season in 2008. Cole and I had
spent three weeks of the summer
before playing house on Oahu.
One of his buddies had gone
stateside, leaving his off-base
apartment empty. Cole tossed
a little traveling cash his way so
we could use the older one-bedroom
place as our vacation digs. Well,
my vacation. Cole had regular duty
during the weekdays. Came home
to me the rest of the time, just like
a regular married Marine might.
While he was at work, I spent days
at the beach, roller blading and taking
my elementary surfing to a whole new
level. Over that short time, we solidified
the “two-as-one” of us. I was really
starting to believe we could make it
as a couple, albeit an often separated,
half-a-world-away-from-each-other,
couple. But then a small dose of reality
intruded. I had to go back to school.
Some people would have looked at
other options—transferring to a college
in Hawaii, or maybe dropping out.
When I asked Mom what she thought,
she offered solid advice. If you withdraw,
what will you do? Serve piña coladas
to tourists and waste the last two years?
Your prepaid tuition is California based.
Anyway, your young man is returning
to Iraq in a few months. What’s the point?
The point was, she had a point. Even
Cole agreed. So, back I trekked
to San Diego to start my junior year.
I settled in just fine. Once again
got used to long-distance communicating
with the man who was so central
to the woman I was growing into.
They say the military makes you older
than your years. Ask me, that applies
to more than just the soldier.
OUR FIRST ARGUMENT
Might have belied that idea, however.
Neither Cole nor I acted very mature.
I had spent another birthday alone,
though Cole did send me a dozen
yellow roses and a framed poem
he wrote especially for me. A love
poem, which meant a thousand times
more than those beautiful flowers.
I didn’t really expect him to be able to
deliver them in person. A soldier only
gets so much time away from his duty.
The problem popped up when he was
granted leave to come stateside for
Christmas. I assumed he planned on
spending it with me, and decided to
surprise him with a trip to Lodi. Neither
of us had met each other’s families yet.
I figured it was time to introduce him
to mine. Meanwhile, unfortunately,
he booked his flight home to Cheyenne.
When he called to let me know he’d
stop by on his way back to Kaneohe,
I freaked. “What do you mean, on
your way back? I thought we were
spending Christmas together! I told
my parents we’d be there. I promised.”
Without even asking me? Why
would you do a stupid thing like that?
The “stupid” slapped. My eyes watered.
“I wanted to surprise you. Cole, you were
in Iraq last year, and you’ll probably
be there next year, too. Can’t we be
together on Christmas? That’s what
people in love do. Or is that stupid, too?”
I do love you, Ashley. But I also love
Mom. I haven’t seen her in eight months.
You and I had that great time over
the summer. This will probably be
my only chance to visit Wyoming
before we deploy again, most likely
in April. You have your entire family, but
I’m all Mom’s got left. You wouldn’t ask
me to leave her alone on Christmas.
You’re not really that selfish, right?
IN RETROSPECT
He was totally right. His mom lived
alone, and she didn’t get to see him
often. But at the time, disappointment
overwhelmed every shred of logic.
“Selfish? Really? You think I’m selfish
because we actually have the chance
I somehow expected you to want that?
Because I was so excited to show
you off to my parents? I want them
to know you, so they can love you, too.
Or maybe you don’t want that. Maybe . . .”
The thought struck suddenly, from
some hidden place, like a rattlesnake
unseen in the brush. What if . . . ?
“Maybe you don’t want that. Or me.”
Don’t be ridiculous, Ashley.
“Stupid.” “Selfish.” And now “ridiculous.”
I blew. “Stop calling me names!
This is just so . . . so unfair! Fine.
Go ahead. Go to Wyoming! But don’t
bother stopping here. All I do is wait
for you, Cole. I wait for you to call.
To e-mail. To deploy. To come home.
To find a little time for me in the craziness
of your life. I’m tired of waiting. Tired
of being nothing but an afterthought.”
I THREW THE PHONE
Across the room. It smacked the wall
like a missile, fell to the floor. And then
I crumbled into a million pieces. A rubble
of emotion. I stormed. I cried. I cursed.
I screamed. I was lucky the neighbors
didn’t call the cops on the usually-so-docile
single woman who lived next door.
Because suddenly I felt very single. Not
only that, but it felt like the last two years
of my life had been waylaid. Hijacked
by this man and his misguided devotion
to his country, his dead cousin, and his
mother, in whatever order. I wasn’t even
in the top three, and I should have been
number one. That’s what I was thinking.
What if he never cared for me at all? What if
his declarations of love were only so much
bullshit? Could I have been so naïve as to
construct my entire life around him, when all
he really wanted was steady, easy sex?
Why had I made it so easy? Why had I
made it so good? Why had he been so
good? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I hadn’t been
with him (or anyone else) for weeks.
So why did I feel so dirty? I walked down
the hall to the bathroom. A dozen steps.
Turned on the shower, and while I waited
for the water to go hot, douched with vinegar
and salt. Then I scrubbed every inch of my skin
twelve times with Ivory soap. Pure as snow.
BY THE TIME I FINISHED
I wasn’t angry anymore. Hurt, yes.
Confused. Numb, really. The heat
was turned up, but inside me a deep
pit of cold seethed. I dressed in sweats
and furry slippers. Wrapped a big
quilt around me. Sat on the couch.
Alone on the couch. Tried to read.
Uselessly. The noise in my head—
shrill, sharp splinters of words said,
and words left unsaid—denied
concentration. The phone rang.
Imagine that. It had survived. Sure
it was Cole, I let it go. But then
I retrieved it and called Darian.
She took her best shot at reasoned
response. Of course you’re hurt,
Ash. Get used to it, if you want
to stay with Cole. And you know
you do. So you have to share him.
He’s totally worth it. Compromise.
Then she transformed back into
the Darian I knew and loved. Either
that, or dump him and put yourself
back on the market. Lots of cute
guys out there, you know. In fact,
let’s go out and shop for a couple.
“You’re married, Dar,” I reminded.
So? He’s gone and I’m not close to dead.
SHE WAS JOKING
At least, I was pretty sure she was.
We made a date to go shopping—
for Christmas gifts, not other men.
I hung up, feeling marginally better.
Darian always could cheer me up.
Giving advice, however, wasn’t her
best thing, so I never swallowed
it in a single dose. Instead, I let
it percolate. After fifteen or twenty
minutes, I realized she was right.
I did want to stay with Cole, and
he was worth sharing. With his mom,
anyway. I realized I didn’t need
the quilt anymore and was folding
it when the phone rang again. This
time, I picked up. Cole apologized
profusely, and so did I. We worked
out a compromise. He would go to
Wyoming for Christmas, then join
me in Lodi. He’d meet my parents,
and he and I would ring in 2009
together. “Compromise” is a word
I’ve learned to embrace—and hate.
It’s right up there with Semper Gumby.
I’D LIKE TO SAY
That initial meeting with my parents
went well. But everything about those
few days was uncomfortable, all the way
around. Even before Cole arrived,
the energy was strange. Strained. Mom
and Dad were barely speaking, something
I’d come to associate with her finding
out about yet another of Dad’s flings.
Not like I was about to ask. Instead,
I did my best to lighten the mood,
blabbing about ridiculous comments
I’d heard on campus or the funny
ideas the kids I worked with had.
“One little girl told me the way to
her teacher’s heart was through
her apple.” I thought it was hilarious.
Mom sort of smiled. Dad only grunted.
On Christmas day, we all slept in.
Opened presents late. If, that is, you call
cards with checks and gift certificates
tucked inside presents. Then we split
up and went to different rooms. Mom,
to the kitchen to cook. Dad and Troy,
to the family room for football. I could
have hung out with Mom, I guess.
But I was afraid of the discussion.
Instead, I went to my bedroom, propped
myself up on my bed to read and wait
for Cole to call. I waited all day, in fact.
Finally, I called him. When he answered,
there was abundant noise in the background.
Voices. Laughter. Everything our house
lacked. It made me simultaneously mad
and sad. I tried not to let my voice show it.
Failed. “I think Santa missed us this year.”
Cole said not to worry, he’d be there
in a couple of days. That Santa hadn’t
missed his house, had left something
there for me. Then someone announced
dinner was on the table. When I told him
I missed him, professed undying love,
his response—Ditto—only increased
the anxiety inflating inside me.
Pressure, seeking release in a burst.
I swallowed a pill. Went in search of
Christmas wine. Found Mom, indulging
in a little herself. I watched her work.
Wished for conversation. Settled for
her mostly silent company. Wondered
what Cole was doing. As the medication
kicked in, the stress lightened, gas leaking
out of the balloon. But not completely.
WHICH SET THE STAGE
For Cole’s visit. He flew into
Sacramento, and I picked him
up there. Usually, when we first
see each other after many weeks
apart, pent-up love kindles this
amazing blaze of happiness.
That time, something felt a little
off. But I couldn’t put my finger
on it, other than Cole seemed
a bit tense. But when I asked,
“Hey, soldier. Is everything okay?”
he kissed me with such tenderness
my initial unease vanished. And
when he promised, I’m fine. Just
a little tired, I didn’t look any farther
for the source of my discomfort.
His flight arrived late afternoon,
which meant heavy traffic from
the airport down the I-5, all the way
to the CA-99 interchange and
beyond. As always, Cole insisted
on driving, but the bumper-to-
bumper stuff whipped him into
rage. Who the fuck lives in a place
like this? he screamed, flipping
off an equally uptight driver who
cut in front of us, seeking an exit.
“Relax, sweetheart. A few miles,
we’ll be out in the country. No
traffic there. I promise.” Eventually,
we found clear lanes, but by
then I was gripping the seat
and mostly kept my eyes closed,
except when I had to give him
directions. Open highway wasn’t
much better. He drove like he was
possessed. I looked for a way
to exorcise a little common
sense. “Hey. Slow down, okay?
Mom’s cooking a special dinner.
I’d rather not eat hospital food
instead. You do like prime rib?”
I like it fine, he snapped. But
that brought him around. Sorry.
Can’t stand congestion. In any crowd
there’s bound to be at least one
freak. If there’s nowhere to run when
he goes off, you’re pretty much toast.
WE MADE IT HOME UNTOASTED
Stepped out of the car into late-December
air, the kind that makes your breath
steam. Yet we stood in the chill, holding
hands, allowing Cole to gather a sense
of the place. My home, growing up.
So much of me. Carbon clouds crept
overhead, threatening rain there in
the valley, snow in the Sierra above.
The smoke of incense cedar puffed
from the chimney, perfuming the air.
I turned into Cole, lifted up on my toes,
kissed him with all the love I held inside.
Drew back to look into his eyes. “Well?”
It’s not Wyoming. But it’s pretty nice.
I smiled. “With you here, it’s amazing.”
With you there, it would be perfect.
That was the nicest conversation
we had for three days. We went inside,
out of the cold and
into the deep freeze.
“Hello? We’re here.” It took a minute,
but finally my parents came to say hello.
My warm introduction iced over almost
immediately as Dad led Cole to the guest
room. Cole turned and glanced over
his shoulder, a question in his eyes. All
I could do was shrug. The guest room?
Really? Dad had to be kidding, right?
HE WASN’T KIDDING
My father, the king of impropriety,
expected decorum from his daughter
and her first serious boyfriend. Okay.
We figured we’d deal with that, and
we did. Sneaking into the guest room
once my parents were asleep wasn’t
so difficult. Harder was sharing the dinner
table, where conversation over rare roast
beef almost immediately turned to war.
Dad asked. Cole answered. Mom squirmed.
I tried to redirect the dialogue toward
Wyoming, but it kept coming back to Iraq.
When it moved to the newly elected
Commander in Chief, Cole made it very
clear that he would have preferred John
McCain, who had been a soldier. And
that awful woman? What about her?
asked Mom, who leans harder to the left
than I do. Cole could have chosen
not to engage. Instead, he offered
his opinion that Ms. Palin couldn’t be
nearly as bad as Mr. Obama. It fell
apart from there. Though the volume
remained low, emotion ran high.
We all skipped dessert that night.
AFTER DINNER
Dad took refuge in the living room,
behind a Jon Stewart rerun. Mom
disappeared into her bedroom. Cole
and I took drinks to the solarium, sat
very close on the wicker loveseat,
listening to rain pelt the glass overhead.
We exchanged belated Christmas
gifts. I gave him a leather journal
and an expensive pen. “So you’ll think
of me when you write your poetry.”
He gave me my favorite perfume,
Secret Obsession. “How did you know?”
Darian told me. She forgot to mention
how pricey it was. But you’re worth it.
I opened the bottle, daubed a couple
of drops. “It’s worth it, too. See?”
That led to some seriously hot kissing.
All would have been forgiven right
there, except I felt the need to say,
“I’m sorry about what happened earlier.”