“No, why?” I put down my phone. I’d been texting with one of my buddies on the base. There’s a betting pool now that it’s common knowledge that I’m up for reenlistment.
“Just wondering,” Mom says.
“After all the work today cleaning up from last night, I have no intention of driving around,” I tell her.
“Seems kind of like a dud, this vacation of yours,” Mom comments, sitting down on my chair.
I laugh. “As opposed to going out with whichever of my boys is in town, drinking and trying to pick up some girl?” I have to admit, that is the usual way my leave goes.
“Is it because of the reenlistment issue, or because you’re settling down, or because you’re here for the anniversary?” Mom looks at me steadily.
I have to wonder why she’s so worried.
“Just don’t feel like it as much this time,” I say with a shrug.
“I just want to make sure you’re not depressed or something,” Mom explains.
That makes me laugh. “Depressed? No, Ma. There’s no reason for me to be depressed.” I shake my head.
“You just seem a bit different,” Mom says.
“Well I’m looking at one of the most important decisions of my life,” I point out.
“As long as it’s just that and not something else. You know you can talk to us,” Mom tells me as she stands up.
“Of course, Mom,” I say. The last thing I want right now is for her to pay too much attention to what I’m doing, or even not doing, while I’m home.
I have to reassure her again before she leaves to go to bed, but then I’m by myself again, texting with my friend Ryan. Apparently the betting pool at the base puts me at sixty-percent chance that I’ll reenlist.
I get a notification for another text message, and it’s not from anyone on the base. It’s from Harper.
Are you as bored as I am right now?
I look across the yard and see Harper in her room, in pajamas, but I can see they fit her perfectly, and all I can think about is how we had sex the night before in my parents’ bathroom. We’re both only in town for a couple of days more before we both have to go back to our lives.
Bored out of my mind
She looks at me and we’re both grinning at each other. I have an idea. There’s a bunch of leftover beer from the party the night before that my parents will never miss.
I text Harper my idea, and sneak downstairs, checking to make sure that both my parents are in bed before I head into the basement where we put the leftover beer. I know it’s probably a terrible idea to meet with Harper alone after we had sex the night before, and we both agreed we should never do it again, that it’s too weird, but I can’t resist the thought of sitting around and having a few beers with her, talking.
I know that something’s probably going to happen, but I try to tell myself that it’s some harmless fun for both of us. After all, we’re both in our twenties, and we’re healthy and we’re single. Who are we hurting with the fooling around we did? Nobody.
I grab a six-pack from the basement fridge and creep back up to the main floor of the house, making sure neither my mom nor my dad is up. Then I look outside. Harper is already waiting for me, sitting in the spot right in the middle between my parents’ yard and hers, where we met up the first night we were both in town. Was that really only a couple of days before? I can’t quite believe it.
I go outside with the beers, walk across the lawn, and sit down. I open up the case and hand one to Harper, and both of us sit there quietly for a minute in silence.
“We need to talk about what happened last night,” Harper says.
“We probably do,” I agree, and I crack open my beer.
“We’re not going to, are we?”
I grin at Harper’s question and she cracks her own beer, raises it to me, and we both take our first sips.
“No, I don’t think we should talk about it,” I tell her.
“Why not?” Harper shifts on the grass and I can’t help but notice, even in the limited light from the porch lights, that her nipples are straining against the fabric of her tight pajama top. Suddenly all I can think about is finding out, if like the night before, that she wasn’t wearing a bra under her dress.
“Because talking about it will make it complicated,” I reply.
“Or it will make it less confusing,” Harper counters. I drink down about a third of my beer, and after a moment Harper does the same with hers.
“What we’re going to do is get a little bit drunk and talk about good times, and not think about what would have happened if we got caught last night,” I tell her.