North to You

by Tif Marcelo

  Bryn flips her right wrist over. A miniature version of Drew’s tattoo is inked below her palm. It’s another tug on my conscience, seeing this connection, the loyalty of this clan. So similar to mine.

  “To your family.” Bryn leans in for a hug.

  At that moment, I love this woman, too. I breathe in the newfound strength she brought, and as I watch Bryn as she stomps down the hallway in her shiny red kitchen clogs, all of my questions are answered.

  45

  DREW

  “You’ll be okay?” my mother chokes out. She pulls on the sleeves of my desert camo uniform for the millionth time, as if to straighten it. “How will we know you’ve made it?”

  I repeat the itinerary, slowly this time. “The bus ride to the air force base is about a half hour. From there, we’ll get on a flight overseas. My first layover is in Germany, and I’ll be sure to call. After that, Kuwait, where we’ll be for a few days before we head into Iraq.”

  I catch my mother’s hands in mine when she tries to fix my collar. It’s too much, all of this drama. My nerves are already singed. I’ve been waiting for this opportunity, my moment to do what I’ve been trained, and yet I’m wishing for one more day at home. What I would give to escape this bus terminal for one last chance at getting Camille back.

  “Anak,” my father cuts in, hooking my neck into his shoulder. He is inches shorter, and I stoop, hesitantly at first. “Proud of you.”

  I sink deeper into my dad’s hold. No other words come from either of us, but our bear hug says everything. I sniff in this recognition and disengage. Nod. That would be good enough for a lifetime—the peace of knowing despite all that’s happened in the past, we’re okay now. He is proud of me.

  But with Camille . . .

  I brave another look at the crowd behind my parents. Camouflaged soldiers and civilians flow through the decorated red, white, and blue reception area, but there’s no sign of her. Every brunette causes me to do a double take, but as each woman turns or speaks, my stomach somersaults in hope, only to be disappointed.

  Did I think it would be that easy? That baring my soul would be enough? That one big sorry would do it and a last-ditch effort with a text would get her to forgive me?

  A part of me did, foolishly.

  “Give her some time, iho,” my mother counsels.

  “I thought for sure she’d text me back, at least. After my cell shuts off, that’s it, Ma.”

  “Not everyone is on your timeline, Andrew. What you need to focus on is taking care of yourself, and everything will fall into place.” She presses her lips together into a half smile, and her dimples on her right cheek cave in. “You did what you could do. And you must have peace with it.”

  I allow her words to sink in along with her sympathetic look. This is the last time I’ll see my parents for 180 days, which isn’t a big deal being stationed stateside. But deployment is another story. And while I’m not scared, the uncertainty of my safety is real. I’ve got to be okay with what happens from here on out. I’ve got to go with a clear conscience.

  A phone rings, and my father steps away to take the call. While his back is to us, I turn to my mother. “Promise me you’ll check in on her? Tito Ben will have some contact with her, I’m sure. Bet she’ll pop up online sometime. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

  “Of course.” She plants a kiss on my cheek, then gestures at my father, who puts away his phone. “I love you, Andrew.”

  “Love you, Ma,” I say, then nod at my father.

  After a deep breath, I pick up my bags and march toward the line of soldiers boarding the bus. A military police officer checks my ID after I cross over the taped area.

  “Drew!”

  My fingers still as I slip my ID back into my wallet.

  “Andrew, stop!”

  I turn. The chatter is incessant with people on their phones, crying family members, security on their handheld radios, announcements over the loudspeaker. Who said that?

  “Andrew Richard Bautista!”

  That’s me. I step aside, allowing one, two, three soldiers to get in front of me. My gaze sweeps across the families behind the tape. My parents are standing where I left them, but they aren’t looking my way. They must’ve heard the voice, too.

  “Camille?” I yell, my voice escalating from calm to frantic. Is someone punking me? I can’t get a good look as a rush of impatient soldiers push past me. I refuse to move forward without finding out, that’s for sure. Since there’s only one entry and exit point, I weave my way to the MP and say, “I need to go back out, Sergeant.”

  The man doesn’t look up, staring at another soldier’s ID card. “Can’t let that happen, sir.”

  “Just five seconds.”

  “Sorry, sir. I can’t.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I argue. But the look on the MP’s face says he’s far from kidding. He’s placed his finger on the radio attached to his chest. I raise my hand in surrender. “Okay, got it. Who do I need to talk to?”

  “Captain James.”

  I find the captain sifting through papers with a phone to his ear. On any other day, I would have waited for my turn patiently. Today would not be that day. “Sir?”

  “Hold up,” he says into the phone, a distinctive twang in his voice. “How can I help you today, Lieutenant?”

  I stand at parade rest—legs shoulder width apart, palms crossed at my back. “I was hoping to grab a couple more seconds. Out there. I missed saying good-bye to someone. Sir,” I add.

  “I see.” Into the phone he says, “Lemme call you back. Yeah. I know. Out.” To me, he says, “At ease, there. Would this be a good-bye for family or a special friend?”

  The man’s questioning is odd, but I’m not in a position to be a chooser. I don’t relax my stance, despite his order. “I mean, it’s not really, but yeah, um . . . my girlfriend.”

  “I knew it.” He breaks out a grin. “I can’t technically get you out there. You’re checked in, and your group is boarding. But I can get her in.”

  “Please, sir. That would be awesome.”

  I’m amazed at how easy that was, but I don’t object. As I trail closely behind Captain James, we stride to the MP station. He bends down and retrieves a bullhorn, speakers crackling when he turns it on. “I’m only paying it forward. Someone did me a similar favor once, and I was duly reminded by my wife on the phone.”

  The officer faces the crowd, his voice amplified through the horn, causing the front row of folks to jump. “Attention, everyone. We’ll be departing in about five minutes. At this time, we are looking for an individual. A Miss—” The officer turns to me, prompting for a name.

  “Camille Marino.”

  “Miss Camille Marino, please approach the MP check-in point.”

  A buzz of chatter rises from the crowd, and I see movement, but no one calls out or steps forward. My mother shrugs, as if she’s sorry, but it’s me who’s deflated. Am I so desperate that I’m hearing things?

  “Last call. Camille Marino.” Captain James lowers the bullhorn and placates me with an apologetic look. Over the loudspeaker, the final boarding call is announced.

  I exhale for the first time since entering the boarding area. It’s over.

  “Thank you, sir.” I look down at my boots, worn suede that have seen mud and sun and hard work. There’s only one more thing I can do with these boots, and it’s move forward.

  But it’s never been so hard to.

  A hand lands on my right shoulder, and when I look up at the officer, I realize he’s sporting a grin. His gaze travels slowly to his left, to a girl. Long black ponytail, leggings, and a jean jacket.

  I can’t take a breath. This in front of me—it’s an apparition. “Camille?”

  But she’s not a figment of my imagination, because she takes the captain’s place and presents a zippered bag of brownies
. “I had to turn around. Almost forgot your care package.”

  “You—” I wrap my arms around Camille, bag included. “I thought. I thought it was all over.”

  “Drew.” She steps away from my embrace, eyes glazed over with tears. “I wouldn’t have missed this. Yes, I was still mad, sad, confused, but I couldn’t have missed this. There was traffic, and . . . last night, this package came. This morning, I got this amazing phone call. And I don’t know how to do this. This long-distance thing. We have too much to talk about, to straighten out still. But none of what happened changes that I love you. I love you, and I’m so proud of you. It has always been you, too.”

  I pull her into my arms, lift her off her feet. My lips crash into hers. It’s my promise. A promise that there will be more, an after.

  Her kiss is equally frantic. Her fingers clutch the front of my uniform, pulling me down, and I feel the last week of disagreement, of silence, melt away. We become one, alone amid the crowd. That is, until the band begins to play. And as much as it kills me, I tear myself away, because with her showing up, I’m that much stronger. I’ve turned into a Jedi with her kiss.

  “I need to be on that bus.” I tuck her flyaway hairs behind her ear and graze a finger under her chin. “I’m going to miss your face.”

  “I guess that means you’ll have to come home, then. Tourist traps, you know.”

  “Forget the tourist traps. I’m coming home for you. My true north.”

  Part 7

  MODIFICATIONS

  What’s the opposite of suck? Un-suck?

  —Anthony Bourdain

  Epilogue

  CAMILLE

  Seven months later

  “Ready?” I look up at two pairs of dark brown eyes belonging to my boyfriend and my best friend. They reflect the determination flowing through my veins and the thrill that is about to burst from my fingertips. My right hand is weighted down under theirs, our arms like spokes in a wheel. Our three bodies are cramped in the steamy enclosed rig.

  The two nod back. We’ve been waiting for this day since Drew left for deployment seven months ago. It took everything falling apart for it to come back together, and this will be the test to see if there is still hope for Lucianna.

  I command, “One. Two. Three.”

  We all chant, “Lucianna!”

  Drew jumps outside with Jaz. With a whoosh, they both raise the awning, bringing in the cold air, the chatter, and the shock of excitement I haven’t felt since he came home a month ago. A line of people snake down the sidewalk. It’s déjà vu of our best times in the business district, where we could barely set up before the first person was at the window.

  My jaw drops. “Holy shit. Where did all of these people come from?”

  “Says the social media queen.” Drew grins, taking the pole from me and securing the awning in place. Its joints no longer squeak, oiled by my love his first week home. “People have been waiting for as long as you have, believe me.” He jumps back into the truck, slipping on a waist-high apron. Jaz scrawls the menu onto the chalkboard affixed to the truck—also a new feature.

  “I hope we have enough food,” I say.

  “We will. And if not, this is why you have me. I’ll just run out to get some more.”

  Right. Because Drew is home. He’s not a vision on the screen, a voice on the phone, a dream. He is right here in the flesh.

  My fingers tug on the pocket of his apron, needing the contact and connection. This is how it’s been. He’s been home a month, and I still find myself with an overwhelming urge to prove that he is living, breathing, and at my side.

  Drew takes my cue. Lust flashes in his eyes, and he tugs me by the wrist into the cab of the truck and presses me against the backs of the front seats. The firm bulge against my thighs communicates everything he’s not saying, and I respond by running my hands down the front of his shirt, against his abs. His fingers leave my hips and begin their crawl south, toward my backside.

  “We’re supposed to be professional.” I suck in delicious breaths between words as he nibbles my neck. I playfully slap his hands away, but frankly, if there weren’t a hundred people outside, that awning would be locked down tight.

  “Then don’t make a scene.” He reaches behind and gives me a love squeeze on the ass.

  “Drew!”

  “I’m catching up for all the days we lost.”

  “We didn’t lose those days.” I kiss him, taking in his scent. He smells more like him these days and less of the desert. He came home from deployment weary, ten pounds lighter, his uniform carrying the lingering scent of sweat, sand, and sun. But all that doesn’t matter. When he came off the plane, his eyes told me nothing inside had changed. “Don’t tell Jaz, but you are pretty much in the running as my best friend, and I had deployment to thank for that. Made us work everything out by talking. So, not one minute of us was wasted.”

  “Catch-up sex isn’t so bad either.”

  “Whatever!”

  “What? I missed you. You are hands down the sexiest, most innovative, most talented cook I know.”

  I narrow my eyes at him playfully. “Really? Would you tell that to your mother?”

  “Yes. Want me to? I’ll tell her right now.” He makes a grand gesture at turning around.

  I catch him by the shoulders, laughing. “Don’t. You know I love your parents. They made all this happen.”

  He pulls me squarely in between his legs. I shiver at how easily he does this, at this show of intimacy. I’ve read articles on redeployment, at the transition military members and their loved ones experience when they return from being away so long. It’s normal to have a period of getting to know one another again, and Drew and I experienced it, too. We were shy; we tiptoed around each other the first week. But after that . . .

  Time might have passed, and we might have been apart, but none of my feelings had changed.

  I love this man.

  He continues. “I’m gonna disagree. Seems to me it was you who negotiated to rent out the truck from Tito Ben. It was also you who offered your social media prowess to benefit True North in exchange for the spot out front. You did the work to get customers into True North, and all those customers out there? They’re here to welcome you back.”

  “It helps that I’m your girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, and so? If you were Bryn . . . if you were Blake or Matt, or Victoria for that matter, they would have done the same thing. Are we supposed to forget who we care about when we do business? That might be how other people run their lives, but not Bautistas. This is your network.”

  Drew’s phone buzzes against my thigh. A wicked grin appears on his face. “Showtime. You ready?”

  I manage a breath. This will be the first time I’m cooking for a large number in seven months. “Yeah. I am.”

  He tugs me by the wrist, but instead of letting me go at the burners, he continues out the door. I hesitate at the opening of the truck, suddenly exposed and shy. I’d gotten a lot of press from Kaya Banks’s blog post and from my work with True North, but I’m still rattled when all eyes are on me.

  But when I scan and see my eyes looking back at me, I forget time and place, and launch myself at my baby sister. “Ally! What are you doing here? When did you get in? Wait, how many classes are you missing for this? Who took you to the airport? I didn’t think I’d see you until spring break!” The questions fly out of my mouth before I take a second breath. Ally hasn’t been home since she packed her bags after her intensive last summer. She fell in love with the art and music scene in Austin, and after being named as the top student at the intensive, she got her full ride to the Art Institute of Austin.

  Tanned from the Texas sun, Ally replies in the calm manner she knows to address me with. She rattles off her answers as she counts them on her fingers. “Let’s see, I couldn’t miss this. Got in an hour ago. Missing ze
ro classes—it’s Saturday. And, no, I didn’t fly here. We drove.” She gestures at the towering boy next to her with a baseball cap, who’s grinning broadly. “Sis, this is Sam.”

  “It’s so good to meet you.” Sam extends a hand. “I’ve heard so much.”

  But I bypass his hand and raise an arm. “What? You get a hug for bringing my sister home.” I wink at Ally as Sam practically sweeps me off my feet. My face warms at the joy in my sister’s face, laced with the same giddiness I feel. Once my feet are back on the ground, my arm slinks through hers. The Baustistas make it to the front of the line. The vibe switches and the noise dies down. When I turn, Drew has raised his hand to silence everyone.

  “I am proud to welcome you to the grand reopening of Lucianna. But before we start serving, we need to go over some business.” He waves me over.

  Ally pushes me front and center, and I stand still. Drew’s face is indescribable, a mix of elation and fear. “Camille, you have built something here that we are all so proud of. But no one is prouder than me. You are one tough woman, and you showed it every day when I was gone. Not once did I ever doubt your strength, determination, and devotion to me, to my parents, to your sister, Ally. You make everyone better. You make me want to be better. And I don’t ever want to live my life without you.”

  The crowd melts away. His eyes are all I see, and his love is all I feel in my heart. I’m surrounded by everything I cherish on this earth. I inhale the moment and briefly shut my eyes. It reminds me of the first time I messily piped cannoli. When Nonna took my face in her hands and planted a kiss on my nose. Perfectly imperfect, and exactly how it should be.

  When I open them, Drew is on one knee, a ring pinched between his fingers. “Camille Lucianna Marino, I know we’ve only been back together for eight months. My career will take me to a million different places, and I can’t guarantee where it will be. But when I picture my life before and after, you’re in it. I can’t envision it without you by my side. Mahal kita, Camille. I love you. Will you come to see more tourist traps with me? Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”