“I’m always sparring.”
“Train like you fight, fight like you train?”
He snorted a laugh.
I studied him for a moment and then said, “You know why I’m not dating the psych major anymore?”
“No, why?”
“Not enough of a challenge.”
“Ha! I’ll have to remember that.”
* * *
The UT commencement ceremony was longer and more self-important than Erin’s high school one. The speeches were about the same, but there were more of them, and four times more graduates. The whole thing concluded with a mercifully short ceremony where a group of men and women were commissioned as Second Lieutenants in the Army and Air Force.
Christy and Wren joined us afterward, and we went to dinner at Trip’s favorite steakhouse. We were such a large party that they’d reserved a small room for us. Christy and I sat at a long table with both our families. Our fathers bonded over whiskey and war stories, while our mothers did the same over wine and stories about Christy and me growing up. She and I slowly relaxed as our parents got along famously.
Then the waiters cleared the dinner plates and brought out the champagne. Wren’s father made a short speech and thanked everyone for coming. He finished with a toast, and we drank to the graduates. Harold stood next.
“I can’t compete with a professional,” he began, “so I’ll keep this short. Christy and Wren… As your parents, we’ll always think of you as our little girls. But on this day, and for every day after, we’re proud of the women you’ve become.”
“Hear, hear!” Wren’s father agreed.
Harold nodded graciously, raised his glass, and finished with a benediction, “May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, and the rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand. Sláinte.”
We echoed the toast and drank.
“Well done, dear,” Anne said when Harold sat. “That’s always been my favorite.”
We chatted about dinner and the graduation ceremony for a few minutes before Harold swirled the dregs of his whiskey and eyed me seriously.
“We’ll be toasting you in a couple of years.”
“That’s the plan.”
“You still have time, you know. To do a two-year ROTC program.”
“Oh, dear,” Anne muttered.
“Dad, you promised,” Christy said.
My mother surprised us all. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Harold’s eyes widened slightly.
“I lost a brother,” she said coolly, “and had too many friends who lost their husbands. I will not lose my son as well.”
“Amen to that,” Harold said diplomatically.
She didn’t back down.
“Mom,” I said into the silence, “he knows.”
“Knows what?”
“What it’s like to lose a son.”
Her expression went from angry to anguished. “Oh, God! I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I— Please forgive me.”
“Nothing to forgive,” Harold said. “And you’re right, no one should have to go through that.” He touched his wife’s hand, and they shared a sad smile. “I shouldn’t’ve said anything,” he added to my mother. “It was my fault.”
“No, I’ve made a mess of things.”
“You had help. But it’s nothing that more whiskey won’t cure.”
“Amen to that,” my father muttered. He stared into his glass and then drained it.
Rich caught my eye. I thought he was going to say something barbed and mocking, but he nodded politely instead. And he was enough like Christy that I could read his expression.
She’s a good woman, your mother.
She is, I agreed silently.
“A real fighter,” he said aloud.
“Mmm.”
“At least you come by it honestly.”
* * *
The dinner eventually broke up, and we said our goodbyes to Trip and Wren and their families.
“Where are you staying?” Harold asked my father as we lingered in the parking lot.
“The Sheraton. You?”
“The same. Can I interest you in a nightcap?” He glanced at my mother. “We can talk about life after the military. Anne and I could use some advice.”
My mother knew a peace offering when she heard one. “I’d like that,” she said.
“Hey, Mom,” Erin spoke up, “d’you mind if I spend the night with Paul and Christy?”
Mom looked surprised, but Christy didn’t, and I wondered what they were up to.
“It feels kinda weird,” Erin added, “staying in a hotel room with my parents.”
“I have a spare bed in my room,” Sabrina offered. “You’re welcome to join me. We can talk more about Europe.”
Erin hedged, “Thanks, but…”
“We have a whole room she can use,” Christy said.
I cut in quickly, “Your studio? She can’t spend the night on the couch.”
“No, I was talking about my room. My old one, I mean.”
Anne sighed and leveled a silent accusation at me.
She’s your daughter, I replied with a look of my own. Then I said to Christy, “You mean she can spend the night with you, in your room.”
“No. I mean—”
“Oh, Christine,” Anne said, “stop digging. Just… stop.”
“You tried, son,” Harold said to me.
“What?” Christy said defensively. Then she thought about what she’d said. Her eyes went round with panic.
“Mmm hmm,” her mother said.
“Oh, crap,” Erin muttered. “Sorry,” she laughed. “I didn’t realize! I mean…”
“That’s enough,” Mom told her.
“Well, how was I s’posed to know?”
“I told you so,” Rich said to his father. “Want me to kill him? I might need help hiding the body, but—”
“No, son, but thank you.”
“Seriously,” Rich continued, “I don’t mind.”
“Richard,” his mother warned.
“Aw, c’mon, Mom! I never get to kill anyone. I’ll make it quick, I swear.”
“You’re worse than Daniel.”
“Now that’s just mean,” he said.
“But true. You know I’ve never enjoyed your macabre sense of humor.”
“Comes with the job, I’m afraid. Are you sure I can’t…?” He eyed me with a mixture of amusement and regret.
“Quite sure,” she said.
“Give it a rest, son,” his father told him. “You made your point. Now, what were we talking about?”
“Erin’s going to spend the night with Christine,” his wife said.
“Ah, right. Of course. And we’re going to have a nightcap with David and Beth.”
I blinked when I realized what Rich had done. Thanks, I told him with a look. For the diversion.
He sighed.
No, I mean it. I owe you.
Shit-for-brains. I didn’t do it for you. I did it for her.
* * *
Trip and Wren came home while Christy, Erin, and I were having our own nightcap in the living room.
“Mind if we join you?” he asked.
“We’re drinking ‘that Irish crap,’” Christy warned.
“Uh-oh,” he said. “I’m in trouble again, aren’t I?”
“Of course not,” she lied, saccharine-sweet. “What gave you that idea?”
He silently begged me for a lifeline.
“He knows,” I said to Christy, “and he’s sorry.”
“It’d be nice to hear him say it.”
He turned to Wren instead.
“Don’t look at me,” she laughed. “You’re the one who annoyed her.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” he told Christy. “I was probably drunk when I did… whatever, but that’s no excuse.” He snapped his fingers and suddenly remembered. “Irish crap. Right! It was the Jack Daniel’s.”
She nodded.
“Yeah, you’re right, I was a butthead.”
Her eyebrows twitched in surprise.
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Still friends?” he added.
“Yeah, okay.”