They were arguing about who was better: the Mets or the Yankees. I felt the unfamiliar sensation of a smile pulling at my lips.
I couldn’t help the question that tumbled out of me.
“You think the Yankees will clinch the season, or can Boston take them?”
In Pashto.
They stared at me, then came rushing forwards, asking me how I was speaking their language, who was I, where was I from? I felt Caro tense up as they surrounded me, but I squeezed her hand and spent a few minutes talking; just talking, like a normal human being.
A part of me felt like maybe I should hate them because their countrymen had killed my friends, but I just couldn’t. They were here, in Long Beach, as far away from the war as I was. And so we talked. They invited me to have tea with them. I said maybe I would another time.
They told me I had a beautiful wife. I didn’t correct them.
As I walked away, Caro tugged on my arm.
“What on earth were you talking about for so long?”
“Baseball,” I replied with a smile.
She stared at me doubtfully.
“You’re kidding me?”
I winked at her.
“Universal language, Caro.”
And somehow, for the dumbest of reasons, the world began to turn again.
I knew I had to get my ass into gear and make some changes—for myself as well as for Caro. I started by doing the exercises that the therapist had given me: some were to help build up dexterity in the fingers of my left hand, plus leg stretches to help the damaged muscles of my right thigh. I even started to use the exercise bike that Caro had ordered for me—although I hated the fact that it was static and I didn’t go anywhere, just peddling meaninglessly. That could have described my fucking life. But I’d try. For Caro, I’d try.
But I missed being able to go for a run—I guess those days were over. I did crunches, push-ups, and pull-ups hanging from the doorframe. I pushed myself harder each time.
Then one day I dared myself to look in the mirror. My hair was shaggy and falling into my eyes. It was blonder, too, the ends bleached by the sun. I hadn’t seen it like that in a long while. I didn’t mind it, but the beard had to go. I think I blunted an entire razor getting rid of the face fuzz. The skin underneath was soft and slightly paler than my cheeks.
Caro was making supper, and spicy tomato smells were filling the small rooms. I took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe and looking at her expectantly.
She stared at me for a moment before she realized what she was seeing.
“You’ve shaved!” she gasped.
I smiled tentatively.
“Well, you didn’t like the beard, did you?”
“That’s putting it mildly, Sebastian.”
Her eyes roamed over my face, a hopeful smile on her lips.
I walked across to her and let my hands wrap around her waist, leaning my face into her hair and breathing her in. But her body tensed immediately and I pulled away.
I couldn’t blame her—it had been so long since I’d done anything more than hold her hand. Maybe she didn’t want this. Maybe she didn’t want anything more from me. My heart stuttered.
Oh God, please don’t let me have fucked this up, too.
But she grabbed my hands and pulled my arms back around her waist, laying her head on my chest. And then she started to cry.
Guilt and grief filled me for what I’d done to this amazing woman.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” I said, stroking her hair.
“Oh, God, I’ve missed you, Sebastian.”
“I know, baby, but I’m here now.”
It felt so good to have my arms around her again, and I regretted every time I’d pushed her away, every time I’d refused to speak, every time I’d yelled at her, my anger that had boiled over four and five times a day.
She lifted her head to look at me and I wiped her tears away with my thumbs.
“I’m sorry I made you cry, baby,” I said, my heart breaking for this beautiful, amazing woman who had refused to give up on me, even though I’d given up on myself. “I never meant to hurt you. I know that I did.”
She locked her arms around my neck, pulling my head down, kissing me with increasing hunger and need.
I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then my lips parted and I kissed her back, my tongue sweeping into her mouth, stroking and tasting her, the intimacy of a shared kiss. It was unexpected and necessary and scary as all fuck.
She moaned into my mouth, the intensity of her desire taking me by surprise. I couldn’t help pulling back, trying to contain the rush of confusing emotions that exploded through me. Need and want and desire and fear.
I knew how dumb and stupid and crazy it was; I’d slept with God knows how many hundreds of women, but now…
I wanted to, I just didn’t know if I could. And I didn’t want to fail at this, as well. I was so fucked in the head. Shit shit shit!
Her eyes were brimming with tears again, and I could tell she thought I was going to push her away. I was afraid to open up any more of myself, to be that vulnerable again. But she was Caro, and she was my woman.
I took a deep breath and looked into her eyes, into her soul.
“I want to make love to you, Caro.”
My voice was so quiet I wasn’t even sure she’d heard me, but her eyes widened.
“You do?” she whispered.
“God yes, baby.” I hesitated. “Only if you want to.”
She stared at me, searching my face. I don’t know what she found, but her eyes fluttered closed before she smiled up at me gently.
“I’ve waited and waited to hear you say that, tesoro.”
She turned off the gas stove, abandoning the pasta, then reached for my hand. My eyes didn’t leave hers as she led us into the bedroom.
The last time we’d made love it had been in a stinking mud-built room, in a shithole in Afghanistan; now it was very different.
I stood nervously next to the bed, having no moves, no smooth lines, uncertain what to do and what to say. It was a lot like the first time she’d ever touched me this way; I was lost then, too.
She pulled the curtains, shutting out the sun so the light was muted.
Then she walked up to me and stroked my cheek soothingly. I leaned into her hand and my eyes closed.
“I don’t know if I can…” I admitted, hating to feel so weak.
“Shh, tesoro,” she said gently. “I just want to feel your skin next to mine. Anything else, well, that’s a bonus.”
Just laying on the bed together? My body relaxed, some of the tension leaving. But a small part of me was disappointed, as well.
We kissed slowly, almost carefully, remembering, relearning, starting again. But then I felt the first heat of desire warm my blood, and I felt … alive. I swept her long, thick hair from her neck and ran my tongue up to her jaw, tasting, touching, wanting. My hands massaged her waist, letting my fingers sink into her soft flesh. Without permission, my right hand crept up her body, hovering over her bra strap, before my left hand slowly reached down to cup her round, curvy ass.
She groaned with pleasure, and another shot of desire pulsed through me. I tried to ignore the fact that I wasn’t hard, but as soon as I had that thought, any hint of an erection disappeared. Despair filled me, but then Caro took over, maybe sensing my unease.
She pushed her hands under my t-shirt, stroking my stomach and chest. I felt her fingers trace around the small scar on my shoulder where the bullet had punctured my lung, and the larger scar on my back where it had exited. I tensed immediately, so she moved her hand away, instead letting her fingers stroke down my spine.
I kissed her again, this time letting my hands find their own place. My fingers wove into her hair and I pulled her toward me more tightly. I wanted her—I needed this.
Please God let me have this moment with this woman.
Gently, she reached for my t-shirt, and I hesitated before I let her pull it over my head, embarrassed by how thin I’d become. I was getting back some muscle tone, but I’d changed. Fuck, I’d changed. I think she was searching for my dog tags, but I’d taken them off the first night. I was going to toss them, but in the end I threw them to the back of a drawer. I hadn’t looked at them again.