Ava #2
In five long, lonely years, I’ve never been more tempted to unload on anyone than I am with him in this moment.
But something stops me… I’m so accustomed to keeping John to myself, and Eric’s brother is married to my sister.
If Eric were to mention it to Rob… Within minutes, my entire family would be involved, and I just can’t have that.
“I appreciate that more than you know.”
“It’s a standing offer.”
“You’re a good guy, Eric Tilden.”
“Thanks,” he says with a small smile. “I’ve had reason to wonder if I’m as good as I think I am.”
We arrive at our destination, a funky contemporary restaurant and bar with an A rating and a name I can’t pronounce.
I stop him from going in with a hand to his arm. “Don’t let her do that to you. She’s not worth it.”
“No, she certainly isn’t.” He holds the door and gestures for me to go in ahead of him. “Let’s drink.”
Hours later, Eric and I stumble back to Tribeca, laughing, singing off-key and generally acting like fools.
Once again, I wonder why I didn’t turn to alcohol a long time ago, because it provides a temporary respite from my troubles.
I’ve had the best time tonight. I’ve felt normal again, like I did at the wedding, and that’s due in large part to Eric and his thoughtful attention to me.
That attention didn’t go unnoticed by the others.
Eric’s siblings are cautiously optimistic about what they see happening between us, whereas Camille is like a bull in a china shop, cornering me in the ladies’ room to ask if we’re officially seeing each other.
I had to let her down easy and tell her we’re just friends, but I could tell she didn’t totally buy that.
“He likes you,” she said. “A lot.”
“I like him, too.”
“Sooooo…”
“Do me a huge favor, will you? Please leave us alone. If something is going to happen, it will. If everyone is on us about it, that makes me less interested in him.”
“I don’t get why you have to be so private and hush-hush about everything.” Three vodka tonics loosened her tongue. “I know something happened to you in San Diego, but you never talk about it, not even to me. That kind of hurts me, Ava.”
“I’m a private person. That’s the way I’ve always been, and it’s not intended to hurt you or anyone else.”
“So, what’re you and Camille fighting about?” Eric asks as we walk arm in arm on the way home. He seems to know where we’re going, which is good, because I’m clueless.
Surprised by the question, I say, “We aren’t fighting.”
“Seemed that way to me, and Rob said something, too. You guys came back from the bathroom bringing obvious tension.”
“Truthfully, she was bugging me about you, and I told her to cut it out.”
“Ahhh, I wondered if she’d done that, because her husband was all over me while you were in the bathroom. Amy and Jules told him to back off and leave me alone.”
“That’s basically what I said to Camille, and she didn’t take it well.”
“Their intentions are good.”
“I guess. I’m sure it’s exciting for them that we met at their wedding and have become friends, but they need to take a step back and give us room to breathe.” I no sooner say the words than I trip over a crack in the sidewalk.
Eric stops me from taking a bad fall by wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his embrace.
I look up at him as he looks down at me with care and concern that I want to wallow in. He’s just so damned sweet.
“Are you okay?”
“Uh-huh. Sorry about that.”
“I’m not.”
For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. I hold my breath, not sure if I want him to. But the moment passes. He clears his throat and tightens one arm around me, directing me toward home. At least I think that’s where we’re going.
A few blocks later, I see my building. At the bottom of the stairs, I turn to him. “Thanks for walking me home.”
“My pleasure. You going to be all right, or do you need the emergency pizza cure?”
“I’m totally stuffed from dinner.” We had sushi and delicious Asian-fusion cuisine.
“Go out with me tonight.”
For a second, I’m confused, but then I realize it’s after two in the morning.
“Just us.” He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and caresses my cheek. His touch gives me goose bumps. “You promised me a celebration if I scored a win at work, so technically, you owe me.”
“You’re calling me out on a technicality?” I ask, teasing.
“Whatever it takes to get you to go out with me.” There’s nothing teasing about the intense way he looks at me.
“I did promise to help you celebrate.”
“Yes, you did. Tonight, then?”
“What time?”
“Eight?”
“That works. What should I wear?”
“Let’s get dressed up.”
“Okay.”
He leans in and kisses my cheek. “I’ll wait until you get inside.”
As I go up the stairs, I’m breathless from the brush of his lips against my face. I greet the doorman as he lets me in.
When I turn back, Eric waves from the sidewalk.
In the elevator, I’m giddy from the alcohol and looking forward to seeing him again. It’s been so long since I had anything to look forward to, and now there’re so many things—my new job, my new city, my new friends. One new friend, in particular…
Inside the apartment, I move around quietly so I won’t disturb Skylar. I use the bathroom, go into my room and close the door. I withdraw my phone to send a text to Camille.
Sorry to be bitchy earlier. I know you’re just curious, and that’s ok, but give us a little room, please? If there’s anything to tell you, I will. When I can.
It’s late, and the text goes unread for now. I’m sure she’ll reply when she sees it. We don’t usually let shit fester between us, and I want to be closer to her now that we live near each other for the first time in a decade.
In bed, I scroll through my Twitter feed and gasp at the sight of an AP headline: SEAL Team Ambushed in Pakistan.
I click on the link and devour every word of the story, which includes the dreadful news that two US service members have been killed.
My heart sinks, and I’m filled with sadness, knowing that two families will soon receive dreaded news.
It’ll be ten to twelve hours, if not longer, before their names and photos are released to the public after their families are notified.
I know this because I’ve had to endure that wait every time I’ve read about a dead American service member overseas for five long years now.
I know I’d be better off to avoid the news, and I’ve tried many times in the past to quit my obsessive scouring of the headlines.
The most I’ve lasted is a full day before I’m back at it, watching, surfing, reading, devouring anything and everything about the ongoing effort to bring down Mohammad Al Khad, elusive mastermind behind the attack, and his terrorist organization.
I know more about US Special Forces and Special Operations than most civilians ever will.
I’ve thoroughly researched Navy SEALs as well as Army Green Berets, Rangers and Night Stalkers.
I’ve discovered a dazzling number of units John could’ve been attached to but have narrowed his branch to the Marines or Navy, as both have units that deploy out of San Diego.
I know it’s somewhat unbelievable that I don’t know which branch of the service he was in or that he didn’t tell me, but we never talked about his work.
And by never, I do mean never. The only time I saw him in uniform was the night we met, and the details of the fatigues he wore that night have grown fuzzy over the years.
I don’t know if they were Navy fatigues or Marine Corps.
This is another thing I’ve realized with hindsight was strategic on his part.
The less I knew, the better as far as he was concerned.
It was fine by me, because I didn’t like to think about the possibility of him having to deploy for longer than a week or two here and there, which happened frequently during our two years together.
My research has also yielded hints of groups within the military so secret that there’s literally no information anywhere about them, which has me thinking John is involved at that level.
I have no way to know if he’s still alive, or if he’s attached to one of these top-secret units.
A long time ago, I had to accept that I may never know for sure.
After years of scouring the internet, Pentagon websites and other military-related sites, I’ve never gotten the first clue as to what these groups are called, let alone how to find a military member who might be attached to one of them.
I’ve learned that service members are fiercely loyal to their branches, and that if John was a Marine, he might’ve had a Semper Fi tattoo or sticker on his truck. He had neither. I didn’t hear the term Semper Fi until long after he was gone.
I blame myself for not paying closer attention, but mostly I blame him for leaving me in this torturous state of limbo.
And as I pass a sleepless night, waiting for the Pentagon to identify the latest fallen service members, it’s clear to me that while I might’ve changed my address, I’ve brought the nightmare with me, and I’ll never be able to fully escape it.