him to.

  Luke: Made it home.

  Well, super. I didn’t respond.

  Luke: Thanks for going tonight.

  Nice effort, friend. That’s what I wanted to type, but I didn’t.

  Me: You’re welcome. It was fun. Night.

  I tried to keep it short and sweet without sounding short. The last thing I wanted was for him to know he’d upset me by not treating me like his girlfriend. We hadn’t talked about that, and it wasn’t fair for me to expect it. As a friend, I’d be bummed to be without him for a few weeks or however long, but I definitely wouldn’t be pissy or hurt.

  So, ok. Function as a friend. Ignore the fact that we’d just made out like the world was ending. But then another buzz.

  Luke: I’ll miss you while I’m gone.

  Ok. That was… confusing. Perplexing. Totally unclear.

  What the hell?

  Chapter Eleven

  Me: You all packed up?

  I didn’t respond to his last text the night before. I had no idea what to say. But I didn’t want him leaving with that as his last thought. I didn’t want him to think I wouldn’t miss him, but it felt like too much to say it back. So, there I was, trying to chat with him and get up the guts to say something so he’d know it wasn’t all totally neutral territory for me.

  Luke: Yep. Ready to roll out bright and early tomorrow.

  Me: I realized you never told me how long you’ll be gone.

  That was one thing I was dying to know. Was training for “a bit” a few days, a few weeks, or even a few months? There was what felt like a dramatic pause. I pulled on my dress, fitted my feet into my heels, and patted down the ensuing static in my hair. I put my coffee cup and plate in the dishwasher, added some fresh water to Lemon’s bowl and gave him a ruffling pet, went to the bathroom to check my makeup… I swirled around my little apartment several times before he came back.

  Luke: Six or eight weeks, probably.

  Yeah. Yeah. I shook my head as I stared at the phone.

  “Yep!” I said aloud. It was long enough that he should have told me, even as a friend. He should have said something, and if he was going to keep kissing me, he definitely should have said something. I’d been holding out hope it was more like ten days and in that case, maybe I could have understood.

  Six or eight weeks? People fell in love in six weeks. Women went from not pregnant to full on morning sick in six weeks. HBO shows were half way through their seasons in six weeks.

  Me: Wow. Well, good luck. I hope it goes well.

  I felt myself locking down that pulsing, sinking feeling in my chest.

  Luke: I’ll have my phone for some of the time. You should text me and tell me how your job and everything is going.

  Me: Well, I’m very busy and important and you know my social calendar is chalk-full, but I’ll see what I can do.

  Luke: Good.

  Me: It goes both ways though. You can text me too.

  Luke: I will.

  Me: Safe travels.

  I started to type “see you in six weeks” but realized even that was presumptuous.

  Luke: Did I tell you about Prince’s Hot Chicken?

  Luke was faithful to his promise to text me. He did about every three days.

  Me: Um, did you need to? You know I’ve already been, right?

  Luke: I should have known.

  Me: You should have. That may or may not have been a deciding factor in making this move. You know I love a good meat and three.

  Luke: Was it all you hoped for?

  Me: The stuff of dreams.

  Luke: You’ll have to take me when I get back.

  Me: Wait, you haven’t been yet?

  Luke: No. I’m always doing something else when I’m in Nashville and never have made it.

  Me: Like putting on your audience-shocking shows at world famous Tootsie’s?

  Luke: Yes, just like that. Me and Merle and Willie. I’m going to grow out my hair into braids and start smoking incredible amounts of pot just as soon as I retire.

  Me: I’d love to hear that trio, though Merle is unfortunately gone too soon. But I support your mission to grow pigtails. The pot? Not so much, but a man must find his own path.

  Luke: Well one path I’m going to find is my way to Prince’s, ideally with you as my guide.

  Me: Twist my arm.

  I made some friends. I made some real live Nashvillian friends, and some of them weren’t even transplants. It was amazing to have locals to hang out with because they knew all the secrets. In New York, no one was really a local. They maybe had a kind of seniority, but it was rare to meet someone who was born and raised in Manhattan. Finding native Nashfolk wasn’t as hard, and I found them delightful. Their easy accents, their love of food, and their amazing tolerance for the end of summer humidity was teaching me things.

  It had been three and a half weeks since he left, and I was missing him with an annoying ache I didn’t have the right to have after such a short time reconnecting—or maybe I did have the right, but that was still so freaking confusing. I’d never missed anyone like this… except Luke. I remembered this feeling—from high school, when he d
isappeared on me. After he went to basic training, and again when I left for New York. Whenever I’d had subpar vanilla ice cream over the last decade, and he wasn’t there to scoff at it with me.

  But I was making friends, and they took up at least one weekend night so that helped my social isolationist tendencies. I could have easily become a hermit who only emerged during the week to go to work, avoided talking to anyone I didn’t have to, and then returning to her pale gray existence. It wasn’t a healthy thing, it ultimately didn’t make me happy (though sometimes I felt like abandoning my couch to socialize was a cruel punishment), and I was glad I was being forced away from that desire.

  On Friday of the fifth week after Luke left, I was out with friends at a honky tonk, having a beer and some appetizers before I headed home after what felt like an interminable week. We’d taken on a new event at work and I was excited for it, but the initial learning curve of the new office, navigating the office’s rhythms, and then trying to learn the dynamics of my new team, was exhausting. But there I was, out and actually having some fun with my fellow team leads Janie and Emily and a few guys they normally hung out with. They’d adopted me into their little group, and I was glad for it.

  Luke: Hey, do you have a minute?

  He popped up when I least expected it. There was no regular time to his texts, so I suspected he grabbed a moment when he could. I’d admit it left me checking my phone even more than usual. I chose to ignore that and cast it off as a mild demonstration of concern for his safety rather than a perpetual preoccupation with wondering how he was, what he was thinking, how he was doing. I was a grown woman after all—so it was just concern.