“I know it’s going to be hard, but it will be worth it when I can show—”
“Not that,” he mutters. “I can’t leave.” He glances up at me, his eyes red-rimmed. “I can’t do this.” His chest is rising and falling quickly. “I’m going to miss everything. His doctor appointments. When he smiles and laughs. He’s not even going to fucking know who I am!” he booms.
My heart cracks wide-open, but I take several breaths to stay calm. Ryan needs me to be strong right now. He’s been so strong for me—at the beach house, when I was giving birth to RJ—now it’s my turn to be strong for him. “Do you know why I asked you to wear your military uniform?”
He shakes his head as tears of pain run down his cheeks.
“Because I want to make sure RJ knows that his daddy is a hero, and that’s what this outfit symbolizes.”
“I would rather just be his dad,” he admits softly. “And your husband.”
He pulls me into his lap and nuzzles his face into my neck. I don’t know what to say to make him feel better, so I don’t say a word, just letting him cry it out.
Eventually, he calms down and lifts his face to look at me. His cheeks are tear-stained and his eyes are swollen and puffy. He’s no longer crying, but his chin is trembling.
“I hate this,” I tell him. “But you have to go, and God forbid something does happen, RJ will have something from you.”
Ryan nods in agreement. “All right.” He scrubs his hands over his stubbled jaw. “I’ll do it.”
About twenty minutes later, Ryan comes inside and hands me my phone, asking to see RJ. His face is splotchy, telling me he cried some more, but he’s more composed. I call my mom out and she hands RJ over to Ryan with a sympathetic smile. “For what it’s worth,” she says. “We’re all so proud of you.”
“Thanks,” he says, snuggling his son to his chest and inhaling his scent. “But all I want is to get through these next four months and then get back home, so I can start my life.”
His words bring tears to my eyes as I remember not even a year ago when we were at the beach house and he told me the military was his life.
We spend the rest of the day together. Ryan downloads texting and video chatting software to my phone that I can use to contact him when he’s back overseas. Apparently he upgraded his phone to an international plan, and the base he’s staying on has service. It’s shitty, but it’s enough we’ll be able to talk. He also gives me his email so I can send him pictures of RJ. Of course he adds that I should also include pictures of myself.
Instead of him going home, he spends the night with his body wrapped around mine. He wakes up for every one of RJ’s feedings and insists on being the one to change his diaper and burp him.
The morning comes too soon and he wakes me up when it’s still dark out. “Baby, I have to go,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of my mouth. “Wake up so I can say goodbye.”
“Wait.” I shoot up. “You’re leaving… like now?”
“I have to be at the airport at five a.m.”
“We’re going with you.” I throw off my blanket and stand.
“No, you’re not,” he says, shaking his head. “If you go, I’ll never get on that fucking plane.”
“Ryan, please,” I beg. “We have to see you off.”
“That’s why I woke you up. But I don’t want to wake RJ up. He’s sleeping and will be cranky.” He swallows thickly, glancing at our sleeping baby, who has no idea his daddy is about to leave and won’t be coming home for several months.
“I have to go home and get my stuff,” he says. “I’ll text you before the plane takes off, but it may be several days before I can communicate.”
When my eyes bug out, already freaking out, he explains, “I have to turn my phone off for security. I’ll fly into Nova Scotia, then get on a plane to Germany, and from there, I’ll take another plane to Kyrgyzstan.”
“That’s a lot of flying,” I say dumbly. “You have to do all that just to come home for two weeks?”
“Yeah.” He runs his knuckles down my cheek. “Four months is going to feel like forever.”
“Probably,” I agree with a half-smile, “but we’ll get through it.”
He leans over and kisses my forehead, the tip of my nose, and then the corner of my mouth. “I know how you feel about promises, so I won’t make any. But I will tell you that I’ll be counting down the days, hours, fucking seconds, until I’m back here with you guys.”
He gives our son a soft kiss to his forehead and, closing his eyes, breathes in deeply as if he’s trying to memorize his scent. When his eyes open, they meet mine. He gives me a sad smile that has my heart breaking in two, as he takes my face in his hands. “I love you, Micaela,” he murmurs against my lips.
And then with one last soul-crushing kiss, he disappears.
Micaela
Four Months Later
Ryan: Send me a pic of RJ
Me: <insert pic from earlier>
Ryan: He’s in his pajamas from this morning. I want a current one.
Me: Can’t… He’s not with me right now.
Ryan: :(
Me: Don’t give me that. It’s been a long day. He was up all night, and I’m exhausted. I’m relaxing in the bath.
Ryan: The bath? As in… you’re naked? I’ll just take a picture of you then.
Me: Ha ha ha
Ryan: Who’s laughing?
Me: <insert picture of my feet>
Ryan: Fucking sexy feet
Ryan: <insert picture of his crotch> I’m hard.
I crack up laughing and text him back.
Me: You must be really desperate to be turned on by feet.
Ryan: Every part of you turns me on.
Me: Should I send you a picture of my nose next? How about my knees? I’ve been told I have some sexy knees.
Ryan: You already know I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.
I smile at his last text, knowing he’s serious. The last four months have been rough for him. He’s missing RJ—and me—like crazy, and he makes it a point to tell me that every day. Thankfully, with technology, we’re able to text every day, as well as send pictures back and forth. We’ve even video chatted a few times, but the service isn’t good and it breaks up. When he’s out doing whatever he does—he’s very vague on the details and I don’t push—it can be several hours before he replies, but we haven’t gone more than twelve hours without communicating.
At first, the texting was a little formal—kind of awkward. I was worried every day that he wouldn’t respond and I would get a call similar to the one I got with Ian—and I would get that call, because he added me to his next-of-kin paperwork, so if anything does happen, I will be the first to know. Because of that, I tried to keep my distance. But when your only form of communication is texting, you have no choice but to eventually warm up to it. And since you’re hidden behind a screen it’s easy to say things you normally wouldn’t say to someone’s face. Late night chats have turned personal—although we steer clear of anything regarding the future, keeping it about our past and present.