Page 11 of My All American Girl

5

SARAH

With my bags in tow, I went home. My family lived in Colorado Springs which meant I was able to spend a few weekends and every holiday at home, but this was different. I was done with the academy. It was a break before I moved on.

It was kind of like graduating high school and having a summer break before heading off to my assignment. I was looking forward to getting out of town. I loved my family, but I was anxious to spread my wings and fly. Literally.

The scent of home and the familiar surroundings were a welcome change from the regimented routine of dorm life on base. I left the bags in the car and walked along the walkway that did not have a single blade of grass growing between the stones. The lawn was freshly mowed, again no sign of weeds. I was pretty sure the weeds were too afraid to grow on my father’s lawn.

I knocked before I entered the house. It was weird to knock on the door, but I also didn’t know if it was okay for me to just walk in. I pushed open the door and looked around. I had not been home since Christmas break. The last few months I had been busting my ass studying and making sure I pulled good grades.

It was good to be home. The house was meticulously kept as always. Every piece of furniture, every decoration, every photo frame perfectly aligned. The sofa cushions were plumped up and not a speck of dust was to be found anywhere. It was my father’s military precision at work. With a father in the military, we were all in the military. We knew how to pass an inspection.

“Hello?” I called out.

“In the kitchen,” Mom said.

I walked into the kitchen and was greeted by the comforting sight of my father in regular clothes. It was a rare occurrence since most of my interactions with him at the academy had been in uniform. He was wearing a pair of cargo shorts and a pale blue polo shirt. My mother and sister, Meg, were making dinner. At least that was what they were trying to do. At the moment, they were fussing over a salad and bickering over the amount of balsamic vinegar to add to the dressing.

“I’ll do it,” I said. “You guys are going to ruin it. Or kill each other.”

“Thank goodness you leave for Columbus at the end of the summer,” Meg teased. “Is it August yet?”

I chuckled and playfully hip-bumped her. “You’ll miss me as soon as I’m gone,” I countered, knowing full well that despite our occasional disagreements, Meg and I had a strong bond.

“I’ll miss you bossing me around,” she retorted. “You’re a couple years older but think you’re my third parent.”

At nineteen, Meg and I got along well for the most part, our arguments typically revolving around trivial matters like salad dressing. We were very different people, but we embraced our differences. But there was one topic that always seemed to cause tension between us—our father. We had our reasons, buried deep beneath layers of unspoken resentment and unresolved issues. But we didn’t talk about that. It was easier to ignore and pretend there was nothing going on.

“Dinner is ready,” Mom announced.

Dad had gone outside to survey the flower beds. He walked in with a frown. “Looks like a few of the plants got a touch of cold.”

“They’ll be fine,” Mom assured him. “Wash up.”

My father commanded thousands of people and no one would ever dare mess with him, but Mom was the boss at home. She was the only one that got to order him around. She subtly guided him to the small powder room adjacent to the kitchen. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before complying.

While he was away, we set the table. It was an old one, full of nicks and scratches from years of family dinners, holiday feasts, and late-night card games. It had been moved back and forth across the US too many times to count. Its worn surface was something familiar and comforting even if it was old and marked up. It contrasted with the rigid routine of the academy.

Mom started bringing out the food. We settled around the dinner table, but no one dared reach for any food. We knew the rules. My father put his hands together and we all followed. With bowed heads, we listened as he gave thanks for the meal before us, a moment of quiet reflection before the chaos of conversation ensued.

Mom brought up the graduation ceremony. “I can’t believe you’re all graduated. You’re growing up too fast.”

“She’s far from grown up,” Meg said with a sarcastic laugh.

I rolled my eyes and pushed my hair back. I heard Mom’s gasp and quickly put my hair back to cover the side of my face, but it was too late.

Mom noticed the faint purple mark on my cheek. I cursed inwardly.

“Sarah! What is that?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s something,” she said and reached over to push my hair back. “Is that a bruise? It’s a cut!”

“It’s not a big deal,” I said. “It’s just a little bruise.”

Meg couldn’t help but snicker as she took a bite of her salad. “A shiner, you mean?” she teased.