Page 9 of Have To Be Mine

“Right?” I walked toward the bed. “And wait, it gets better. They sent me a whole wardrobe.” I picked up a silk blouse that probably cost what I used to make in a week during my first deployment. “Look at this thing. I don’t even know how to wash it.”

“Don’t you dare put that in a washing machine,” Dad said, laughing. “Your mother would come back from the grave to smack you upside the head.”

I held up the blouse against my chest. “Do I look like someone who wears silk?”

“You look like someone who’s going to ruin that silk within twenty-four hours.”

“Probably.” I tossed it back on the bed and grabbed a pair of heels. “And these. Dad, these are Louboutin’s.”

“Loubi-whats?”

“Exactly.” I turned one over to show him the red sole. “They have red bottoms. That means they’re expensive.”

“How expensive?”

“I Googled it. Don’t ask.”

He laughed, that deep belly laugh I’d grown up with. The sound of it made my chest ache in a good way. I missed him. Missed our Sunday morning coffee talks when I was stateside.

“Show me what else they got you,” he said. “This is better than morning TV.”

I set the phone down, propping it against a pillow so he could see, then started holding up items one by one. A cocktail dress. Another dress. Three more dresses all from the Blackwell line. Dress suits. Stuff I would never buy for myself.

“They really think you’re going to wear all that?” Dad asked.

“I think they’re hoping I’ll blend in with the rich people.”

“You’ve never blended in a day in your life, kid.”

“Thanks for that.” I moved to the dresser and picked up one of the smaller boxes. Inside was a bottle of perfume, the glass cut in an intricate pattern that caught the light. I pulled it out and held it up to the camera. “And this. Look at this thing. It’s perfume, Dad. It probably costs more than my car payment.”

I unscrewed the cap and took a tentative sniff. “Oh my God, it actually smells good. Like really good. Damn it.”

“What’s it smell like?”

“Like I robbed a rich lady.” I set it down and picked up another bottle. “And there’s more. Look, there’s like six different bottles here. Who needs six perfumes?”

“Women who have more money than sense,” Dad said. “Or women who marry men with more money than sense.”

“I’m neither of those things.”

“No, you’re not. You’re the kid who used to come home from school covered in mud because you were playing tackle football with the boys.”

“In my defense, I was better than most of them.”

“You were better than all of them.” Pride colored his voice. “Your grandfather would’ve loved to see you in uniform. You made us both proud.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

I picked up another bottle and held it to the camera. “This is face cream. Face cream, Dad. It’s three hundred dollars.”

“Whose face is it made of?”

I set it down and laughed, knowing he was playing. I picked up a smaller jar. “And this one is eye cream. Separate cream just for eyes. Because apparently regular cream isn’t good enough for the skin around my eyeballs.”

Dad was laughing again, shaking his head. “I raised you in combat boots and cargo pants. Look at you now.”

“I’m still wearing combat boots when they’re not looking.”