𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 | A Top Gun Fanfiction

Chapter 37: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘦

"Okay."

Downstairs, the phone rings, and Charlie shouts, "I'll get it!"

"I think our work here is done," Ghost muses, checking all of her angles.

Each of them flawless.

I glare at my reflection and tug at my dog tags. "I hate buns."

"It's part of the uniform."

"The uniform I like. The bun can go to Hell."

"Stirrups! It's for you!"

All my Iceman and dress code induced aggravation shrivels as I implode, instantly ten times cuter when a giddy smile cracks open my face.

"Is it your family?"

I nod.

"Well get on then. Don't keep your folks waiting."

She doesn't have to tell me twice. I switch the bathroom lights off and laugh at her startled cry. The hallway disappears in three bounds, but the steps I take in sets of two — a very godly way to get down the stairs, I'd say. Charlie winks as she hands over the phone. I don't wait for her to reenter the kitchen. The second I've got my hands around the bakelite, I shove it against the curve of my face, and laugh breathless through the line, "Good morning, Alabama."

"Hey, there, sweetheart," It's dad's voice on the other end. His southern grind bends the static. The sound is so raw, you would've thought I was a little girl, sitting in my daddy's arms, head to his chest, listening to the rumble of his voice somewhere between his lungs. I can't help the premature tear that clings to the inner corner of my eye.

"Hey, Daddy."

"You and your buddies gettin' all gussied up, I suspect?"

"Yessir," I giggle, "Ghost and I just finished pulling our hair back. We've gotta wear our white uniforms so we can look all fancy and professional, caps and all."

Somewhere in the farm house, somebody whistles. There's a bit of shuffling and David's voice comes through, harsher than dad's. "Cross dressing again, you sinner."

"David, hush!"

That'd be Mama.

I laugh, "It's alright, Mama, he's just jealous he doesn't get to wear a cap."

"I'd look better in it."

"Join the Navy and we'll see."

"Done."

"Mama, Davey's hoggin' up the phone!"

"Daddy," Mama's voice is closer now. If I close my eyes, I can almost see them all crowded around Dad's favorite chair. She's got her favorite apron on, powder on her cheeks from rolling out biscuits for breakfast. Daddy looks up, all fond when she sets her gentlest of hands on his shoulder and asks him to rotate the phone so everybody gets a chance to talk to their big sister. "Pat, baby, you getta go first."

The other's whine 'bout special treatment, nearly drowning out Patrick's small voice as it enters the scene. "Hi, Remi."

"Hey, Patty-cakes," I picture his blush at the dreaded-nickname.

"So, you're done with school now? Forever?"

"That's right."

"Lucky."

Laughing, I steady myself on the wall, "Well, it took a while to get here, bud, but don't worry, you'll be free eventually."

"In eight whole years," he groans.