“Yeah. Well, maybe if you loosened up once in a while, people would like you more.”
I smiled.
“I’m not running for prom queen, Lauren.”
The conversation ended like all our conversations did. Half sincere, half toxic, completely exhausting. I went upstairs, but I could still hear her downstairs humming along with the TV. It was almost comforting, that predictable noise. Almost later that week during a late shift at Fort me, I was reviewing an incident report when Captain Moore stopped by my station.
“You heading home after this?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t stay too long there,” he said. “Sometimes family can drain more energy than the job.”
I gave a small laugh.
“Sir, that’s classified information.”
He chuckled.
“Carry on, Lieutenant.”
When I finally drove home, the neighborhood was dark. My headlight swept across the house, catching Lauren’s car in the driveway. She’d been drinking again, judging by the half empty bottles in the recycling bin. Inside, Mom was asleep on the couch with the TV still on. Lauren was in the kitchen scrolling her phone, glass of wine in hand.
“Hey,” she said without looking up. “You know, mom worries about you. She says you don’t seem happy.”
I set down my bag.
“I’m not here for happy,”
she glanced up.
“That’s exactly what I mean. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and turned to leave.”
“You know what your problem is, Emma,” she said suddenly. “You think the world runs on rules, but it doesn’t. It runs on people like me,”
I looked at her.
“Then maybe that’s why it keeps breaking.”
She scoffed, shaking her head.
“You’re impossible.”
“Good,” I said. “That’s my favorite quality.”
I went upstairs, closing my door behind me, and sat on the edge of the bed. The laughter downstairs faded into silence again. In that silence, I realized something I hadn’t before. Every system, family, military, or otherwise, has a breaking point, and ours was getting close. The smell of cheap perfume hit me before I even stepped inside the house. There were balloons, streamers, and a cake that said, “Happy birthday, Lauren.” in bright pink frosting like we were still 12. The dining table was cluttered with wine glasses, gift bags, and a stack of photos showing Lauren smiling at some open house she’d apparently crushed. My mom was fussing with candles. My stepdad Peter was refilling drinks. And everyone looked like they were auditioning for a commercial about perfect family moments. Lauren spotted me from across the room and raised her glass.
“Look who finally decided to show up. The government’s letting you off the leash, huh?”
I smiled politely.
“Nice to see you, too.”
Mom swooped in before I could sit.
“Emma, help me with the plates, will you?”
Her tone was sweet, but it carried that subtle urgency that meant, “Don’t ruin the vibe.” I followed her into the kitchen. She leaned close and whispered,
“Let’s just keep tonight peaceful, okay? It’s her special day.”
“It’s always her special day,” I said.
She gave me that tight smile she reserved for uncomfortable truths.
“You know how sensitive she is.”
“Translation: Keep your mouth shut.”
We brought the plates out and Lauren immediately started a story about how a client had called her the best agent they’d ever met. Everyone clapped. Peter raised his beer.
“That’s my girl.”
When the applause died down, I placed a small wrapped box on the table in front of her. Lauren blinked.
“What’s this? A gift?”
