She was already on.
The computer rang and I answered, Mom’s face coming into focus a few seconds later. She looked tired as she unzipped her multicam top and hung it over the back of her chair, leaving her in a tan T-shirt.
“Samantha, baby. How are you?” she asked with a wan smile. Her walls in Afghanistan were bare except for a framed picture of my high-school graduation.
“I’m good.” I propped my laptop against the dresser. “Halfway unpacked. How are you?”
“Long day here, but holding up just— What on earth are you wearing?”
I glanced down and back up at her. “Um…pajamas?” I had outfits that made these boxers and tank top look downright prudish.
“You cannot wear pajamas like that now that you live with men. Go buy some proper pajamas.”
“Or I could skip right to a bundling bag or a chastity belt, Mom.”
She gave me the look. “Don’t get smart. I’m only suggesting that you show a little less skin and a little more common sense.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered in song.
“Samantha.”
I sighed. “I’ll go today, Mom, but your whole theory is hugely antiquated.”
“Just make me feel better, okay? I’m already not too keen on the boy roommates, or you shipping off to the middle of nowhere Alabama to go to college.”
“Well, this college said yes, unlike the other twenty I’ve applied to.” My fingers stroked across the silver lettering on my new shirt.
“And whose fault is that?” she barked.
My eyes snapped to hers. “You don’t think I know? I’m doing everything I can to make up for what happened. I got into a real college like you demanded, I’m on my own, and I’m looking for a job today. I can’t go back and change last year.” I would if I could. Regret was a nauseating constant in my life. “If I pull good grades, I might have a chance of getting back into Colorado for spring term.” If I can face them.
Her hands covered her face as she sighed. “I’m sorry. I hate you going through this when I’m not there.”
“I don’t need you to save me, Mom. I only need you to cut me a little slack.” An inch would be nice. Just once.
“Maybe I gave you too much slack to start with.” A knock sounded at her door. “Come in,” she answered, immediately straightening in her chair. I’d learned a long time ago that she was really two women, my mom and—
“Colonel Fitzgerald?” A nondescript head popped through her door.
Yup, her, Colonel Fitzgerald, my mother’s alter-ego.
“Captain, I’m talking to my daughter, can this wait?” Her tone implied so.
“No, ma’am, I’m sorry, but it can’t.”
“Then I’ll be right there.”
My shoulders dropped a little bit.
She turned back to me with her I’m-sorry-Sam smile. “Samantha, I’m—”
“Sorry,” I completed with a forced smile. “I know, Mom. Duty calls. Same time tomorrow? Maybe you want to chat about my class options?”
“That should work, baby. I’m so proud of you for pulling yourself back up. I have to go.”
“Bye.” I waved and clicked the little red button that ended our conversation. She drove me nuts, but it had always been just the two of us. She’d put herself through hell raising me while climbing ranks in the military, always looking up to Marcelite Harris, the first African American Major General. I had the distinct feeling she’d top her as the first Lieutenant General.
As long as I didn’t stand in her way.
My email dinged, updating from the last twenty-four hours I’d been offline. I passed over sale alerts and a couple personal items before I saw one with How Was Your Move as the subject line from [email protected]. I clicked in curiosity and gasped.