Like Aaron told me, I don't wear the chain during PT or when it could be noticed, but I only do it to protect him. I don't really care one way or another. I've made up my mind . . . or have I?
“Hey, Morgan?”
I look over and see Beanie come into the S-1 office, all grins and false cheer. It's been six weeks since Aaron left, which means I've got, as of tomorrow, six months left on my enlistment contract. Beanie's going to be giving me the full sales pitch, I'm sure.
“Come on over, Beanie. What's up?”
Beanie comes over, snagging a chair and sitting down next to me, just outside my desk area. He knows the deal—an office soldier defends their desk area like a street gang defends their turf. Cross that line without an invite, and you might just get a knife in the ribs. “Hey, Captain Lemmon sent me over. He wanted me to see if you'd made your decision. We've got battalion breathing down our necks on retention for this quarter, and I don't think you need the Sergeant Major down here trying to give you the hard sell, you know?”
I know. For most of the six weeks since Aaron left, I've been bouncing between two extremes, from telling the Army to go to hell to re-signing for the long haul. The problem is, what if it was just rapid infatuation again? What if, after both of us being celibate for so long, we were just literally fuck-drunk and were saying anything to get our damn rocks off one more time?
“I gotcha, Beanie. But things are complicated. No offense to you or anyone else in retention, but I'm getting awfully damn tired of Lance spending twelve hours a day in daycare. And that doesn't even count the FTX we've got coming up next month, where he gets to spend a whole week hanging out at my neighbors' house.”
Beanie hums, his fingers drumming on the edge of my desk. “I know it isn't ideal in that regard, Morgan, but the signing bonus and the bennies, you can't beat them. I mean, I don't wanna be cruel about it . . .”
“But you're going to be anyway,” I interrupt him, leaning back in my chair. My stomach rumbles, and I rub my tummy absently. It's been going on for a few days now, and I hope I didn't pick up . . . oh, hell. I plaster a smile on my face and gesture for Beanie to go ahead. “Gimme the pitch, Beanie.”
“Well, you're a single mom, Morgan. And I'm not trying to be a dick. My mom was a single mother too, so I'm speaking from experience. She busted her ass twelve hours a day all the time, sometimes six days a week to keep food on the table. And we never had a spread as good as what you're able to do for your son. The signing bonus alone on the big contract, you set that aside in a savings plan, and you've got a good chunk of what he's going to need to go to college down the road,” Beanie reminds me. “Just sayin', the grass looks greener outside the service, but before you change houses, make sure that it really is.”
Beanie and I talk another few minutes before he leaves, and it's nearly lunch time. Instead of eating what I packed, I grab my keys and drive to the PX, concerned. It was the same way last time. A few days of rumbly stomach in the morning, no real sickness, just looking at breakfast and not wanting to eat, my stomach doing little twists the whole time.
The over the counter pharmacy has kits for sale, and I pick one up, glad that Bragg is so large that the worker doesn't know who the hell I am. I take my package to the toilet and do my thing, not able to look at it after. I have to force myself to read the result, and it takes me a few seconds to accept it.
Blue.
The indicator is blue. As in . . . hold on, let me read the package again. Blue . . . blue . . . If the indicator turns blue, the test is positive. Congratulations on being pregnant. The makers of this test would recommend that you go to your doctor . . .
Yeah, doctor. Doctor. Oh, hell.
I can't help it. I put my face in my hands and start crying, trying to keep it down, but obviously, someone hears, because after some time, I hear a knock on the door of my stall. “Excuse me, are you okay?”
I sniff, wiping at my eyes and sitting up. “Y–yeah. Gimme a minute. I'll be out soon.”
I quickly wipe my face with toilet paper and pull my pants up, adjusting my uniform. I can do this. I can be strong. Besides, if I didn’t want to risk this, I should’ve used protection. I leave the stall, nodding gratefully to the woman who's looking on with concern. She's in civilian clothes. I'm guessing she's someone's spouse from her age, but I move past her before she can see much more than that I'm in uniform. I don't need some nosy Nellie calling Captain Lemmon about this.
Getting to my RAV4, I sit down and take a deep breath. I take out my phone and pull up my email app. I don't use it much on my phone, but it's still there. I quickly type out my message.
Dear Aaron,