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“I’ll have to remember that,” she mused.
“Why?” I teased. “What are you going to do with that information?”
“I could make an apple pie,” she suggested.
“Have you ever made one before?” I asked.
“No,” she admitted.
“Me neither,” I said. “Mrs. Washington makes a mean one.”
“The diner pie is good,” she added.
“I used to dream of that diner pie.”
“Did you sleep over there?” she asked, turning the conversation abruptly back to serious matters.
“No,” I answered. “I haven’t slept well in almost a decade.”
I was thinking about my experience, and realized that for the first time, I was sharing parts of my life that I usually kept bottled up. It had been true that I fantasized about pie while eating powdered eggs and MREs overseas. I had never told anyone that before. It had been more than the sweet taste and crunchy texture that caused the yearning. It was everything the pie represented, the quiet streets and full pews at church, the short shorts and long hair that girls wore. Apple pie was America personified, and even though I had delayed my return, I still missed it.
Now, in the dead of night, I had found someone who understood.
“Do you miss it?” I asked. “Sleep, I mean.”
She laughed. “Of course. It’s a pain in the butt not to be able to sleep.”
“I don’t like being tired all the time, but I also don’t like being unaware of what’s going on around me,” I said.
She let that go without comment. It felt good to talk to someone who wasn’t a counselor and who wasn’t a soldier. It reminded me that there were people in the world untouched by violence. We walked around the jogging path three or four times. An hour had passed, and the sky went from jet black to inky blue. I caught Aly yawning and decided to put an end to our magical promenade.
“Go home,” I said.
She didn’t argue.
“Maybe you can get some sleep.”
She pulled out a set of car keys. “Where’s your car?”
“I don’t live too far from here,” I lied.
She blinked sleep from her eyes, her lids heavy. I had a sudden urge to kiss her, to press my lips against hers and feel the tender opening of her mouth. From the look in her eyes, I saw she was thinking the same thing. Following my instincts, I lowered my mouth to hers, tasting the cool night air that had settled against her skin.
She came alive, infused with an energy that had been missing only moments before. Our tongues met, primed for the task from all the playful banter. Her touch wasn’t greedy or overwhelming but knowledgeable and sensual. She opened to my exploration like a treasure chest beneath the waves, as if she had been waiting for me all along.
The kiss lasted a full minute, gentle yet insistent. When I drew back, she licked her lips, tasting the remnants of the moment. Exhaustion returned to her gaze almost instantly.
“Good night,” I said.
“Good night.” She grinned, heading back toward the parking lot.
I watched her go, still marveling that in this world it was safe for an unarmed person to walk alone. Afghanistan seemed like a different reality—one that I was finally coming to realize was over for me.
10
ALY
Idrove home barely able to keep my eyes open. It was a good feeling and left me with hope that I might be able to get some sleep. As soon as I fell into bed, however, my mind started turning. It revisited my ex and all his drama, the restaurant and how hard every day had been, and the embarrassment of quitting. I tried to calm down, but my heart started racing. I opened my eyes, now fully awake.
