It Goes On - Book l

Making Ends Meet

"You must really be feeling guilty if you want to take me for ice cream with it being just us." Baler snickered, poking at Simon with a mischievous gleam in his eye while he grasped the strawberry cone with his right hand.

"Take advantage of the moment and enjoy your ice cream, lad," Simon grumbled, stuffing his wallet into his back pocket before grasping the vanilla ice cream cone he had ordered for himself. "Your mum will be home later instead of at four. Figured we'd go out into town and get some ice cream."

"Dad, your logic doesn't make sense," Baler shook his head. "It's the end of fall and you're taking me to get ice cream. Fuckin' Brits-" He snickered.

"What was said about cursing?" Simon scoffed, arching his brow.

"No cursing around mom or the twins. She never said anything about cussing when she's not around..."

Simon couldn't help but breathe a laugh at his remark, "Fair point. Just don't make a habit out of it," He warned, joining the teenager outside at the nearby table, looking around at the nearby tourists as well as well as many vehicles driving through downtown Main Street. "We've had good weather all week. Might as well take advantage of it before the state is in winter for eight months."

"Thoughtful. I'll give it to ya." Baler shrugged.

"Don't get used to it," He huffed. "Best eat your ice cream before it melts."

"I see the military demands never left."

"Never will, unfortunately."

"Wha-?"

Suddenly, both Simon and Baler looked at each other, Simon's gaze falling to the mound of strawberry ice cream that had fallen from Baler's cone - a clear indication that he had been eating the ice cream from the cone at its base, quite literally licking it right off the cone and onto the pavement below. "Here, take this." Simon offered, not hesitating to give the kid his own, even if it was Baler's mistake in the first place.

"Hope you like vanilla."

"It's basic," Baler shrugged. "But it'll do."

Simon couldn't help but breathe a chuckle, "That'll do." before he furrowed his brows in a snicker. "What?"

"You're so British, dad."

"Last I checked, I am British," He huffed. "Better eat that ice cream. I spent two dollars on that cone and as much as I hate to complement a stranger, these transplants sure know how to make bloody good ice cream. I'm glad I got to enjoy it while I had the chance before somebody dropped theirs for not knowing how to eat it right." He teased.

"Must not have had as much practice as you," Baler retorted back with a heavy arch in his brow, enjoying just how far he could get under Simon's skin. "But on a serious note, what's a transplant?"

"Your mum says it's when someone moves from one place to another and tries to make that new place the exact same as the one they left."

"That doesn't make any sense?"

"That's why you're in school, lad. One day it'll catch on."

They sat there in silence for a few moments, Baler enjoying his new loaned ice cream cone that Simon didn't hesitate to give up, keeping a watchful eye over the teenager through his peripheral vision as he kept his primary gaze on his surroundings. You were right, kid, the military will never leave me.

It was almost exhausting, really - being so worried about keeping an eye on your surroundings with the constant worry of an ambush or explosion, having to feel like you needed to keep a firearm on you at all times, having the paranoia after every national holiday that involved fireworks, all while trying to juggle domesticated life while dealing with constant worries. Not only did he have this struggle, but he always assumed Kiera to have it the worst, except she hid it way better than he did. A part of him wanted to ask her about how she dealt with her post-traumatic stress, but he refused to as the last thing he wanted was to make her think about all of the past events as he knew she couldn't easily move on from it after it was brought up.