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She tried not to smile. “You’re a little shit, you know that?” She swatted my ass with her bar towel. “Who do you think you are comin’ back here like you own the place, boy? Go sit your ass down. I’ll bring a couple rounds, and you can introduce me to the beard.”

I did as I was told and led the guys to a high top near the kitchen doors—the worst table in the house and the only one Eilidh let me use when I was in town. It also happened to be closest to where she does her prep work, which I always ended up helping with.

Hasan leaned in. “Your mom’s sister or dad’s?” It was obvious he was carefully trying to reconcile the fact that I was white and Eilidh wasn’t.

“Neither by blood. She and my mom have been friends for decades. The rest of my family is still in Ireland, so she’s the only aunt I know.”

“What was the name she called you?”

“Ó hEacháin. It’s our family name. They put Hawkins on my birth certificate and then changed theirs to match when they got married. It wasn’t practical to keep the original Irish,” I explained.

“So they’re off the boat then,” he said before quickly adding, “Am I allowed to say that? That’s not politically incorrect, is it?”

I laughed. “They flew, actually."

Ortiz jumped in. “Have you met The Mam yet, Malik?” Hasan shook his head. “Maeve Hawkins is the hot mom I would have lusted over as a fourteen-year-old boy,” Ortiz whispered.

“Watch it, Christian,” I warned as Eilidh set two pints each at our table. A couple of the other MECEPs walked in the door, and she waved them over, while Christian continued.

“Auburn hair, green eyes, legs for da—‘’ Eilidh smacked the back of his head. His wide eyes flitted to mine. I stared back and silently mouthed La Chancla.

“I figure if they aren’t with you, they will be soon. You jarheads always gravitate toward each other,” she said, taking my beers away to give to the new guys. “Oh, am I not supposed to say that? Is it politically incorrect?” she added sarcastically, side-eyeing my roommate.

“Oh my god, is she giving me shit?” Hasan looked around, bewildered. She winked at him, and he grinned.

“Yo, this is Jackson and Brooks.” Ortiz gestured from each of them to each of us, “This is Hawkins, his roommate Malik, and this lovely Swan is Ms. Eilidh.”

“Ma’am.” They both nodded to her before shaking our outstretched hands.

We shot the shit for a couple of hours, Eilidh doing her damnedest to keep us from getting thirsty, and I pilfered some pretzels from the back for the table. Miller, a sergeant the same year as me, joined us about an hour after Jackson and Brooks. Malik fit seamlessly into our ragtag crew of Marines, and he shared a lot of interesting background on biomedical research and how it affected guys we knew who were injured in combat. I was relieved that he didn’t seem intimidated or uncomfortable around us and had no issue telling his own stories and ribbing the rest of us when we told ours. He didn’t balk at our off-color jokes, and more importantly, he hadn’t given me any reason to think he was holding a grudge about earlier today.

Hasan’s phone vibrated on the table: Louisa Ford. Why doesn’t her name sound familiar at all?

“Hey, guys, I’m going to take this outside,” he said, putting the phone to his ear.

A guy I went to high school with dropped a couple of baskets of wings at our table.

“Mike, how are you doing?” I asked, reaching out to shake his hand politely. I’d never been a fan of his.

“Doing well, man, good to see you back home. How’s your mom?”

My expression hardened. I’d caught shit about my mom since I was in elementary school. She was incredibly beautiful, still is, and I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely asking.

“She’s good. Still out of your league,” I said.

His responding smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t I know it. I see her here sometimes and always ask about you.”

Ortiz wore a knowing smirk. “Sure, you do. You’re a man of the people,” he said. I scowled at them, but if it had been anyone else’s mom, I’d have joined in.

“How do you know Hasan?” Mike asked.

“He’s my roommate,” I answered, surprised that they knew each other. “Are you guys friends?”

“We hung out a bit last year. We both got busy and haven’t stayed in touch. I almost didn’t recognize him with the beard,” he said.

Just then, Hasan walked back inside, his face grim, and my pulse spiked.

“Everything alright?” Ortiz asked. Of course, he picked up on it immediately.