After a sigh and a pause. “Some bullshit training gig at Lejeune,” he said, his brows knitted tightly.
I wanted to jump up and down and squeal I was so excited. I didn’t though, knowing that being sent to a training command was as far down on David’s list of desired jobs as recruiting was. He often compared training to glorified babysitting. I was happy, because to me, training represented very few opportunities for real danger.
I contorted my lip, trying to fake mutually bummed.
“Sorry,” I said.
David tossed the envelope onto the coffee table and plopped down on the couch.
“Yeah,” he grumbled.
I took a seat next to him. David leaned back into the deep cushions and threw his arm around my shoulders. As he raised his legs to prop his feet up on the coffee table he stopped short. He appeared briefly startled, sitting up and dropping his feet. His boots hit the wood floor with a solid thud.
“It’s clean,” he said, finally noticing the lack of Chinese take-out boxes and empty whiskey glasses.
“Yup,” I replied nonchalantly, pretending the task was nothing out of the ordinary.
He looked at me and stood. “You did this?”
“Yup.”
“By yourself?” he asked in disbelief.
I rolled my eyes. “Duh.”
As slight as it was, it was the first smile that dared to cross David’s lips since he was deployed. The house was in dire need of the attention, but I could tell by his appreciative expression that it meant more to him than just a task needing completion.
David sat again, sighing. “It looks great, kid.” he said, nudging me with his shoulder. “Thanks.”
“Yup.” I smiled back.
I contemplated telling him, while he was feeling so grateful, that I dumped all of his really expensive whiskey too. I flinched at the thought. No, I said to myself. Why ruin a perfectly good moment?

Comments
  1. Yes, telling David about the whiskey is definitely classifiable as “too much information.”

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