By the time Paul returned from his morning assignment, Veronica had already left for hers. She had left a note on the kitchen counter. There's food in the refrigerator. Don't pretend you forgot how to use it.
Paul read it twice. Then he looked at the refrigerator.
-I know how to use it, he said to the empty apartment.
The apartment had changed since they moved in.
Not dramatically. The walls were still mostly empty. The balcony still had only two chairs and a dying plant Veronica insisted was "recovering." The kitchen still contained one drawer Paul refused to organize because, according to him, it was a perfectly functional system.
But the place no longer felt temporary.
There were Veronica's books on the shelf. Her jacket hung behind the bedroom door. Two mugs sat beside the sink, one of them chipped near the handle. Paul's boots were beneath the table, while Veronica's shoes had somehow occupied the space directly in front of the entrance despite her repeatedly claiming she hated clutter.
The apartment had stopped looking like a place they were staying in. It had begun to look like a place they might remain. Paul opened the refrigerator. There were three containers inside. He lifted the first.
Rice.
The second. Vegetables.
The third had a note taped to its lid.
This one is mine. Paul stared at it. Then he put it back.He took the rice and vegetables, heated them, and ate standing beside the kitchen counter. Halfway through the meal, his communicator vibrated.
-Paul, Mpho said.
Paul swallowed. -You sound disappointed.
-I'm disappointed in many things. Your voice is not one of them.
-That's almost heart-touching.
-Report to the eastern training division in forty minutes.
-I just came back.
-Then you're already halfway there.
Paul looked at the clock. -What happened to the concept of rest?
-It was removed from the OPESTM budget.
-Along with decent food.
-You're eating Veronica's cooking.
-That is exactly why I'm complaining.
Mpho laughed. -You two still arguing about food?
-We've moved beyond food.
-That sounds serious.
-It is. She believes a person should have a plan for the future.
-And you?
-I believe the future should have the decency to announce itself before arriving.
-Paul.
-What?
-You know she's going to marry you, right?
Paul stopped chewing. Mpho continued before he could answer.
-Not because I have information. Because even I can see it.
-You're becoming very comfortable discussing my personal life.
-You made it public when you started leaving her hair ties in the common washroom.
-That happened once.
-Three times.
Paul leaned against the counter. -I have to go.
-You always say that when the conversation becomes inconvenient.
-That's because you always make the conversation inconvenient.
-Eastern division. Forty minutes.
The line ended. Paul stood there for a moment, communicator still in his hand. Then he looked at the note on the refrigerator. This one is mine. He smiled despite himself. The eastern training division was crowded when Paul arrived.
A group of younger soldiers were gathered near the combat arena, watching two Elite Super Soldiers spar. One was furious among the Elite batch Nesar and the other one was another prodigy named Dante. Their movements were too fast for ordinary eyes to follow properly. The air cracked each time their bodies collided, and the reinforced floor trembled beneath their feet.
Paul stopped near the edge of the arena. Mpho stood beside him, arms folded.
-You're late, Mpho said.
-What? I'm on time.
-You're late emotionally.
-That isn't a real measurement.
-It is when I'm the one measuring.
Paul watched the fighters exchange a series of strikes. One of them was forced backward and landed hard against the arena wall.
-Why am I here?
-Command wants to discuss the western deployment.
-Then command should discuss it with command.
-They want your opinion.
-They want my obedience.
-That too.
Paul glanced at him. -You could have said that before I came.
-Would you have come?
-No.
-Then I made the correct decision.
A familiar voice came from behind them.
-Paul.
Veronica approached wearing her training uniform, her hair tied back, a tablet tucked beneath one arm. She looked tired, though not enough to admit it.
Paul's eyes moved briefly toward the tablet.
-You're carrying work.
-You're carrying the same expression you had when you were seventeen.
-I've never been seventeen.
-Exactly. You've always been emotionally older than your age and intellectually younger than your shoes.
Mpho looked between them. -You see? This is why I support the marriage.
Paul looked at Veronica.
-Did you eat?
-Yes.
-What?
-Food.
-What kind?
-The kind that enters the body and keeps it functioning.
-That's not an answer.
-It was the answer you deserved.
Mpho slowly stepped away from them. Paul noticed.
-Where are you going?
-To preserve my life.
-You're a soldier.
-I've got better things to die for.
He disappeared into the crowd.
Veronica watched him leave.
-He's getting worse.
-He was never good.
-You defend him too easily.
-I'm not defending him. I'm documenting the decline.
She gave him a sideways look. Paul smiled.
-What?
-Nothing.
-That expression means something.
-It means I'm thinking.
-That's dangerous.
-Only for people who interrupt me.
-Then I'm in immediate danger.
-You always are.
The exchange came easily now. It no longer required effort or preparation. They could move from insult to concern and back again without either of them needing to explain what had changed.
That was what Paul noticed most. Before, every conversation with Veronica had felt like crossing a narrow bridge. Now they spoke as though they had built the bridge themselves.
The meeting lasted almost two hours.
The western deployment was not an immediate emergency, but it was large enough to require the presence of several senior soldiers. OPESTM had begun reorganizing its forces after the Bermuda incident, and command wanted to increase the number of high-grade soldiers assigned to strategic operations.
Paul was being considered for a permanent command position. Veronica was being considered for a separate field leadership role. Neither offer was official. Both were dangerous. When they finally left the meeting room, the corridor had emptied. Veronica walked beside him, reading through the tablet.
-They want you to take command of the western response division, she said.
-They want me to become a convenient target.
-They want you because you're effective.
-They want me because I'm difficult to replace.
-That's the same thing with better wording.
Paul looked at her. -What did they offer you?
-Field command.
-Where?
-Multiple regions. It depends on the deployment schedule.
-So we'll be working opposite sides of the country.
-Possibly. Though they haven't finalized anything.
-But they're considering it.
-Yes.
Paul stopped walking. Veronica took three more steps before noticing. She turned back.
-What?
-You knew about this?
-I was in the meeting.
-You knew before today.
-I suspected it.
-And you didn't tell me?
-I didn't know whether it would happen.
-That has never stopped you from telling me other things.
-Such as?
-You once told me that the coffee machine on the third floor was plotting against you.
-It was.
-You also told me that Mpho had the survival instincts of a decorative fish.
-He does.
-You told me the training division had been built over an ancient burial ground.
Paul pointed at her.
-And that one remains unconfirmed.
Veronica lowered the tablet.
-Paul, what exactly do you want me to say?
-I don't know.
-That's the problem.
He looked away.
The corridor lights reflected off the polished floor. Somewhere behind them, a door opened and closed. The sound travelled through the empty hallway before fading. Veronica stepped closer.
-You're being considered for command, she said. -So am I. That's not a disaster.
-It means we'll be gone more.
-We're already gone more than most people.
-That doesn't mean we need to make it worse.
-No. It means we need to decide what we're willing to do about it.
Paul looked at her again. She continued,
-You always talk about the future as if it's an enemy position. Something waiting behind a wall. Something we have to survive before we can think about it.
-That's because the future usually is an enemy position.
-And what happens when it isn't?
-Then I'll be pleasantly surprised.
-Paul.
-What?
-You're doing it again.
-Doing what?
-Turning everything into a joke because you don't want to answer.
He leaned against the wall.
-You want an answer?
-Yes.
-I don't want you taking a field command that keeps you away for weeks.
-That's not an answer. That's more like an order.
-I'm not ordering you.
-You're speaking like you are.
Paul's jaw tightened.
-I'm worried.
Veronica's expression changed slightly. He continued before she could interrupt.
-I'm worried that we'll become two people who share an apartment and a schedule nobody can remember. I'm worried that we'll keep saying we'll have time later until later becomes the only thing we ever talk about. I'm worried that one day we'll realize we built a life around waiting for our real life to begin.
Veronica remained quiet. Paul looked at the floor.
-That was a terrible answer. Wasn't it? He muttered.
-No.
-It was too long.
-You've never complained about long answers before.
-I'm complaining now.
-I noticed.
She leaned beside him. For a moment, neither spoke.
There was nothing but silence. It was not a wall between them. It was space where the other person could think. Finally, Veronica said,
-I'm worried about the same things.
Paul turned toward her.
-I'm worried that if I turn down every opportunity because it might take me away from you, I'll eventually resent you for a life I chose not to pursue.
Paul nodded slowly.
-And I'm worried, she continued, -that if I accept every opportunity because I'm afraid of wasting my potential, I'll wake up one day and discover I have become very successful at being absent.
-That sounds worse.
-It does.
-What are we supposed to do?
-Make a decision before someone else makes it for us.
Paul studied her face.
-You've thought about this.
-Of course I have.
-How long?
-Since the meeting started.
-That's not long.
-It was a very productive meeting.
He laughed. Veronica smiled faintly.
-We don't have to solve our entire lives today.
-That's disappointing. I was hoping for a schedule.
-You can make one.
-I could.
-You probably will.
-I already have several ideas.
-None of them will survive contact with reality.
-That's what reality is for.
She bumped her shoulder against his. Then she said,
-We should get married.
Paul blinked. The sentence landed between them with almost no sound. He stared at her. Veronica frowned. With a red face she continued,
-Why are you looking at me like that?
-You just said something.
-I know.
-You said we should get married.
-Yes.
-Are you asking me?
-No, I'm informing you. I've already selected a date, a venue, and the names of our first six children.
Paul's mouth opened. She sighed.
-Yes, Paul. I'm asking you.
He looked down the corridor, then back at her.
-Now?
-Not in this hallway.
-I mean, now as in….
-I know what you mean.
-You could have made that clearer.
-I thought I was being clear.
-You said it like you were requesting a change in deployment.
-That's how I request important things.
Paul rubbed a hand over his face. Veronica watched him carefully. She continued,
-You don't have to answer immediately.
-I'm going to answer.
-You can take a moment.
-I don't need a moment.
-You're currently staring at the wall.
-I'm looking at the wall because it's a very complicated wall.
-Paul.
He turned to her then he said.
-Yes.
Veronica's expression softened.
-Yes? she repeated.
-Yes. Obviously yes.
-Obviously?
-You're making this difficult.
-I'm trying to understand whether you mean it.
-I mean it.
-Then say it properly.
Paul exhaled through his nose.
"Veronica, will you marry me?"
She looked at him for several seconds. Then she shook her head. Paul's face fell. With a gloomy face Veronica said
-You know I am a bit disappointed.
-Why?
-Because you asked me while wearing a training uniform, standing in a corridor, with dried blood on your sleeve.
He glanced at his sleeve.
-That's not dried blood.
-Eww! That makes it worse.
-I didn't plan this.
-That's obvious.
-You brought it up.
-I know.
-You can't criticize the proposal after introducing the subject.
-I can criticize anything I want.
-That is becoming a serious problem.
-It has always been a serious problem.
Paul stared at her. Veronica finally smiled.
-Yes, she said. -I'll marry you.
The answer was simple. It did not shake the building. It did not stop the lights. No music began playing from somewhere nearby.
A door opened at the end of the corridor. A technician stepped out, saw them standing together, and immediately turned around. Paul noticed.
-Did he just leave because of us?
-Probably.
-We should feel bad.
-We should give him time.
Paul looked at Veronica.
-When?
-When what?
-When do we get married?
She looked down at her tablet.
-Not during the next deployment cycle.
-Ok, Fair enough!
-Not during the following one either.
-That's less reasonable.
-Paul.
-What?
-If we're going to do this, we should do it properly.
He nodded.
She continued,
-We need to choose a date. We need to tell people. We need to decide whether we want a ceremony or something small, and the fact that half of OPESTM will probably treat the event like a military operation.
-Mpho will definitely try to organize security.
-He'll try to organize the food.
-He'll fail.
-He'll insist the failure was intentional.
Paul smiled.
-That sounds accurate.
Veronica tucked the tablet beneath her arm.
-And we need to discuss children.
The smile disappeared from his face. She noticed immediately.
-We don't have to discuss that today.
-No, Paul said. -We should.
-Paul….
-I want to.
He leaned against the wall again, but this time he did not look away.
-I want children, he said.
Veronica's fingers tightened around the tablet.
-I know. I didn't before. I know that too. I used to think wanting something was the same as giving the universe permission to take it.
Veronica looked at him. He continued,
-I still think that sometimes… but that's not a reason to never want anything.
She stood beside him.
-We don't have to promise everything, she said. -We don't have to decide how many children we'll have or where we'll live or what kind of house we'll buy.
-You've already mentioned a house.
-I mentioned a possibility.
-You mentioned a garden.
-I like gardens.
-You hate insects.
-I can dislike insects and still appreciate flowers.
-That seems contradictory.
-You married a soldier. You should be comfortable with contradictions.
-We're not married yet.
-Then you have time to reconsider.
Paul looked at her.
-No, he said. -I don't think I do.
She smiled, but her eyes had become wet. He reached for her hand. This time, she took it before he could fully extend his.
They remained there for a while, holding hands in the empty corridor, discussing dates they could not yet choose and a future neither of them could guarantee. They discussed a ceremony. They discussed whether Paul would wear a formal uniform. They discussed whether Veronica would cry. She insisted she would not. He said he would tell everyone she had. She threatened to break his nose before the wedding.
He said that would make the photographs difficult. The conversation continued long after they should have returned to their duties. And for once, neither of them seemed eager to end it. That evening, they sat on the balcony with two cups of coffee.
The dying plant stood between them. Paul looked at it.
-It's definitely dead.
-It's recovering.
-It has been recovering for three months.
-Recovery takes time.
-It has no leaves.
-It's private.
Paul turned toward her. -Plants can't be private.
-You don't know that.
-I know several things.
-Name one.
-I'm going to marry you.
Veronica lowered her cup.
-That was unfair.
-Hehe!
She looked toward the city. The lights stretched into the distance, bright and restless. Somewhere beyond them, soldiers were still training. Orders were still being written. The world was still moving toward dangers neither of them could see.
But inside their apartment, the evening was quiet. Not safe. Not permanent. But quiet. Veronica rested her head against his shoulder.
-Do you think we'll be good at this? she asked.
-At marriage?
-At the future.
Paul considered the question. Then he said,
-No.
She lifted her head. He continued,
-But I think we'll be better than we are at pretending we don't want one.
Veronica studied him.
-That was almost wise.
-Don't spread it around.
-I might.
-I'll deny it.
-I know you will.
Paul took her hand again. They sat together until the coffee went cold. Neither of them knew how long they would have. Neither of them knew what the next assignment would cost. But for the first time, they were not simply hoping to survive long enough to reach tomorrow.
They were making plans for it.
To be continued...