She’d served in various hot spots, including Iraq and Afghanistan where she lost her hearing temporarily during a night mortar attack on her unit. After being repatriated to England against her will, angry at army superiors assigning her to a desk role at a training facility, Adele had resigned her commission and left the army. She called Yvonne and was invited to live with them for a month or two while she looked for employment. ‘There she is,’ Yvonne called. ‘She’s waving to us. Oh god, she looks almost as old as I do.’ Aunt and uncle were shocked at the change in Adele’s appearance, from being a soft-faced carefree teenager to a hard-faced, suspicious-eyed woman who was wearing hiking boots, loose-fit denims, a military green t-shirt under her denim jacket and her blonde hair appeared cut by a lawnmower. ‘Oh darling, how lovely to see you again after all these years,’ Yvonne cooed. ‘Hello Auntie,’ Adele said, smiling lightly and holding out her hand to shake Yvonne’s. Both Yvonne. You might wonder about the rest of the date. It went exactly as a normal date should, actually. We chatted about TV shows, grad school, the city were we had met, and so on. And yet, beneath it, all I could notice was her lips. I could nearly feel them against my own as I alluded to a re-run of Seinfeld, and I wanted to press them against mine as we talked of the conceited nature of those living in the city where we were currently drinking martinis. She had one, then two. And that is when I knew it. I needed her. I needed her before, no doubt, but I could have resisted had I deemed it necessary. In that moment, everything changed. I needed her, and nothing would change it. When she let me walk her home, I was, incredibly, not surprised. When she invited me in, I was similarly, strangely, not surprised. It is not often that I, a confident fellow, no doubt, but certainly not a stud, am invited up to a woman’s apartment for a cup of coffee on a first date. Those are the kinds of things.
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