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“Dude, how are you settling in?”
“It’s—different than I remember. Which doesn’t make sense since it’s only been two years since I was last in the Regiment.”
“Not to me. Stepping away from it all—it completely changes perspective.”
I like that he gets it and am immediately grateful I called him. “Yeah.”
“Any talk about going OCONUS?”
“Nah. No travel yet. Just a lot of training right now.”
“Always training for the Bad Day and hoping it doesn’t come,” he says, and I’d swear from his tone that he seems to miss it. “And drinking, I’ll bet,” he adds probably because he remembers that party mentality that goes hand in hand with being in Special Ops when our rotation allows.
He was a SEAL. I’ve heard it’s similar.
“I’ve avoided the brunt of that so far,” I tell him, since he knows a little more of my backstory than most of the other guys who shared our office at the Pentagon. “Helps to come out to Tybee on the weekends.”
“Freya and I really have to go down there sometime,” he says.
“You’d love it. Oh—and tell Freya I tried that pie she was pushing on me,” I can’t help adding, only because I’m curious how he knows that Millie woman.
“Pie?”
“Yeah. At the diner she was talking about on Tybee.”
He pauses for a beat. “Oh, you did?” His tone sounds a little… off.
“Yeah. Delicious.”
“You, uh, met Millie then?”
“Yep.” I open my mouth to say more when I hesitate, asking, “She’s not related to you or something, is she?”
“Uh, no.”
I feel a measure of relief. “Well, then I’ll tell you that she kind of has a rod up her ass.”
He pauses again. “Really?”
“Yeah. Reminds me of those women who pick up rich, married senators at the Old Ebbitt Grill in DC.”
“Seriously? I never got that vibe from her.”
I chuckle. “Dude, you’re happily married. You don’t pick up onanythingwhen it comes to women. Her pie is the best though, so thank Freya for me.”
“Sure, I’ll pass it along.”
“Is Commander Riley still busting your balls about the Fleet Logistics briefing?” I change the topic because, even though I dislike Millie, it just doesn’t settle well with me—talking smack about anyone behind their back.
It’s good to talk to him, I consider as we spend the next half hour catching up.
As much as I love the idea of being back with my battalion, I kind of miss the diversity of my friends I made in DC. All different kinds of people. Military, contractors, civilians.
It was so different from other jobs I’ve had in the military where the people I hang out with all look like cookie cutter versions of myself. Jobs like the one I have now. These days, I look at my battalion and feel like God highlighted one of us and then just kept hitting “Copy, Paste.”
I used to like it—being with a bunch of equally driven Type A guys, always trying to one-up each other. It made me stronger, faster, sharper.
But now? It feels different.
