Eleven
Mom’s stands to pass the platter of roast beef to Dad, but before she can lift it, Dave quietly steps beside her and eases it from her hands.
“Here, Anne. Let me.”
Her smile brightens and her cheeks blush. “Well, aren’t you the gentleman, David.”
“I try,” he answers.
I pause as I reach for the butter dish, trying to hide a smile.
That little exchange has Mom using the singsong, high-pitched voice she reserves for church.
I’m already anticipating our conversation tonight, after Dave goes home.
She’ll not-so-casually mention what a wonderful husband Dave will make for a lucky woman someday.
Then, thirty minutes later, she’ll be talking about what kind of wedding she wants for me, potential names of my future children, and what we’ll all be doing on the holidays when I make her a grandmother.
At least her summation about Dave’s future wife being lucky will come true. He’s handsome, successful, and so thoughtful he even pulled my chair out before I sat down.
“Thank you,” I murmur appreciatively.
It isn’t a common that men employ manners these days. Too many, in fact, think they’re doing a woman a favor by letting them serve them. Not Dave, and I’m charmed by the gesture.
I don’t let on how I feel and drop my gaze to a napkin to avoid eye contact. I’m unsuccessful in the effort and my vision wanders right back to him.
Dave smiles as if these acts and responses are most ordinary, but they aren’t ordinary to me.
Once I’m seated, he circles the table and does the same for Mom. Dad takes in the scene, but the moment Dave reaches for Dad’s chair, he throws up a hand.
“Don’t you dare.” He warns, giving him the side-eye. “I can sit my own ass down, thank you.”
The humor in it all ripples around the table.
“I’m recovering from surgery,” Dad says. “I’m not ancient.”
Mom folds her arms. “Richard…behave.”
“I am behaving.” He lowers himself into his chair with exaggerated care before looking at Dave again. “The only thing Anne lets me do anymore is breathe.”
“I heard that.” Mom announces.
“I wanted you to.” He chimes in.
We all laugh and the warm atmosphere settles around the room.
This is what I’ve missed. Dad telling stories that seem to grow more extravagant and dramatic every time he reaches the end.
Mom pretending she’s annoyed while secretly enjoying every minute of it.
Now, Dave fits into the conversation and it feels so natural that, for a little while I forget the fear of losing Dad, and of hospitals, military leave, uncertain futures ...
and everything else that has a way of stiffening my shoulders and neck.
The things that made the muscles in them rock hard and tight during my flight.
I want to let that go and live in the moment Simply enjoy being home, passing biscuits, stealing bites of mashed potatoes, and listening to the people I love laugh together.
It feels so damn good.
By the time we’re nearly through dinner, Trooper has polished off every bite in his bowl. His little belly rounds like a ball beneath black fur. He rolls and pauses long enough for a quick rub, then he goes to Dave.
Without a lull in the conversation, Dave drops one hand beneath the table.
His fingers find the spot behind Trooper’s ear he seems to love having scratched, and almost immediately melts against his leg.
It doesn’t take long before his head finds Dave’s shoe and his eyes close.
The sight catches emotions somewhere deep inside me, then I look up and clear my throat. Mom is watching me.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, Charity…”
The warmth inside me cools.
“You have to do something with him.”
I follow her gaze beneath the table where Trooper sleeps peacefully against Dave’s foot.
“Mom. I know.” I feel my shoulders rise.
“You’re already getting attached. I can see it written all over your face.”
“I’m not.”
“You can’t keep him.”
“I know, Mom.” My tone tenses.
“Your father and I can’t raise a puppy.”
“Mom. Stop.”
She sighs, and for the first time all evening I hear the exhaustion beneath her words. “Fine.”
“I said, I’ll figure it out.” I emphasize.
She pauses, searching my face. “Think with your head and not with your heart this time. Please.”
“I said—” Something inside me tightens, but I stop. Every decision I’ve ever made that didn’t fit neatly inside her plans for me, is wrong, according to her. But I’m not doing this now. I’m tired, and I can see it escalating if I don’t stop.
Setting my fork on the plate, I look directly at her. “Mom, it’s all good. If I can gauge threats that would affect millions of people, I can handle finding a home for a dog.”
It’s the tone. Stern. As if issuing an order without telling her to do something.
It isn’t loud but its impact is enough that the room falls silent.
Even Dad stops chewing, not ignoring us like he used to.
I’ve never spoken to my mother this way before, and judging by the surprise on everyone’s faces, they didn’t expect it.
I take a slow breath before continuing because I refuse to let anger speak for me and ruin my first dinner home.
“Let’s enjoy dinner.”
Mom studies me for several long seconds. Finally, she nods. This conversation might not be over, but at least for now has been postponed.
“I’m going to make coffee. David, I hope you’ll stay for dessert.”
He looks between Mom and me. “I’m sure I can make some room, although that was a filling dinner.”
The moment she disappears into the kitchen I exhale the breath I’ve been holding. Reaching for my glass to take a drink, I’m suddenly aware that my hands are trembling. I’m irritated, and try to steady myself, but before I can curl my fingers around it, another hand touches mine.
I don’t have to look at him, the comforting touch transfers, but I do.
Dave’s eyes meet mine across the table. He gives the smallest squeeze before letting go.
No one else notices. No one else could possibly understand what four quiet seconds of silent reassurance feel like after a lifetime of trying to earn approval from a woman that never quite comes.
My pulse flutters. Dave doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t wink. He doesn’t try to rescue me. His touch simply reminds me that I’m not standing alone.