Eric: You bringing home The Bacon tonight?

Riley: Um. What?

Eric: Your dog…

Riley: Oh! Yes, he’s coming home with me.

Eric: Can we visit? Dad and Sydney are here. We’d love to meet him. It’s cool if you’re busy though. Or just want him to get settled. We understand.

Riley: No! Come by! I’d love some company!

Eric: Okay. Should we bring frozen dinners or…

Riley: Lol! Um…

Eric: Jokes. Pizza or Chinese?

Riley: Chinese, please.

Eric: Same order?

Riley: Yes, please.

Eric: Have you heard from him?

Riley: No. :(

Eric: We’ll be over at 6:30.

Riley: See you then!

I get through the rest of the work day, excited to bring home Bacon and hang out with Dylan’s family. I’m only home ten minutes when they knock on my door.

We sit at the table and talk about anything Non-Dylan-Deployment related while Bacon charms the pants off everyone. “We should get a dog,” Mal says.

“We had a dog once, didn’t we?” Eric responds.

Mal shakes his head, his eyes narrowed at his son. “We’ve never had a dog.”

“I’m sure we did. When I was younger. It used to cry and piss and shit everywhere. Oh wait. That was Dylan.”

I choke on a laugh just as there’s another knock on the door. I get up to answer it, but Eric stops me. “I don’t know that I like you on your own answering doors late at night.”

I look at the time. It’s only seven. I tell him that, but he just shakes his head and motions for me to sit. Then he gets up and answers the door for me, speaking over his shoulder when he says, “I’m going to set up a security system in here. Cameras and everything on the outside. Just in case.”

“You’re being a little dramatic, no?” I ask, but he’s already out of the kitchen.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Mal chimes in.

“Besides,” Sydney says, shrugging, “Once Eric has an idea in his head, you can’t change it. Just give him that peace of mind.”

“I don’t know that I can afford that,” I tell them.

“Don’t you worry, Riley,” Mal says. “Dylan would’ve wanted it.”

I look down at my plate, knowing full well they’re right.

“We didn’t know you had company,” a deep, familiar, accented voice sounds from the kitchen door. Jake stands in front of the rest of the gang, pizza boxes in hand.

My smile is instant. So is the swelling of my heart, because even though it can get lonely, I know I’ll never be alone.

* * *

Weeks pass and I try not to think about it too much. Bacon helps. The dog. Not the food.

Dylan had warned me the night before he left that communication would be limited. Especially if he’s remote, and he won’t really know what he’ll be doing at any given time. He told me he’d most likely get to the base, be given orders, and be shipped out as soon as possible. His unit was a man down, which is why he was rushed off. It’s also why I worry so much. I asked a lot of questions that night and he did the best to answer them. Then he came up with the best response possible: “It’s the life of a military wife, Ry.” It’s not to say that I hadn’t thought about a future with him, but the word “wife” had never been spoken before. And that single word set off the butterflies.

Bacon cries at night so he sleeps in bed with me, which I know is something Dylan may not be happy about when he gets home, especially the first few days, or weeks in our case, but I can’t help it. I hate hearing those cries. Besides, it’s nice to have someone in bed with me. It helps take away from the heartache of his absence.

Dylan

“I thought you’d be too busy with your girl,” Dave says, leading me toward the USO office. Apparently he’d been R&R for a couple weeks while I was home and never bothered to tell me.

Now we’re united again at a base a few miles north of Ghazni. I’d left the night I got to Camp Lejeune and was temporarily set up with another unit until mine found their way back here.

“I would’ve come to Pittsburgh to see you.”

“And do what?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Meet your mom. Your brothers.”

“And Riley. She would’ve come, too?”

I shrug, opening the door of the tent and stepping inside. “Probably.”

“Yeah,” he says, following behind me as I sit down at one of the free computers. “I don’t think I could’ve handled you all loved up and settled when I had to come back to this shithole.”

I face him quickly. “She would’ve fucking loved you.”

“Oh yeah?” He licks his finger, then rubs his nipple over his combat uniform. “I would have made her love me.”

“You’re fucking delusional.” I point to the laptop. “What do I do?”

Shaking his head, he leans over me and opens a program on the screen, then begins to type faster than I thought humanly possible. A second later, a picture of Riley pops up on the screen.

“Why the fuck do you have a picture of my girl?”

He laughs loudly, his head throwing back with the force of it. “It’s her profile picture, dumbass.”

I wait for his laughter to die down before asking, “Now what?”

“Now press the video camera icon.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

I wait for him to leave and when I can tell he has absolutely no plans to, I hover over the damn icon, trying to hide my excitement, because fuck I’m excited. I haven’t spoken to her since I left and dammit I miss her. I miss everything about her. I miss the way she smells. The way she moans when her alarm goes off. The way she falls back asleep right away while I watch her, occasionally attempting to wake her so she’s not late for work. I miss the way she looks when I tell her she has to get up, and I miss her cursing at me when I forcefully pull her out of bed. I miss the way she’d smile when she got out of the shower, all fresh and clean and perfect when she’d lean up on her toes to kiss me good morning. I miss the way she’d always choose to sit in the middle of the seat and place my hand on her leg, half distracted by her phone when I’d drive her to work. I miss touching her. I miss kissing her. I miss—

“Are you actually going to call her or what?” Dave says, pulling me from my thoughts.

“I don’t know,” I mumble, my excitement turning to worry.

“Why not?”

“I feel like this will do more bad than good. Like having a little piece of her is worse than not having her, period.”

“Have you spoken to her at all?”

“Nope.”

“How long have you been back?”

“Three weeks and two days,” I tell him.

“She’d be wonderin’, man. I’d want to hear from you. Even when you were home I was thinking about you. And she may not love you as much as I do—”

“Shut up.” I chuckle.

“Just call her, dude.”

Inhaling deeply, I square my shoulders, preparing myself. Then I click the icon.

It rings once.

Twice.