Paul discovered that being in love was easy.
Being available was not.
He learned this on a Thursday evening when Veronica arrived at his apartment, knocked twice, and waited. Paul opened the door wearing a black shirt, grey trousers, and the expression of a man who had just been interrupted during something important. Veronica looked past him.
-Are you busy?
-Yes.
-With what?
-Nothing.
-Then you're not busy.
-I was doing it seriously.
She stepped inside. Paul moved aside. Veronica looked around the apartment.
The place was clean enough to avoid embarrassment, but not clean enough to suggest effort. A jacket hung from the back of a chair. Two empty mugs sat on the table. A pair of boots had been abandoned beside the sofa.
She pointed at them.
-Are those yours?
-No.
-Then why are they here?
-Maybe someone left them.
-Who?
-I don't know.
-Paul.
He looked at the boots. Then at her.
-Fine. They're mine.
-Why did you say you didn't know?
-I was hoping you'd accept the mystery.
She picked up one of the mugs.
-Is this clean?
-Yes.
She sniffed it.
-It smells like coffee.
-That's usually what happens with coffee mugs.
-When did you last wash it?
Paul paused. Veronica narrowed her eyes.
-Paul.
-Recently.
-How recently?
-Define recently.
She put the mug down.
-You're disgusting.
-I'm a soldier.
-That doesn't make you immune to soap.
Paul walked toward the kitchen.
-I was going to wash them.
-When?
-Eventually.
-That's not a time.
-It is if you're patient.
Veronica followed him.
-Move.
-Why?
-Because I'm washing these.
Paul looked at the dishes in the sink. There were four mugs, two plates, a pan, and something that might once have been a spoon.
-You don't have to do that.
-I know.
-Then why are you doing it?
-Because if I leave them here, you'll probably name them and start considering them family.
Paul leaned against the counter.
-You're judging me.
-I'm observing.
-That's worse.
She turned on the tap.
-You have no food.
-I have food.
-Where?
Paul pointed toward a cabinet. Veronica opened it. Inside were three packets of instant noodles, a box of cereal, and a protein bar. She stared at the contents.
-That's not food.
-Of course it is.
-This is what you eat?
-Sometimes.
-What do you eat the other times?
Paul considered the question.
-More expensive food.
She closed the cabinet.
-You're coming with me.
-Where?
-Grocery shopping.
-I don't need groceries.
-You need something that didn't come in a packet.
-I have cereal.
-Paul.
-What?
-Put on your shoes.
The supermarket was crowded. Paul immediately regretted coming. Veronica pushed the cart while he walked beside her, looking as though he had been brought there against his will. He picked up a packet of chips.
Veronica took it from his hand and returned it to the shelf.
-No.
-Why?
-Because you already eat like a sixteen-year-old.
-I am not sixteen.
-Your diet disagrees.
Paul reached for another packet. She slapped his hand away.
-Stop shopping like a hostage.
-I don't know what that means.
-It means you're grabbing the first thing you see and hoping the experience ends quickly.
-That is exactly what shopping is.
-No, it isn't.
-What else is there?
-Planning.
Paul looked at the cart. It contained vegetables, rice, chicken, eggs, fruit, milk, bread, and several items he couldn't identify.
-Planning seems expensive.
-Living on noodles is also expensive.
-How?
-Medical bills.
-I don't get sick.
-You once went three days without sleeping because you forgot you were tired.
-That was different.
-How?
-There was a mission.
-There was no mission.
-There could have been.
Veronica stopped pushing the cart.
-Do you hear yourself?
Paul looked around. A child nearby was staring at them. Paul lowered his voice.
-Not usually.
She sighed and continued walking. At the next aisle, Paul placed a large bag of coffee into the cart. Veronica looked at it.
-You already have coffee.
-This is better.
-How do you know?
-I've seen it before.
-That isn't how coffee works.
-It is how advertisements work.
She picked up the bag.
-This costs almost twice as much.
-Then it's twice as good.
-That's not a real system.
-It is a very successful system.
Veronica put it back. Paul quietly picked it up again. She caught him.
-Did you just wait for me to look away?
-No.
-You did.
-I was checking the label.
-You were checking whether I was watching.
-Those are similar activities.
She stared at him. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed. Paul smiled.
-What?
-Nothing.
He pointed at her.
-No.
-No what?
-Don't start.
-I'm not starting anything.
-You are.
She pushed the cart forward.
-You're paranoid.
-I'm observant.
-That's what you said earlier.
-Because it's accurate.
They argued over almost everything. Paul wanted a larger apartment. Veronica wanted a place closer to the OPESTM facility. Paul wanted a vehicle with more power. Veronica wanted one that didn't sound like it was preparing for war. Paul wanted to eat outside. Veronica wanted to cook. Paul thought cooking meant heating something. Veronica disagreed strongly. At the checkout counter, the cashier scanned their items while Paul watched the total increase. When the final amount appeared, he looked at Veronica.
-That's a lot.
She took out her card.
-I'll pay half.
-Why?
-Because I'm taking half the food.
-You're taking most of the food.
-You should be grateful I'm improving your life.
Paul glanced at the receipt
-You bought six types of vegetables.
-Seven.
-Why?
-Because people eat vegetables.
-People also eat meat.
-We bought meat.
-Not enough.
-We bought enough for a week.
Paul looked offended.
-A week?
-Yes.
-What if I'm hungry?
-Then eat the food.
-What if I'm still hungry?
-Then eat more food.
He looked at her. She looked back. The cashier tried not to smile. Paul lowered his voice.
-You're enjoying this.
-Immensely.
Back at Paul's apartment, Veronica began arranging the groceries. Paul stood in the kitchen doorway.
-You don't have to organize everything.
-I know.
-You keep saying that.
-Because you keep saying I don't have to.
She placed the rice in a cabinet.
-Where do you keep spices?
Paul pointed. She opened the cabinet. There was salt. Nothing else. She slowly turned around.
-Where is the rest?
-The rest of what?
-Spices.
-Salt is a spice. In fact the best of all spices.
-No, it isn't.
-It makes food taste better.
-So does pepper.
-I don't have pepper.
-Clearly I can see that.
Paul opened the refrigerator. Inside were two bottles of water, a half-empty carton of milk, and a sauce packet. Veronica stared into it. Then closed the door.
-Do you actually live here?
-Yes.
-Are you sure?
-I have documents.
-I'm beginning to doubt that.
Paul took the chicken from the bag.
-What are you making?
-Dinner.
-What kind?
-Something edible.
-That narrows it down.
She pointed toward the living room.
-Go.
-Why?
-Because you're standing in the way.
-I can help.
-Can you cut vegetables?
-Yes.
-Can you cut them without turning the kitchen into a crime scene?
Paul hesitated.
-That depends on the vegetables.
-Go sit down.
He didn't move. Veronica picked up a knife. Paul immediately stepped back.
-Fine.
For the next forty minutes, Paul sat on the sofa while Veronica cooked. He watched her move around the kitchen. She worked quickly, confidently, and with the kind of focus she usually reserved for combat operations. Paul eventually spoke.
-You know, you're treating that chicken like an enemy.
-It's resisting.
-It's dead.
-That doesn't mean it's cooperating.
He smiled. A few minutes later, she called from the kitchen.
-Paul.
-Yeah?
-Where's the cutting board?
-Which one?
-There are two?
-No.
-Then the one.
He stood up.
-Where do you keep it?
-That's what I'm asking you.
-You live here?
-No.
-Then why are you asking me?
-Because you brought me here.
-You came voluntarily.
-Paul.
-Right. Cutting board.
He searched through two cabinets, a drawer, and a shelf. Finally, he found it behind the microwave. Veronica stared at him.
-Why was it there?
-I don't know.
-You put it there.
-I don't remember.
-You live like a criminal.
-That's a strong accusation.
-It's an accurate one.
He handed her the board. She took it without thanking him. Paul waited. She looked up.
-What?
-Nothing.
-You're waiting for something.
-I'm waiting for basic courtesy.
-Thank you.
-Now that's better.
She turned back to the stove.
-Now leave.
Dinner was better than Paul expected. He ate quietly for several minutes. Veronica watched him from across the table.
Well?
Paul continued eating.
-Paul.
He swallowed.
-It's good.
-Just good.
He took another bite.
-Very good.
-You sound like a judge trying not to compliment someone.
-I'm complimenting you.
-You're reviewing the food.
-Isn't that the same thing?
-No
-Then what do you want me to say.
She leaned back.
I don't know. Something honest.
Paul put down his fork.
-Fine. It's the best thing I've eaten in months.
Veronica's expression softened.
-That's because you've been eating noodles.
-Still counts.
She smiled. Then pointed at his plate.
-Slow down.
-Why?
-Because you're eating like someone might take it away.
-That's how you eat when you're hungry.
-You've had three servings.
-Exactly.
-Paul.
-What?
-You're going to make yourself sick.
He stopped. For a moment, the tone shifted. Not dramatically. Just enough. Veronica looked down at her own plate.
-You don't have to act like every meal is your last.
Paul's smile faded. He leaned back.
-I know.
-Do you?
He didn't answer immediately. She seemed to realize the question had gone somewhere neither of them intended.
-Sorry, she said.
Paul shook his head.
-It's fine.
-No. I didn't mean….
-I know what you meant.
-Do you?
He looked at her.
-Yes.
The silence that followed was different from the old silences. It wasn't romantic. It wasn't beautiful. It was uncomfortable, because both of them knew there were things they still didn't know how to discuss. Paul picked up his glass.
-I'm not eating like it's my last meal.
Veronica looked at him.
-Then why?
He thought about it.
-Because when I was younger, I never knew when the next meal would be. She said nothing. Paul continued before she could ask.
-Not because we were poor. My father just believed eating was something you did after everything else was finished.
-Everything else?
-Work. Training. Problems. Whatever needed to be done.
-And you believed him?
-I was twelve.
Veronica lowered her eyes. Paul shrugged.
-Now I eat when I can.
-That sounds exhausting.
-It isn't
-It sounds like you don't know how to stop.
Paul looked at his plate.
-Maybe.
This time, he didn't turn it into a joke. Neither did she. After dinner, Veronica washed the dishes. Paul dried them. It took him three attempts to put the plates in the correct cabinet.
On the fourth attempt, Veronica stopped him.
-Other side.
Paul looked at the cabinet.
-Why?
-Because that's where they go.
-They fit here.
-That's not the point.
-What is the point?
-The point is that things have places.
Paul looked at her.
-Why does that matter?
-Because if everything is everywhere, you can't find anything.
-I found the plates.
-After putting them in the wrong place three times.
-But I found them.
Veronica stared at him.
-You are exhausting.
-Yet you invited me to dinner.
-You invited me into your apartment.
-Technically, you invited yourself.
-Then you should have locked the door.
Paul laughed. She tried not to smile. She failed. Later, they sat on the balcony. The city was alive beneath them. Traffic moved through the streets. Lights glowed in apartment windows. Somewhere nearby, music played loudly enough to be irritating but not loud enough to identify.
Veronica rested her elbows on the railing. Paul sat in a chair beside her. For several minutes, they discussed nothing important. A badly parked vehicle. A neighbor who shouted into his phone. The restaurant they had passed earlier.
The terrible movie Paul still wanted her to watch. Then Veronica said,
-We should find a place.
Paul turned toward her.
-A place?
-To live.
He blinked.
-Here?
-Not here.
-Why not? What's wrong with this apartment?
She looked around the apartment.
-Do you honestly want to live here?
Paul looked around too. The jacket. The mugs. The boots. The nearly empty refrigerator. He considered lying. Then decided against it.
-No.
-Good.
-But I like it here.
-Why?
-It's mine.
Veronica nodded.
-I know.
-And I know you don't live here.
-I know that too.
-So what's the problem?
-The problem is that we spend almost every day together, but we live as if we're waiting for permission.
Paul frowned.
-Permission from who?
-From ourselves, apparently.
He leaned back.
-We're not married.
-I know.
-We're soldiers.
-I know that too
-Our schedules are messy.
-Yes.
-We might be deployed at any time.
-Yes, Paul.
He looked at her.
-Then why are we discussing this?
-Because none of those things are going to improve.
That stopped him. Veronica turned toward him.
-We keep saying we'll do things later. We'll travel later. We'll get a better place later. We'll have time later.
Paul looked down at his hands.
-What's wrong with later?
-Nothing.
-Then why are you angry?
-I'm not angry.
-You're using your angry voice.
-I have one voice.
-You have at least six.
She pointed at him.
-Don't change the subject.
-I wasn't
-You were.
Paul looked toward the street. Veronica continued.
-I don't want to wait until we're too busy to have a life.
-We have a life.
-We have assignments.
-That's part of life.
-It's not all of it.
Paul didn't answer. She exhaled and rubbed her forehead.
-I'm not asking you to marry me tomorrow.
-Good.
-Paul!!!
-Sorry. I didn't realize I was loud.
Veronica sighs then continues.
-I'm asking whether you can imagine something beyond the next mission.
He looked at her.
-Of course I can.
-Then what does it look like?
Paul opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Veronica watched him. He looked annoyed not at her, but at himself.
-I don't know, he admitted.
-That's okay.
-No, it isn't.
-Why not?
-Because you keep asking me questions I should know the answers to.
-I'm not asking you to know everything.
-Feels like it.
-Then you're hearing it wrong.
Paul stood and walked toward the railing. Below them, a bus stopped at a traffic signal. He watched people get off. Some were carrying groceries. Some were talking. One man held a sleeping child against his shoulder.
Paul looked away.
-I've never been good at planning a future.
Veronica stood beside him.
-Why?
-Because every time I planned something, something else happened.
-That happens to everyone.
-Not like this.
She didn't argue. Paul continued.
-I thought I'd become a Grand Super Soldier. I thought I'd rise through OPESTM. I thought I'd keep getting stronger until there was nothing left to prove.
-And now?
-Now I don't know if I even want that.
Veronica studied him.
-Because of me?
Paul shook his head.
-No.
-Then because of what happened?
-Maybe.
She looked down at the street.
-What do you want, Paul?
He laughed once, without humor.
-You really like that question.
-Because you keep avoiding it.
He thought for a long time. Then said,
-I want a place where I don't have to be ready to leave.
Veronica didn't respond immediately. Paul looked at her.
-That's not a very impressive dream.
-It doesn't have to be impressive.
-Tell me about yourself. What do you want?
-I want a lot of things.
-Like what?
She began counting on her fingers.
-A house with a kitchen that doesn't look like a storage room. A room with windows. A garden.
-A garden?
-Yes.
-You've never kept a plant alive.
-That was one plant.
-It died in three days.
-It was weak.
-It was a cactus.
-Exactly. Very dramatic.
Paul laughed. She continued.
-I want to wake up without checking the emergency channel first.
-That may be impossible.
-I know.
-I want a vehicle that doesn't need military clearance to operate.
-Reasonable.
-I want to take a trip and not spend the whole time calculating escape routes.
-Unreasonable.
-See? This is why we need a normal life. You don't even know what normal is.
Paul smiled.
-What else?
Veronica looked away.
-Maybe a family.
The words were quiet. Not dramatic. But Paul heard them. He turned toward her. She didn't look at him.
-Not now, she said quickly. -I'm not saying now.
-I know.
-And I'm not saying we need to decide anything.
-I know.
-I just mean someday.
Paul looked toward the city again.
-Someday sounds dangerous.
-Everything sounds dangerous to you.
-That's because most things are.
She looked at him.
-Would you want that?
Paul didn't answer immediately. Then he said,
-With you?
Veronica gave him a sharp look.
-Obviously with me. I'm not asking whether you want to start a family with the cashier from the supermarket.
Paul considered it.
-She seemed nice.
Veronica hit his arm. He laughed. Then his expression settled.
-Yes, he said.
She looked at him.
-Yes?
-Yes. With you.
Veronica looked away before he could see how much the answer affected her. Paul added,
-But I don't know if I'd be good at it.
-You're not good at grocery shopping.
-Exactly.
-That's not the same thing.
-How do you know?
-Because nobody expects you to raise a supermarket.
Paul nodded thoughtfully.
-That is true.
She laughed. The tension eased. But neither of them forgot what had been said.
A week later, they began looking at apartments. The first one was too small. The second one was too expensive. The third one had a beautiful view and a landlord who asked too many questions. The fourth one was near the facility but directly beside a construction site. The fifth one had a large kitchen. Veronica loved it. Paul hated the stairs.
-There are four floors, he said.
-It's not that many.
-We can fly.
-We're not flying to the bedroom.
-Why not?
-Because people live here.
-They can look away.
She turned toward the agent.
-We'll think about it.
Paul waited until they were outside.
-You liked it.
-I did.
-You hated the stairs.
-I didn't hate them.
-You called them an architectural insult.
-They were.
-Then why are we considering it?
-Because it has space.
-For what?
She looked at him.
-For the things we don't have yet.
Veronica said nothing. The apartment building stood behind them. Four floors. A small balcony. A kitchen large enough for two people to move around without fighting. He looked back at it.
-It's expensive.
-We can afford it.
-Barely.
-We both work. We also both get deployed.
-That doesn't change the rent. It changes whether we can enjoy the apartment.
Veronica crossed her arms.
-You're doing it again.
-Doing what?
-Finding reasons not to want something.
Paul frowned.
-I want it.
-Then why are you arguing?
-Because wanting something doesn't mean it's smart.
She looked at him for a moment. Then nodded.
-Fine
-Fine?"
-Fine. We won't take it.
Paul glanced at her.
-That's not what I said.
-You said it wasn't smart.
-I said…
-You said it.
She started walking. Paul followed.
-Veronica.
-What?
-I didn't say I didn't want it.
-You didn't say you did.
He stopped. She continued walking, then realized he wasn't beside her. She turned around. Paul stood near the entrance, frustrated.
-I want it, he said.
Veronica waited.
-I want the apartment. I want the kitchen. I want the balcony. I want to come home and find you there.
His voice was sharper than he intended.
-But I don't want to promise something I can't guarantee.
She walked back toward him.
-I'm not asking for a guarantee.
-Then what are you asking for?
-For you to stop treating every good thing like it's a trap.
Paul looked at her. She continued before he could respond.
-I know what we do. I know what can happen. I know we might get called away tomorrow. But if we keep waiting for a time when nothing can go wrong, we'll never do anything.
Paul looked away. The construction noise from the neighboring building filled the silence. Finally, he said,
-You make it sound simple.
-It isn't simple
-Then why do you talk like it is?
-Because if I talk like it's impossible, you'll believe me.
Paul looked back at her. That answer stayed between them. Not because it solved anything. Because it was honest. They didn't take the apartment that day. They went back to the facility. They trained. They attended separate briefings. They answered calls. They returned to their duties.
But three days later, Paul submitted the application. He didn't tell Veronica. She found out when the property manager called her to confirm the second applicant's details.
That evening, she arrived at his apartment holding the paperwork. Paul opened the door. She held up the documents.
-You applied.
Paul looked at the papers.
-Apparently.
-You didn't tell me.
-I was going to.
-When
-Sooner.
She stared at him. He sighed.
-I'm sorry.
Veronica lowered the papers.
-Why didn't you tell me?
-Because I knew you'd ask if I was sure.
-Are you?
Paul looked at her.
-No.
She waited. He continued.
-But I don't think being unsure means we shouldn't do it.
Veronica's expression changed. Paul leaned against the doorframe.
-I don't know what happens next. I don't know how long we get. I don't know if we'll be good at this.
He looked at the paperwork.
-But I know I don't want to keep living like everything good has to wait.
Veronica looked down at the documents. Then back at him.
-You signed the application?
-Yes.
-You put your name on it?
-Yes
-You used a pen?
Paul stared at her.
-What?
She smiled.
-I'm making sure.
He shook his head.
-You're impossible.
She stepped inside.
-Did you at least choose the apartment with the kitchen?
-Yes.
-The balcony?
-Yes.
-The four floors?
Paul grimaced.
-Unfortunately.
-Good.
-Good?
-Yes.
-Why?
-Because now you'll have to carry the groceries.
Paul closed the door behind her.
-We're buying an elevator.
-With what money?
-Future money.
-That's not a thing.
-It will be.
She took off her jacket and placed it over the chair. Paul watched her. Then pointed.
-Not there.
She looked at him.
-Where?
-Anywhere else.
Veronica smiled.
-Look at you. Already learning.
He took her jacket and hung it properly. She walked toward the kitchen.
-Did you wash the mugs?
Paul paused.
-Define wash.
She turned around.
-Paul.
He smiled.
-I'm working on it.
And for once, the future did not feel like something waiting to destroy them. It felt like a place they had decided to enter.
Together.
To be continued...