I suppose I always thought I would be married by now, with a few kids running around. At thirty-nine, I’m one of only a handful of soldiers here who don’t have a family.
Well, that’s not exactly true. Idohave a family, just not the wife and kids. Speaking of…
My phone rings right on time - five minutes past five. My mother usually calls around this time, knowing it’s when I’m walking home from work. I silence the call and send her a quick text saying I will call back when I’m out of the office. I can just picture her reading it out loud to my aunt Carol, and both of them sharing an exasperated look at my tardiness.
I close down the programs I’ve been working on and log out of my computer before grabbing my jacket and signing out for the day. I only live a mile away from the base, so when the weather allows, I like to walk to and from work.
My office building is at the far end of Ridgeway base, which means I have to walk a bit of a distance to get to the exit. On my way, I pass by Master Sergeant Thorne, who is dressed impeccably, as per usual. His dark hair is kept regulation short, with a few more streaks of silver at his temples than there used to be. The only thing more lethal than his dark gray eyes is the stare that accompanies them.
The intimidating and intense man is grilling a trainee, who looks like he’s about to piss his pants. Thorne isn’t yelling out of anger, which, in my opinion, is even scarier. No, MasterSergeant Thorne is always in control of his emotions. He doesn’t lash out in anger; he simply states facts in a firm, loud tone that commands to be respected. I’d feel bad for the poor trainee, but Thorne knows what he’s doing. Everyone who trained under him is highly qualified and goes on to have decorated military careers.
I’ve almost reached the exit when I hear a bellowing laugh that could only come from Blaze Reynolds. The tall, tattooed man comes from a family of blue collar lumberjacks, and even though he’s been in the military for years now, he still has a wild, arrogant streak to him. If he weren’t so damn good at his job of teaching survival skills as a specialist in the Air Force, he would probably be written up ten times over by now. I’m not one prone to smiling, but when Blaze gets going, it’s hard not to join in.
I shake my head and rub a hand over my mouth to make sure no one saw the little smirk that escaped. I wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation around here as the silent but deadly, loner office worker who has a weakness for lasagna. Actually, come to think of it, the lasagna might have already given me away. I blame my aunt for making her special recipe every Sunday during my childhood.
Finally, I reach the guard station at the entrance and exit of Ridgeway base. To my surprise, Major Rafe Lucas is sitting in the security checkpoint booth. As the head of Security Forces for Ridgeway, he’s usually doing more important things than manning the station.
“Major Lucas,” I greet. The tall man with hazel eyes and a dark brown beard is only a few years older than me, and he might just rival me in the stoic, bitter, and unreadable category. There’s a reason we’ve always gotten along.
“Bennett,” he says, flatly.
“Nothing better for you to do than sit here?”
“Something like that,” he grumbles under his breath. As per protocol, my ID is checked, and he enters some information on his computer before letting me out into the real world.
I take a deep, cleansing breath, enjoying the crisp air and freshness of nature. Being behind a desk was never in my life plan, and this is one of many reasons why. I need to be out in nature more. Yes, I understand that being deployed overseas might not exactly be the nature-filled experience most people want, but I can admit there are some days I miss it. Especially when I’m pulling double duty, staring at the computer screen and running scenarios over, and over, and over…
After rolling out my shoulders a few times to psych myself up, I reach into my pocket and pull out my cell phone, calling my mother back.
“Jackson, sweetie!” she exclaims before the first ring is even over. “You’re working too hard. Usually, you’re out of the office by the time I give you a call.”
“I agree,” my aunt Carol adds. I can tell I’m on speakerphone now, which makes me shake my head. These women, God bless them, are ridiculous. I hardly ever talk to one or the other; it’s alwaysbothof them. “You know, in Japanese culture, there’s a term,karoshi, which translates intodeath from overwork.”
My sweet, caring, eccentric aunt has traveled to nearly every country “in search of herself,” whatever that means. She’s a free spirit, an old soul, a hippie, and one of the weirdest, most loving, and accepting people I’ve ever met in my whole life.
“Yes, Aunt Carol, you’ve told me this before.”
“Well, I guess I need to keep telling you because clearly, you’re not learning the lesson,” she tuts.
I love my mom and aunt with all of my heart, and I know they mean well, but… They can be a bit overdramatic. Pulling the phone away from my ear, I sigh deeply and remind myself how lucky I am to have two people who love me so much.
“You two don’t need to worry about me,” I say, though I know it will do little to alleviate their anxiety. “I was at work an extra five minutes; it’s not like I was chained to my desk for a month.”
“You’ve basically been chained to the government for the last twenty years of your life,” my mother grumbles. These women raised me, and I know they still struggle with my decision to join the military after I graduated. Especially Aunt Carol. Even so, they’ve always been supportive of whatever I want to do. That doesn’t mean they don’t have their opinions on what I should doafterretirement.
“What have you been up to lately?” I ask.
“Enough about us,” my mom says, even though they haven’t said a single thing about themselves. “What haveyoubeen up to lately? Any dates? Love interests? A girlfriend, maybe?”
I roll my eyes, knowing the conversation would head in this direction at some point. These women so desperately want to have another person to dote on, and of course, a house full of children. They never let an opportunity go by to remind me it’s my fault that I’ve been dragging my feet on making their dreams come true.
“My answer is the same as the last time you asked me,” I tell her flatly.
“Aren’t you lonely, Jackson?” my aunt asks.
“Don’t you want to share your life with someone special?” my mother chimes in.
“Why would I need anyone else when I have you lovely ladies?” I say, trying to shut down the conversation. When neither of them let up, I add, “Besides, how can you tell me to find a partner when neither of you has one?”
