by Wade, Ellie
“I do, and I’m telling you to let that part go.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Maybe, but you can try. All change has to start somewhere.”
“You know, you kind of freak me out when you go all Oprah on me.”
“Dude, you know I can’t help it. I was raised in a house with four women. Chicks love to give advice. It kind of goes with the territory.”
“You’re still weird.”
“I never said I wasn’t.” Cooper chuckles.
“You ready to go get some chow?”
“Yes, I’m starving.”
“So, what new thing are you going to try today?” I question in an overly excited voice.
Cooper ignores my obvious stab and answers seriously, “I’m thinking blueberries. You know I never really get fruit with my breakfast. Maybe I should. Plus, I read that blueberries help your memory and shit. So, maybe it will stop me from getting Alzheimer’s later in life?”
I laugh as we walk to the mess hall. “You’re something else.”
“What about you?” he asks.
“What about me what?”
“What are you going to try?”
I squint, cynically eyeing him.
“Just play along,” he urges.
“I suppose I’ll get sausage today since I normally get bacon. How’s that?”
“Eh, it’s a start.” Cooper shakes his head, and I can’t help but laugh.
London
“I don’t want to change who I am. I mean, I love me, but awesomeness is infinite, so I can always become even more awesome.”
—London Wright
I’m stirring. I’m stirring. What does it say again?
I look over to the cookbook lying open on the granite counter. “Simmer until sauce thickens.”
Has it thickened? How thick are we talking here?
The sauce bubbles in the pan.
I’m quite impressed with myself. I’ve been trying to use my time, sans Loïc, for a little self-improvement. I don’t want to change who I am. I mean, I love me, but awesomeness is infinite, so I can always become even more awesome. So, that is my worthy goal—to become a better version of myself.
One of my projects is to become a better cook—or, let’s face it, a cook, period. Based on the looks of this sauce, I’m rocking it.
“Whatcha making?” Paige comes bounding into our kitchen in her new business suit. The soft gray pencil skirt makes her ass and legs look amazing.
“You look hot today,” I say. “I bet that Tom guy was all over you.”
Tom’s one of Paige’s coworkers, and he’s been trying to get her to go on a date with him for the last month.
“He did come into my office quite a bit today.” She sets her purse down at the end of the counter, opens the cupboard above it, and pulls out a wine glass. “Want a glass?” she asks.
“Sure.”
She grabs a bottle of wine from the refrigerator.
I ask, “Tom’s cute, right?”
“Yeah, very,” she says, pouring two generous glasses of wine.
She hands me a glass, and I take a sip before setting it down.
“So, why won’t you go out with him again?”
“You know what they say. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I argue.
“It makes total sense.”
“No, it doesn’t. That means, like, don’t say bad things about your boss, not don’t date a coworker.”
“Well, you know what they say. The squeaky wheel gets the grease.” She takes a big gulp of wine. “This is so good. What brand is it?”
“It’s that one we got from the wine tasting at that cute little winery in Tecumseh.”
“Oh, right. Well, we need to go back there.”
“Sure,” I agree. “But, anyway, that saying makes no sense either. So, stop talking in ill-guided proverbs and just tell me why you won’t give a hot, successful guy a chance.” I take a bite of a spaghetti noodle that I just scooped up from a pot of boiling water. Seems done to me.
“Because, London, I really like this job. I don’t want to screw it up by dating a coworker, only to have things go south and work be awkward. You know?”
I pour the pot of noodles and steaming water into a strainer in the sink. “You’re not getting any younger, Paige. If a guy like Tom comes along and wants to take you out, you should let him.”
“OMG, you’re a weirdo. I’m twenty-three, not forty-three. I think I’ve got time.” Paige huffs. “Look at you, Mrs. Love Expert. Just because you’re in your first real relationship—”
“I’m bored! I miss Loïc! I need a project. Look at me. I’m learning how to cook, for God’s sake. I need help!” I gesture toward the stove, which is completely covered in red splatters.
Paige looks between me and the stove and starts laughing loudly. I can’t help but join in. I barely recognize myself at the moment. I hate cooking.
“Why are you cooking?” she asks once her laughter subsides.
“I’ve already written all my articles for the week. I’ve cleaned. I even worked out.”
“Wow,” Paige says in an exaggerated tone.
“Exactly, so I figured I’d start teaching myself how to cook. It’s kind of an important skill to have. Someday, I’ll have a family, and I should know how to feed them.” I shrug.
“We had all this stuff?” Paige gestures from the pots to the strainer in the sink.
I shake my head. “No, I had to go buy all of it.”
“You are bored.” She chuckles.
“I know.”
“Well, your birthday’s in less than two weeks. What do you want to do for it? The big two three.” She holds up two fingers on one hand and three on the other, smiling like a goofball.
“I guess we can just do the normal dinner and then a club. We should invite Maggie.”
“Sure, I’ll text her and the rest of the girls. You know Dana was telling me about that totally nude male strip club in Canada. She went there for a bachelorette party and said it was so fun. We could get a hotel and party over the border? Something different.”
“Eh, I think I’ll pass. A club without floppy penises is preferred.” I scrunch up my nose.
Paige shakes her head. “You are the lamest twenty-two-year-old I know.”
“Hey! I resent that! I’m almost twenty-three.” I stick out my tongue.
“All right, Grandma. So, are you gonna tell me what you cooked up for us?”
“Okay, well, I thought I would start with something simple. So, this is just a basic marinara sauce and noodles.” I grab a teaspoon of the sauce and hold it out for Paige to taste.
She takes the spoonful in her mouth, and her face puckers up, her eyes squinting, as she swallows. “That’s disgusting, London!”
“It is not!”
“It is! It tastes like an ashtray. I think you burned it.”
“That’s mean,” I protest, dipping the spoon back into the pot to stir some more.
“It’s the truth!” Paige argues back.
Taking the spoon from the sauce, I point it toward Paige. “You could at least pretend to like it.”
A glob of marinara from the spoon splatters onto Paige’s new suit jacket.
“Uh,” she gasps loudly, her hands covering her mouth in shock.
“I’m so—”
Before I can finish my apology, Paige digs her fingers into the noodles in the strainer in the sink, and she lobs a huge handful at my face. The slimy pasta slithers down my cheeks.
“Rude!” I dip the spoon in the sauce again and launch its red contents toward Paige. It’s a direct hit to her chest.
Before I realize what’s happening, the kitchen is filled with flying noodles, red sauce zooming through the air, and many high-pitched shrieks.
“Stop it!”
“You stop it!”
“You’re such a hooker!” Paige yells.
“You’re a hooker,
” I retort.
Suddenly, the two of us are lying on the tiled floor, surrounded by the marinara massacre, laughing hysterically.
“Look! Spaghetti angels!” Paige exclaims as her hands and feet start moving out and back in, like she’s making a snow angel.
Lying on my back, I start to move my arms and legs in the same motion. My sides ache with laughter as tears roll down my sticky cheeks.
Eventually, our momentary insanity ceases, and the two of us stand up to admire our angels.
“Can’t say I’ve ever seen a better spaghetti marinara angel.” Paige nods in approval.
“I concur.” Looking to her, I start to giggle again as I take in her appearance.
She’s covered in red splotches, and there are entire noodles draped over her shoulders and entangled in her hair.
“You owe me a new outfit,” Paige says.
“I do. I totally do. We’ll go shopping this weekend.” I chuckle.
“I don’t want to clean this up.” She sighs.
“I’ll hire a cleaning company.”
“That’s not very responsible of us.” Paige raises a brow while scrunching up her lips.
“Eh,” I say, making a noncommittal sound. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve already grown a lot today. I actually exercised on purpose and cooked. My brain can take only so much growing per day.”
“Do you think the red stains are going to come off the walls?” She motions to our white-painted walls.
“You know…I’ve been thinking that we need some color in here. I could call a painter, too?”
“Yeah!” Paige says excitedly. “Can we do that light gray-blue color?”
“Oh, that’ll be so pretty. Definitely.” I nod.
“Thai?”
“Yeah, let’s go to the new place on Fourth. They have the best sesame chicken noodles.”
“Sounds delish. Let’s leave right after we shower. I didn’t get a lunch break today. I’m starving,” Paige says before she heads off to her bathroom.
I take one last look at the kitchen and shake my head. A huge grin spreads across my face as I head toward my room.
To: Loïc Berkeley
From: London Wright
Subject: Question 43
Hey, baby. I’m attaching pictures of our new kitchen. Isn’t it pretty? Paige and I had a food fight with bright red sauce last week, and I had to hire a painter. I bet you thought I was going to say, Just kidding, but I’m not. Lol. It’s the truth. But, to be honest, the kitchen was due for a makeover. I just love the new colors. The blue hues are so pretty and calming. It’s my favorite room in the house now. And, since I’m rarely in the kitchen, that’s not cool, so I’ve decided to remodel my entire house. Yay!
Don’t judge. ;-)
You make your daily checklists like Cooper taught you, and I’m going to remodel a perfectly good house for no reason, other than I’m bored. We all cope in different ways. Plus, just think, when you get back, it’s going to be so exciting for you to see all the newly redecorated rooms.
So, I’m trying to figure out what to do for my birthday. I mean, twenty-three…it’s kind of a big deal. I’m totally kidding. It so is not. But, still, you’re not here, and that makes me sad, so I need to do something fun to cheer me up. Do you think you could sneak me into your base over there? You just say the word, and I’ll hop on the next plane. ;-) Otherwise, maybe I’ll go to Vegas or somewhere with Georgia and Paige for the weekend. I’m just not in the mood to go clubbing here. I’m over it. Maybe we’ll go to a spa for the weekend. OMG…that is my mother’s favorite thing to do on her birthday. I’m totally turning into her. Just great.
Well, to get to your last question, I get why you said Saturn. All those rings are pretty impressive, and as a child, I would have said Saturn, too. But, now, I’m going to have to say Pluto. You know why? Because Pluto is little and cute and has never caused problems. And people—whoever they are, those scientists somewhere—want to say that Pluto isn’t a planet anymore, and I’m saying, WRONG. Pluto is totally still a planet, and that’s why it’s my favorite. Screw those people. What do they know?
So, question 43: Who’s your favorite superhero? I’m saying Captain America. I’m not sure why. There’s just something hot about him. Maybe it’s the military thing? I mean, you’re way hotter, of course. But, if I had to choose, I’d say him. What about you?
I hope you’re safe. I hope you’re happy. I hope you know how much I love you.
Love,
London
Loïc
“It feels like the calm before the storm. And life has taught me that storms aren’t just damaging; they’re devastating.”
—Loïc Berkeley
I toss another gummy bear into my mouth. Red, my favorite. I’m lying on what can only be described as a military beanbag. Some soldier before me fashioned it by wrapping a tarp around a pile of straw and maybe some old clothes. I’m not certain, but it’s comfortable enough.
I’ve never been a huge gummy bear fan, but that all changed when I met London. Now, I love them. I’m sure a lot of their appeal has to do with the nostalgic value they carry. These little sugary dudes remind me of London with every bite. Maybe that’s why she sent them to me.
I just received my second care package from London. It was full of every flavor and shape of gummy that’s sold along with gum, some snacks, replacements of all my favorite brands of toiletries, a Blu-ray player, a handful of Blu-ray movies, and a stack of pictures of London and me.
A bunch of my brothers and I are seated around the TV in our makeshift game room, watching Deadpool—one of the movies London sent—for the third time this week. London’s so thoughtful. I’m glad she thought to send the Blu-ray player because all that was here prior to that was an old DVD player. Although the quality of the discs is lost on this crappy TV, it still gives us something to do.
Our game room is basically a rectangular shack made out of cheap plywood. It houses a few card tables, a TV, and a couple of couches. During my downtime, if I’m not at the gym, running, or in my room, I’m here. It’s just a place to shoot the shit, watch a movie, play a game of cards, or just hang with some of the guys.
Cooper plops down on the couch next to me. “Deadpool again, huh?” He was late for the movie selection because he was finishing up Skyping with Maggie.
“Yep…that was the consensus.”
“Cool.” He reaches his hand toward my lap, plunges it into the bag of gummies, and pulls out a handful.
“How’s Maggie?”
“She’s great. She’s been picking up all sorts of overtime to help pay for the wedding, which is cool.”
“How are the wedding plans going?”
“Pretty good, I guess. I mean, she has a color-coded binder with information about everything from venue to cake to flowers and pictures as well. She seems pretty on top of things. I just sound excited when she tells me some new detail and agree with her when she asks my opinion. My job’s pretty easy in this whole planning deal.” He rests his head back into the couch, his eyes facing the TV.
“Well, aren’t you?” I scoff.
“What?” He rolls his head to the side to face me.
“Excited.”
“To marry Maggie? Of course. But the details don’t really matter to me. I just want her to be happy. I don’t care where we do it, who’s there, what types of flowers she carries, or what music’s playing as long as we’re married at the end of it.” He turns his head back toward the TV. “The wedding’s great and all, but the real gift is the marriage. It’s the lifetime. That’s what I’m excited for.”
“Yeah,” I answer absentmindedly. I think about a lifetime with London and realize it doesn’t freak me out in the least. In fact, the thought is kind of amazing.
Our brother Smith takes a seat on the couch next to Cooper. “Hey, Berk, Coops,” he greets us. “You know this is the third time we’re watching this one, right?”
“Yep,” I answer.
&nbs
p; “Your girl sent, like, twenty discs, right?”
“Yep.” I grin. “It’s what the masses voted for, dude. You gotta get here in time for the vote.”
“I’m gonna have to.” He leans back. “At least it’s a good one.”
“True,” I agree.
I stare at the TV screen and find myself saying the lines from the movie in my head before Deadpool says them. “I think I’m going to hit the gym again,” I say to Cooper, realizing it’d be a better use of my time.
“Okay. I’ll come.” He stands and follows me out of the rec building.
“I have a weird feeling,” I mention as we exit the building.
“About?”
“I’m not sure exactly. It’s just been awfully quiet around here lately. I feel like something’s due to go down.”
The insurgents have been distant. Our recon missions into the local villages the past couple of weeks have been completely by the book, no surprises whatsoever. There haven’t been any rockets launched toward the base in a while, not even ones that hit outside the wire. It’s been eerily still, and that’s not normal. It feels like the calm before the storm. And life has taught me that storms aren’t just damaging; they’re devastating.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. One of the worst things about being here is waiting for the next attack. It puts us on alert, is all. I don’t think we’re any more likely to run into trouble just because it’s been quiet. The trouble will find us at some point, regardless.”
“Yeah, I know. It just makes me feel edgy.”
“What doesn’t make you feel edgy, dude?” Cooper’s deep laugh permeates the cold night air.
“Asshole,” I say with mock annoyance.
“So, Maggie tells me the Skype sex is going well with you and London.” Cooper changes the subject.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I shake my head.
“I have to say, I’m a little hurt that I have to hear it from my girlfriend who heard it from yours.”
I laugh. “Dude, not everyone is an oversharer like you are.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to give me something. I mean, I talk your ear off all day, and you can’t even throw me a bone?” Cooper jokes.
“Exactly! With all of your sharing, is there really time for me to talk?”
