“So why are you up? Getting used to the time difference?” I asked.
He handed back the jug and I took another swig. I was still hot, but the kitchen was much cooler than my bedroom. The cold tile felt good under my feet. I checked the thermostat just inside the living room, near the hallway. It was set to seventy, and it felt like seventy in here, just not in my room. Was I getting sick? I couldn’t afford to—literally.
“I don’t sleep much,” Kael finally answered.
“Ever?”
“Never.”
I sat across from him at the dark wood kitchen table.
“Because of where you just were?”
“Not your father’s house,” he said with a hint of irony, but with no trace of humor in his face. Not in the strong, straightforward set of his jaw. Not in his cloudy eyes that were bloodshot from not sleeping.
“Ha, ha.” I rolled my eyes, trying to stop my brain from imagining him in Afghanistan.
“War, of course.” His eyes were on his hands now, not my face. He licked his lips, allowing a small laugh to escape. “I wonder if I’ll just be saying that my whole life, you know, like the Vietnam vets I meet at the VA hospital. Still telling stories from fifty years ago.”
My stomach started to ache thinking about this quiet young man in a war zone, being woken up by shells or rockets or whatever terror he went through, while I complained and whined to myself over unimportant things and the little miseries of my life. Perspective was a bracing slap across the face.
“I guess it’s weird being back here.” He sighed. “Like I’m not sure what to do with myself.”
Between his honesty and the vulnerability cast across his face, I thought I might be having this conversation in a dream. It was like I could read his mind and feel his pain, even though he was doing a good job trying to conceal it. I was an expert in avoidance and knew emotional masking when I saw it.
“Do you have to go back?” I asked, hoping he would say no.
In my mind, an alarm was blaring, screeching to warn me, or maybe Kael, of how I was starting to feel about him. I had known him for less than forty-eight hours, yet I wanted to protect him, to keep him from going back there. To just make sure he didn’t get lost . . . in any of the ways one could. A list ran through my head as we stared at each other for minutes that felt like an hour. Why did I even care? I took his face in, wanting to keep a copy of the way his eyes were steady, not darting all over, his lips were half open, words hesitating to escape. His focus went to the wall behind me. I felt like he was reading my mind, detecting sympathy that might be easily construed as pity. I didn’t pity him. I just felt . . . I couldn’t make sense of what exactly I was feeling. When it came to Kael and the Army, it was none of my business. He knew what he had signed up for. But that was the logical side of my brain; I knew I felt otherwise. I was lying to myself about the consequence of serving, like signing up made it okay, and that emotion turned my stomach.
“I don’t know yet,” he responded, and we both fell silent.
“I hope you don’t.” The words were out before I could care how they sounded.
I hated the idea of Kael at war, so far from here. Hiding in the darkness of sandpits, building makeshift posts only to have them destroyed by rockets in the middle of the night. My entire body got angry when I thought about his life there, so many people’s lives lived and lost there. Part of me felt like I was betraying my childhood, my family lineage of soldiers and airmen, but I guess I wasn’t as patriotic as I was expected to be. Not if this is what it meant. I had never been, and neither had my mother. You couldn’t convince either of us that violence would ever be the solution to anything, no matter what the issue was.
Kael’s head rested on his bent hand. His eyes were fluttering closed.
“I want . . . to stay here,” he whispered, barely coherent.
My whole body heaved. This military life was so unfair sometimes. I wanted to ask Kael if he felt like this was his purpose in life, or what made him join the Army. Everyone had their reasons, but what were his? Was he like most of the young soldiers I knew? Had he been persuaded to join by the poverty around him and the promise of a steady paycheck and health insurance?
“I really—” I started to say, but his eyes were fully closed. I stared at him in the dark and watched his face relax, feature by feature. His eyes stopped swirling behind his eyelids, and I felt myself drawn to sleep as I watched him unwind before my eyes. I drifted off, not caring that I was away from my bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The morning came fast. I had dreamed about my brother, his face bloodied in an alleyway. Our dad calmly talking to a deputy of some sort, myself crying, and Kael was there. We were in another place, a foreign one that I knew I have never seen. It was weird and obviously not realistic, but it stuck in my head as I got ready to leave for the grocery store. Kael was nowhere in sight when I woke up at the table, the sun filling the room. Elodie was still asleep on the couch, lying on her side now and looking much more comfortable than she had before. I skipped showering because I just couldn’t deal with the water going in and out today; it was already going to be busy enough. I did my hygiene regimen, including the skin care I’m trying to get a handle on. That’s part of growing up, isn’t it?
I threw on a navy-blue dress that Elodie bought me when she went to Atlanta with her group of Army wife friends. It was short, but not too short, and had five little fake pearl buttons going down the center of my bust. They were fake buttons and the dress had pockets. Peak Karina happiness when it comes to fashion in one dress. I’d worn it only once, when I tried it on, and now that I was wearing it in my room, my waves took wonderfully to the dry shampoo and were less frizzy than they normally are, and my skin wasn’t peeling from overexfoliating. I looked . . . cute. Pretty, even. Pretty cute?
The dress was a little tight around my hips but not too bad. The skirt was the ideal length. It had thin straps that tied on my shoulders, making it perfectly adjustable. I covered as much of my cleavage as I could, but I also sort of liked the way the top of the dress was shaped, like half an oval, dipping down into the roundness of my chest. The thin cotton was so soft and fell against my hips and flared out at my thighs in little creases, like a cheerleading skirt, but more stylish. I smiled at my reflection and I wished I could bottle this little moment of love for my body and save it for the next time that I really, really needed it—like when I order an outfit online or, even worse, try on clothes for an hour at the mall and leave with nothing but resentment for my body and myself.
Not today. I didn’t feel any resentment as I twirled and pinched my cheeks to see if that viral video actually works. The color doesn’t last more than thirty seconds, so I swooshed on a little bit of the blush that Elodie gave me. I hadn’t bought my own makeup for months. I had priorities, and makeup couldn’t be one of them right now so I lived through Elodie’s hand-me-down, nearly finished makeup. No complaints—she always has great brands. I look at my face one more time, adding a quick layer of mascara and a lip stain. I look pretty rested for a girl who’d slept at the kitchen table half the night. I usually don’t have mornings like this, where I become best friends with my reflection. I should get better at that . . . at least I’m trying.