The pinning took eleven minutes, and I had arranged it that way.
My commander had offered the auditorium and a photographer. "A small room is fine, sir," I had said. "Just the orders and the oath."
"You sure, Captain?" he had asked. "Major is not a small thing."
"I am sure," I had said. "I prefer small."
So it was his office on a Friday, rain at the windows at Robins. Naomi stood by the desk with the insignia in a blue box. Two captains stood by the door to witness it.
My commander read the orders. "Attention to orders. Julia A. Romano is promoted to the grade of major, United States Air Force."
Naomi stepped forward and took the captain bars off my shoulders.
"You ready?" she asked, quiet enough that only I heard her.
"I think so," I said.
"You earned these, Jules," she said, and pinned the first oak leaf. "Do not make that face."
"What face?"
"The face that says you are already figuring out how to make this smaller."
I laughed, and my eyes stung.
My commander shook my hand. "Congratulations, Major Romano."
"Thank you, sir," I said. "Thank you for keeping it simple."
In the parking lot, Naomi walked me to my car. My uniform felt strange at the shoulders, lighter and heavier at once.
"You calling home?" she asked.
"I will," I said.
"When?"
"Tonight, probably. After I get changed."
She looked at me. "Probably?"
"It is a lot to explain on the phone," I said. "Mom will ask what changes. Nico will joke, then ask real questions."
"Call anyway," she said. "Let them be proud badly. Families are allowed."
"I know," I said.
I drove home and made tea I did not drink. On the couch, I opened my mother's contact, then Nico's, and told myself I was waiting until supper was over. Then I told myself the weekend would be better. The weekend came and went, and I never noticed the minute when not calling turned into not telling. It was a quiet I kept choosing because it was easier.
Four years later, I stood in my kitchen on Wednesday morning and opened the second drawer by the sink.
The oak leaves sat in the back, in the same blue box, under orders I had never framed, beside spare buttons. I held one to the light. It caught clean and gold.
My phone lit up. Naomi.
"You awake?" she asked when I answered.
"I am staring into a drawer," I said.
"That drawer?"
"That drawer."
"Jules," she said. "Tell me you are not packing those for Lejeune."
"I am not," I said. "I opened it for a safety pin. For the cake box. The latch keeps popping."
She paused. "Four years a major, and your rank lives with spare buttons," she said. "Do you hear how that sounds?"
"It sounds organized," I said.
"It sounds hidden."
"I am not hiding," I said. "I am driving up to celebrate Nico. He made Staff Sergeant. It is his day."
"I know whose day it is," Naomi said. "I am not asking you to wear a sash. I am asking why being his sister means leaving half of yourself in Georgia."
"It does not," I said. "It means I do not correct the story at his party."
"What story?"
"The one where I do dull administrative work and push paper in an office no one can picture."
"You built that story," she said.
"I let it stand," I said. "There is a difference."
"Is there?"
I closed the drawer. "He calls me Jules," I said. "Not Major Romano. Not ma'am. Just Jules. I want one weekend like that."
Naomi sighed. "And if someone asks what you do?"
"I will say I am fine," I said. "I will say some of it is classified. I will say I will tell them later."
"Later has been four years," she said.
"I know," I said. "I live there."
She softened. "Bring the cake. Hug your brother. Just do not shrink on purpose, okay?"
"Okay," I said. "I will try."
After we hung up, I packed the car. Suitcase behind the seat. Shoes in a bag. A dress for Saturday folded in tissue. Card on top, signed From Jules, with money inside because Nico would refuse a gift.
The cake sat on the counter in its white box, chocolate with raspberry filling, his favorite since we were kids. I fixed the latch with a safety pin and carried the box out with both hands.
I set the cake flat in the trunk on a towel so it would not slide, checked the latch, and stood there, the road to Camp Lejeune waiting. I was only his sister this weekend. I shut the trunk and got in to drive.
Chapter 10: The Private Room