Filling up the Virgin(232)

The midwife smiled, “That’s good, and that will help your uterus to contract and to expel the placenta. Let her nurse.”

Shareena nodded, and stared at the baby in complete awe, words escaping her in that moment.

Charlie hugged his arm around Shareena, and watched his new daughter eat. Feeling stunned by the experience. It had been intense, passionate, and a calm before the storm. Yet he wouldn’t trade a minute of it.

“There’s only one thing missing,” Charlie finally announced.

Shareena looked up at him and tilted her head, confused, “What is that?”

“You still haven’t married me.”

“Oh. That.” Shareena laughed, “I guess she’s just in time to be the flower girl?”

“Absolutely.” Charlie said and felt complete. His world was whole, he finally felt like nothing was missing.





THE SEAL’S SURPRISE BABY



I knew I was going to have a tough night when the group of marines walked into the bar.

It was a Tuesday night, which was usually a pretty slow night. We had all the regulars here: the handful of lonely men who sat on the same bar stools every night, nursing their drinks; the couple who got a table near the window, splitting a bottle of wine; and the table full of rowdy college kids, who always insisted on getting the exact same table and always got separate checks. I was keeping myself busy stocking up behind the bar, taking advantage of the slow period to make sure we had plenty of napkins, straws, and sliced limes. But then half a dozen burly men with buzz cuts and boisterous attitudes strolled in and took over two tables near the center of the room.

One of them walked up to me and slapped his hands down on the bar, grinning wide. He wasn't in uniform, but I could tell he was a marine by the dog tags around his neck and the USMC t-shirt he wore. A couple of his friends were wearing fatigues, probably having just gotten off duty. They'd no doubt come from the base a few miles up the road, near the docks.

“Couple of pitchers of whatever you've got on tap, little lady,” he said.

I turned an annoyed look on him. I hated being called “little lady,” both because it was a sexist term meant to put a woman in her place, and because at my weight, no one called me “little” without meaning it ironically. But I kept it professional, and simply asked him, “You boys want to run a tab?”

He handed me a credit card to swipe. “You bet. And keep 'em coming, okay?”

I poured him the first two pitchers and added them to the tab. The marines worked up quite a ruckus as they started drinking, I kept an eye on them as I served the few other customers that came in. I usually didn't have any serious trouble when the boys from the base came down here. They were loud, they took up a lot of space, but they were good tippers and they didn't harass anyone. Mostly, they just gave me a headache.

That would have been all, if not for the second group that came in about half an hour later. There were four of them, and they were as muscular and hopped up on testosterone as the first bunch, though they were quieter about it. They had more of a deadly grace about them. They took a seat at a table near the back, and one of them walked up to place an order.

When I poured drinks for the man and his buddies, he looked me right in the eye and said, “Thank you, ma'am.” He had a slight southern accent, and held himself with more dignity than I would have expected. He wasn't too tall, but he was broad in the shoulders and had a solid build. He wore a navy blue t-shirt with a logo on the breast, depicting an eagle clutching an anchor and a trident in its talons. Above the logo were the words “U.S. Navy SEAL.”

He took the drinks back to his friends and they sat and shared a toast. I didn't expect any trouble from them at that point. But I was in for more than I'd bargained for.

I noticed the marines leaning close and whispering something to each other, right before one of them came over with their empty pitchers and ordered a refill.

I filled the pitchers and handed them to him. Then he leaned close and asked, “And can you do something for me, sweetheart? Send a round of drinks to our friends over there.” He nodded towards the SEALs.

I took a deep breath, knowing where this was going. “What do you want me to send them?”

He smirked. “Four Shirley Temples.”

I sighed and shook my head. I made the drinks—as long as they were paying customers, I'd give them what they wanted—but I gave the marine a serious look and said, “I don't want any trouble from you boys, now, you hear? You keep this nice and friendly.”

“Don't worry, Miss,” he said with a wink. “We're just showing our navy buddies our appreciation.”