Hark at me, sounding like a bloody TV doctor. Christ, I have one minor crisis of character and I’m a bloody expert on personal trauma and growth.
I just have to get through this afternoon and then I have two days of downtime, which I intend to use wisely. The date prep will take up a bit of time tomorrow, and then the actual date itself. After that I need to get some time in at the gym. It might just help with the abundance of sexual frustration I’m feeling. Cleo Carter is a hard woman to resist.
For some horrifying reason, my mum and dad have just popped into my head. That’s definitely one way to cool my libido, Christ!
It’s not often I think about my parents because our relationship is tepid at best. Clearly everything withCleo, and probably the whole Benson being a massive homophobe, is churning up some shit. Honestly, Kit’s outburst also did a good job of mixing me up.
Here I am thinking about things I have spent half a lifetime stuffing deep down, and I’m not entirely upset about it. Because maybe,just maybe, if I can reconcile some shit from my past, I might be able to give myself something I never thought possible. A regular old relationship with the possibility of love.
My parents don’t expect a call from me when I’m at sea. I could call them, but I’ve chosen not to over the years, because the conversation with each of them goes the same way. Ten seconds of asking me how I am and then the next half an hour of them bitching about each other. Even though they have been divorced for longer than they were married, I might add. Their hatred of each other has put pay to holidays and birthdays spent with them. Every Christmas and other celebrations, I’m either away or I stay in Portsmouth. A few times I’ve gone home with Kit, which gave me some semblance of a family bond, I suppose.
I can’t remember the last time I spent longer than a weekend back in my hometown. For some inexplicable reason, Mum and Dad still live close to each other, which boggles the mind. Mum is originally from a small town inthe south of England. All her family is there, and yet she refuses to move back to be closer to them. It’s like Mum and Dad are obsessed with being arseholes to each other. They just don’t know how to stop.
At some point I’ll probably have to explain all this shit to Cleo, because if by some miracle we make it past the next couple of months and she still wants to date me, the logical step would be for her to meet my parents.
I’d rather swallow a cactus than let that happen, but I can already predict how that conversation would go down if I haven’t already explained the family dynamic.
Huh, already planning for the future. That’s new.
My many ruminations have gotten me through my work shift, and I’m officially off the clock. I’ve been so wrapped up in myself lately I’ve let a few things slide. My uniform for one, which isn’t great, because having a sloppy appearance is a surefire way to get in the shit with Benson and my COs. I’ve got two shirts to patch up and my boots to polish.
I think it’s also time I started making up for the many times my girls have had to cover for me over the…I want to say months, but realistically they’ve been saving my arse for years.
With that in mind, I grab all of our laundry bags and head to the laundry room. I only booked a slot for myself, however I’m sure I can get away with shoving all our gear in together. Saving my bunkies from having to sweat in the laundry room is the first step in my reparations plan.
Second step will be a deep clean of our cabin area. We’re generally tidy people when at sea, but it certainly won’t hurt giving the place a once-over. Benson can do all the bunk inspections he wants because he won’t find a thing out of place.
Cheddar, Kit, and Boot will be back later in the evening, giving me plenty of time to get everything ticked off my to-do list. Once the laundry is collected and the cabin is clean, I’ll head to the NAFFI shop and pick up some Wotsits for Cheddar, along with some other goodies I know Kit and Boot will appreciate.
It occurs to me as I’m thinking about nipping to the on-board shop that I could take Cleo to the NAFFI coffee lounge. It would be as close to a “normal” coffee date aspossible, but we’d have zero privacy. The lounge is always busy, even on slow days.
Once again, for some unfathomable reason, my parents drift into my thoughts as I think about the different dates I can arrange for Cleo. Clearly, my subconscious is doing a shit job at subtlety.
I get it, brain! Unpack my shit and deal with it, once and for all.
With the bags of clothes safely tumbling around the ship’s washing machines, I quick march back to my bunk before I change my mind, on what I know is going to be an awful next few minutes.
There’s no way I’m wasting my thirty minutes of Paradigm credit on my parents. We get a set amount of time to use the satellite phones per week when we’re deployed. Most sailors use it to call their wives and kids. I’ve never used mine because there’s no one important enough to call, but I’ve often given Kit my credit so she can call her sister.
Thankfully the ship has reasonable Wi-Fi, making it easy enough to use WhatsApp.
Scooting back on my bed, I rest my head against the wall and take a few deep breaths. Navigating through my contacts, I get to my mum’s number first, which makes my decision of whom to call first easier.
“River?”
“Hi, Mum. How are you?”
“I’m fine, love. Are you in Portsmouth?”
Okay, so I feel a little guilty for not keeping her and my dad up to date as to my whereabouts. Honestly though, it’s just such a pain in the crotch talking to them ninety percent of the time. I’d rather have this sliver of guilt than wrestle with the constant earache of their fighting.
“No, we’re deployed. I just realised it’d been a while since we’d spoken. Everything good?”
I try my best to keep the questions neutral, but I could ask if she knew the Pope and the answer would somehow get back to my dad being an arsehole.
“I’m suing your father,” she declares, and my eyes squeeze shut automatically. It’s the only way I can stop myself from screaming down the phone.
“Right, of course you are. We’re sailing—”
