Two days passed after the phone call.
I didn't tell many people what had happened.
There was no official reason to announce it.
My leave was no longer going to be used, and I had already canceled the flight.
That was enough.
On the second morning, Sergeant Alvarez found me reviewing the duty schedule.
She had been working with me long enough to recognize when something was different.
She stopped beside my desk.
"Ma'am, when are you heading home?"
I continued looking at the schedule.
"I'm not."
She waited.
I knew she was expecting an explanation.
"Plans changed."
Alvarez glanced at the calendar.
"Your flight?"
"Canceled."
She didn't immediately ask why.
That was one thing I appreciated about her.
She knew there were questions people weren't ready to answer.
She pulled a chair closer and looked over the assignments.
"That's unfortunate. I thought you were looking forward to going."
I moved a paper from one side of the desk to the other.
"I was."
She looked at me.
I could tell she understood that there was more behind those two words.
Still, she didn't push.
Instead, she started talking about her own Christmas arrangements.
Her sister was hosting dinner.
There would be family coming over, and the house would probably be crowded.
She mentioned that there would be plenty of food.
Then she turned toward me.
"You should come with me."
I looked up.
"What?"
"To my sister's house. For Christmas dinner."
She said it casually.
As if inviting someone to a family meal was the simplest thing in the world.
I appreciated the offer more than I could explain.
For a moment, I imagined accepting.
A different house.
Different people.
A table where nobody cared about my rank or whether my career made somebody else uncomfortable.
I could sit down, eat dinner, and let the evening pass without explaining myself.
But I hesitated.
Alvarez noticed.
"You don't have to decide right now."
"Thank you," I said.
She nodded.
Then she returned to the schedule.
I stayed at my desk after she left.
The invitation had been kind.
That was what made it difficult.
I wasn't being rejected by everyone.
Someone had actually made room for me.
But I couldn't bring myself to imagine celebrating Christmas at another family's table while my father hosted his dinner without me.
I knew that sounded foolish.
Looking back, I can admit that.
I was hurt, and instead of allowing someone to help me, I was trying to make the hurt look like a practical decision.
There was also the matter of the schedule.
Christmas was one of those periods when everyone wanted to be somewhere else.
Some soldiers had children.
Some had spouses waiting at home.
Some had made plans months in advance.
I looked through the assignments.
There were people who would have to remain on duty if nobody volunteered to cover them.
I knew what I could do.
I could stay.
I could take the overnight shift.
I could let two younger soldiers go home instead of asking them to give up another holiday.
The idea came together quietly.
No dramatic announcement.
No speech.
Just a decision.
Later that day, I spoke with Alvarez again.
"I can cover the overnight assignment."
She looked at me.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"You don't have to do that."
"I know."
She studied my face for a moment.
Then she looked back at the schedule.
I pointed toward the two younger soldiers whose assignments could be covered.
"They've got families waiting for them. Let them go."
Alvarez didn't argue.
She understood the arrangement.
I was giving up my holiday so they wouldn't have to give up theirs.
That was something I could control.
I couldn't change what my father thought.
I couldn't make him want me at his dinner.
But I could make sure two other people had the chance to be with their families.
That seemed like a fair exchange.
At least, I told myself it was.
The following hours were spent adjusting the schedule and confirming the coverage.
The two soldiers were informed that their assignments would be handled.
Their relief was easy to see.
One of them thanked me.
The other asked whether I was absolutely certain.
I told him I was.
Neither of them needed to know why I had made the decision.
They were going home.
That was what mattered.
When Alvarez later mentioned her sister's invitation again, I thanked her.
I told her I had already committed to the overnight duty.
She gave me a small nod.
"Another time, then."
"Another time."
I said it as though I believed there would be plenty of other times.
I went back to work.
There was no Christmas tree in my office.
No wrapped presents.
No family photographs waiting beside my desk.
Only the duty schedule and the things that needed to be completed.
At one point, I opened my phone and saw the airline cancellation confirmation again.
I hadn't deleted it.
I don't know why.
Maybe I wanted to remind myself that I hadn't forgotten about the trip.
Maybe I wanted proof that the decision had actually happened.
I closed the screen.
The holiday was approaching whether I was ready for it or not.
I thought about my father.
I wondered whether he would notice that I hadn't called again.
I wondered whether Jason knew I wasn't coming.
I wondered whether anyone at the dinner would ask where I was.
Then I stopped myself.
Those questions didn't help.
I had spent enough time imagining a conversation that might never happen.
The truth was simple.
I wasn't going home.
And the people who needed someone to cover their shifts would have someone there.
For the moment, that was enough.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: While My Family Prepared for Christmas Dinner, the Snow Outside Colorado Turned Into Something Nobody Could Ignore
Three Nights Before Christmas, My Father Made One Phone Call That Changed Where I Would Spend the Holiday
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